RED 2: A Trick of Mirrors [#Wattys2017]

3. Perfection

Marco couldn't recall the transition distinctly because the move happened in a haste. The images appeared blurred, scenes filmed from the speeding train that was his life now. He had received the unexpected offer for coordinating the Toronto school and soon after reencountered Marisa after a long separation. When he decided to speak with her days later, he felt lighter but also giddy as if his brain bereft of oxygen suddenly received a gush of pure air. Marco gave up calling Marisa and taking the car. Instead, he walked through the streets. He needed a respite from the mental and emotional overload he'd been managing for the past week. He needed to plan what he would say to her.

It took him a bit more than twenty minutes to arrive at Marisa's neighborhood, marching against the wind that shook the treetops with a hellish rustle. One block from his destination, the rain poured and Marco rushed for shelter under the glass awning of a building. He called Marisa. On the other end of the line, her voice denounced shock. Soon she showed up: a mirage in a gray raincoat holding an umbrella with a rainbow pattern on the curve of the street. Marisa slowed down until halting before him, eyes widening in an interrogation, lips parting to enunciate the question. He scooped her in his arms and didn't give her the chance to say a word. The kiss stretched in the eternity of that moment as thick raindrops lashed at them, the open umbrella tumbling the ground and spiraling away like a wild ballerina.

There, under that yawning, Marco put his fate in her hands. He would leave to Canada if Marisa came along. He would decline the offer if she wished. As he spoke, his heart went jittery because he couldn't predict Marisa's reaction. Perhaps she would simply turn away, calling him crazy, and disappear in the storm. To his surprise, Marisa agreed to accompany him. Her mother obviously opposed it. She ended up accepting the arrangement after they promised her a flight ticket to visit them every year. Preparations started, and he disembarked in Canada in September while Marisa concluded her first year of college in Brazil.

The two of them talked every day and spent Saturday nights awake chatting on Skype. The school had paid a month of hotel accommodation while settled down, thus he dissected classifieds of properties for rent and shared countless links with Marisa. They decided for a downtown apartment seven blocks from Lake Ontario. Situated on the seventh floor of a modern building, it offered a balcony with views of the tree-lined street, laminate flooring, open-plan kitchen and stainless-steel appliances. Marisa was enthralled.

They decorated the apartment together. Or, more precisely, she decorated it. Marco didn't know where Marisa found the time, but the fact is she combed through catalogs on the internet every day and dictated the furnishings—minimalistic pieces made of light-colored wood, an extravagant armchair, acrylic black stools for the bar counter. In the New Year, Marco at last fetched her in the airport. She arrived with a two-hour delay and two gigantic suitcases; he was punctual and waited for her with a bunch of anxious flowers in his hand. It was Saturday morning and they had the whole weekend for themselves.

Thus the two began their new life: with Marisa's delight at seeing the apartment and his pride in showing it to her. They christened the bed straight away—and later the sofa, the kitchen counter, the shower and the living room rug. The working week ensued for him and the final touch of decoration for her, a task to which Marisa devoted herself with tenacity. In the subsequent days, carton boxes of various sizes gathered at the entrance of the apartment.

Friday night Marco came home to find everything finalized. The boxes had disappeared and a new poster in the entrance hall opened up a window to a night view of Toronto with its lights reflected on Lake Ontario. As he hung his coat by the door, Marco heard Ella Fitzgerald singing Too Close for Comfort.

The ceiling lamps in the living room cast luminous cones on the sofa, on the black leather puffs and on a geometrical rug that wasn't there the previous evening. A floor lamp with a red shade, which he saw for the first time, stood guard by the bookcase adorned with Murano glass vases. On the counter separating the living area from the kitchen, an arrangement of Gerbera daisies smiled at him. So did Marisa.