The American

Chapter Fourteen

We leave for Barcelona the next morning, Teo and I. He is quiet in the mornings, preferring to spend the time observing the passing scenery as he occasionally drifts in and out of sleep. We hail a taxi to the neighboring town and take the train from there. It is a fleeting journey, long only in theory. As I spend the hour and a half in a sleepless trance, I wonder if a second has passed before we are already at our destination.

We arrive at Barcelona, but it more closely resembles a place of fantasy than a nearby city. I can barely control my excitement as Teo slings his backpack over his shoulder and takes my hand, leading me through the rush hour infused station until we are out in the streets, where the air is crisper somehow, signaling endless possibility. With our fingers so closely intertwined, it is like the rest of the world fades away, like it is just him and I and our bodies, taking on this limitless world.

We board a metro to the marina in search of our hostel. We arrive quite easily, perhaps too easily. It is like every journey is even more fleeting than the next when measured against this fading summer, like it is impossible to catch the moments before they vanish entirely. I worry that the summer will melt away with a similar hurry, cruelly and without my consent. 

We find our hostel with ease, finding upon checking in that we haven't been assigned a shared space in mixed dormitory, as we had booked, but a private room to be shared between the two of us. There are two beds, one on each end of the walls, separated only by a glass door leading to the balcony. I open it the moment we enter, soaking in the early morning breeze with Teo not so far behind, his eyes dancing once again in his benevolence, like he is finally awakening for the day. I wish I could kiss him senselessly, but I place my backpack on the side of my bed instead, avoiding his gaze in a concerted effort to distance myself from the urge.

We unpack our belongings and familiarize ourselves with the space until Teo asks me if I am hungry. I don't need to answer because my stomach growls, doing it for me.

A pleased smile appears on his face. "Perfect."

He takes us to a breakfast café not too far from our hostel, navigating the streets as if they are a part of him, never once relying on directions because his intuition is equipped to guide him anywhere. We sit on the terrace with the unending sky above us, taking in the passersby traipsing along the street adjacent to our seats.

"This is my favorite breakfast spot in all of Barcelona," he says. He waits until we are seated to take me through the menu and its many options, asking me if I have had various of his favorite dishes. But I'm a hopeless case, ashamed to even call myself Spanish. I find myself shaking my head as he moves his fingers through the photos.

"How about this?" he persists, pointing to a dish that resembles a sandwich.

I bite my lip, shaking my head again. And that is how we find ourselves ordering everything on the menu, varieties of sandwiches, churros con chocolate, huevos rotos con chorizo, pan con tomate and mimosas. We are there for hours, intoxicated by the mimosa and by each other, by our stories, our hopes, our convictions.

I learn then that Teo moved to Barcelona in the winter, with nothing but a backpack and his guitar. His Mama had been against it, preferring that he study law or business to preserve her and her husband's legacy. They are government officials in Màlaga, his Mama the mayor of their village and his father a public defender specializing in economic crimes. But Teo—he isn't a fighter, like them. He is a storyteller.

"I was in university for a year, studying law for Mama. I told myself that I could do it, that I just had to give it time before I felt at home in it, but the music, it was always there, calling to me. I couldn't give it up," he says sheepishly. It is like his story is a source of shame for him, like he doubts his decision every now and then, like it is a creeping, invasive conviction of his that he should have chosen stability instead of the madness that comes with following one's dreams.

"And what if you had studied law, Teo?" I say shyly. "You would've never met me."

But he doesn't seem convinced at all. "Do you really believe that, Margarita? That we could go our entire lives without meeting, not even once."

"But where would we even meet, if not in Begur?"

"Maybe in Tribeca?"

"In Tribeca?"

The waitress appears with our orders then. He thanks her before continuing. "I was supposed to be there last winter, you know, interning at a law firm. Hackett and Foer, I believe it is. They specialize in—"

"—international financial crime," I finish for him, my lips parting in awe. "We live across the block from their office."

A flicker of shock crosses his eyes. But he eventually recovers, as if he had been suspecting it all along. "The world can't keep us apart, can it?" he says cheekily. The words are lighthearted and uttered only in jest, but they carry an undertone of seriousness, as if there truly is a greater force at play, binding us to each other.

I laugh, dipping my churro in a mug of liquid chocolate. "Maybe that is why out of all the places in Girona, you chose to rent Gram's place."

"I had this gut feeling when I saw it. I can't really explain it."

"You live by your gut feelings, don't you?"

"It brought me this far."

I bury my chin in my palms, so mesmerized by his thoughts and everything else that he is. "I hope it takes you everywhere."

He takes a sip of his mimosa, smiling weakly as if his doubt is resurfacing again. We finish our breakfast in time for lunch, but we are so full that all we have left to do is wander. I maneuver the unfamiliar streets, the cathedrals and the gothic remnants of what once was. Once we are finished with the main attractions, Teo shows me around Barcelona—his Barcelona, which has grown into to him over the months but could never quite be his, because his heart is elsewhere, in Màlaga.

He shows me the first apartment he ever had, a small flat on the outskirts of the city, atop an abysmally vacant guitar shop. Once inside, I realize that the vacancy is merely an illusion, because there are people occupying every corner of the interior, bonding over poorly tuned melodies and lyrics lost to the hazy summer air. And Teo—he seems to know everyone here. He is especially popular among the ladies, which makes sense. He is without a doubt the most charming person I have ever met.

He picks up a guitar and leads us to the rooftop. And suddenly, it is just the two of us again, reunited with the depthless blue sky. Like most things in life, our moments are fleeting. But today, there is no hurry. There is only the song of the cicadas, embellishing the seductive summer afternoon, and the gentle refrain that emerges from his guitar shortly after, a form of hypnosis of its own. 

"Are you going to sing to me now, amor?" I say teasingly.

The wind blowing away his curls, a faint scarlet overcomes his cheeks. But he does. He sings to me in Spanish and in English and sometimes in both. At the sound of his voice, I feel intoxicated again, like I am under a spell induced not by the mimosa we shared not so long ago, but by this moment, which for some reason is too beautiful to bear. It is only a matter of time before I am singing along in my horrific, hyena-like voice. At my inability to maintain a rhythm, we laugh endlessly. We laugh until our cheeks cramp and our laughter is all that we know. And sometime in between the madness that makes up our day, his voice becomes my new infinity moment. It is like the past no longer matters, like my nostalgia is merely a conspirator attempting to rob me of this present exaltation, like the past is truly a thing of the past, like it is fragile before the prospect of this moment, so full of magic and so palpably immortal.

I don't have my camera with me to preserve this moment in physical form, but I don't think I need it this time around. Because I am so effortlessly soaking in everything surrounding me, the aroma of the jamón in the air and the melody of Teo's laughter in between his wistful words, I suddenly feel it with every fiber of my being that I am alive. I am free. And when I am with him, I am timeless.

♡

Author's Note: hello :') how are you? well, i hope! sadly, there is one more "fun" chapter before everything descends into chaos. please prepare your hearts. also the story is almost over (like maybe 5ish more chapters)???????? ahhhhh :'(