On February 20th, 2020, a bird hit my nose. I remember the date because, February 19th was our wedding anniversary. Nati was the romantic one. He wanted to get married on February 14th but, there was no Saturday, February 14th, in 2011. So, we got married on Saturday, February 19th, 2011.
I am walking down on calle* 28 de Abril Norte. The sweet aroma of the pastries, just coming out of the oven, is following the baker who is leaving the panadería**, in front of me. He loads his trays in a small truck, takes his apron off and goes for his round of deliveries. I turn right on Pila Seca. Then left on Quebrada. I cross over Quebrada bridge and I have a look at the busy calle* Canal below. The hills surrounding San Miguel are lost in a light blue fog.
When I walk by the building at #16, I smile inside. There is a heart crossed by an arrow, carved in the cement of the window ledge. I can still read the letter M. Is it M for Marcela or maybe M for Marco? Nati was writing our initials in the sand. A short-lived memory. My mind is drifting away. He used to say, “I am a complex person”. I never asked him what he meant. Or maybe I did but, there was no easy answer. I didn’t insist, thinking he would tell me later. He never did and I never asked again. Is this cement heart, still beating? I wonder.
It is not dangerous to daydream in the streets of San Miguel. The cars stop as soon as one foot leaves the side walk. A beige house, a light blue-sky house, a yellow sunshine house. I don’t know where Calle* Quebrada became Calle* Volanteros. I turn right on Calzada de la Luz, the avenue of the light.
I go back in time. I know what is inside of our backpack. Heavy stones. Heavy stones from the past. We have been carrying them for so long that they shaped our beliefs. They distorted our perception, lowered our self-esteem. Deep wounds from childhood. They weighed you down. I wish I could have blown away, your stones, by a kiss. Sadness and rage. I seem to still swing between those two. We are not kids anymore. Now, I can only deal with my backpack. Painful excavation work ahead.
I pass in front of the artisanal shop “Los Botes“. Ceiling lights and mirror frames, made of tin. I am about to cross Calle* Juan de Dios Peza when I feel like a punch in the nose. I stop and so, my internal monologue. Silence in my head. The bird was coming from the left. I look to my left. The bird was flying fast and, low enough to reach my nose. A sharp turn on the right, on Calzada de la Luz and he disappeared. I am in disbelief.
A woman passing by, from across the street looks at me and smiles. I think she saw the collision. She sees my confusion. But she doesn’t know that Nati was a pilot and he loved my nose.
I cross Calle* Juan de Dios Peza, I pass the convenience store. I am in disbelief because, I think about that possibility: A kiss on my nose for our anniversary. Life can be so absurd.
A week goes by and, I can’t get this incident off of my mind.
It is about 10 pm when, after doing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen, I seat at my desk and, invite Nati in my dreams. I am leaving the mainstream. In the most simple way, I write in capital letters, on a thick drawing paper. He is probably still dyslexic. He could not read my cursive letters.
I want to know if it was you, the bird. I want to know where you are. What are you up to? Did you find peace? I want to know if you are fine. So many things I want to know. But I keep it short.
I light a candle and I burst into tears. I don’t know if I am bold, desperate or maybe crazy. My mind is open to more absurdities. And just in case, he decides to reply or leave an ink stain, I let the paintbrush and, the black ink by the invitation note. But this, I know, it is not going to happen. There are limits to my craziness. Out loud, I ask him again, to come in my dreams. I look at a photo of him, in his happy days, and I cry again.
A sleepless night, overthinking and, trying not to think. I don’t know what I am the most afraid of. That he comes or, that he does not. A dreamless night. Too early in the morning, Paloma scratches the door. I ignore her, I feel lifeless. The candle is still dancing on the table. No ink stains. Up at noon. A shower. An urgent need to get out and, feel life flowing inside me.
This is, this time of the year again, when I crash down. His birthday was last month, our anniversary last week and, the anniversary of his death is coming. I contemplate the hole he left behind: a battle field after the battle, wounds and broken pieces. The silence of his absence.
Tonight, I really need to see the sunset. The sun is slowly falling down on San Miguel. All I need is to find a hill, a rooftop, a quiet place, somewhere, anywhere, to seat down and watch the sun fall.
I don’t know where to go. The streets are crowded with houses stuck together. No room in between for a ray of sun or, a horizon line. I go crazy, chasing the sunset. And, I find myself back on Calle* Juan de Dios Peza, where the bird hit my nose. I wonder where the bird had come from. I walk, up and down. Right and left, searching for an opening. Calle* Augustin Lara is a dead end.
At the end of the day, we used to go for a walk in our neighborhood. Ayos Athanasios, when we were living in Cyprus. We would seat in silence, on the top of a hill and watch the sun, setting over the sea. A moment of calm, while the city below, was still restless. We would walk home, hand in hand, feeling at peace and thinking about, what we were going to make for diner.
As the world is losing its temper, my world is calming down. Juan Pablo is watering the garden. He noticed the prices of food are already raising. Maybe we could turn the ornamental garden into a botanical garden. And, grow potatoes. Or maybe spinach, suggests Brigitte.
Paloma is excited. She has been waiting for her walk, all afternoon. Juan Pablo likes to tease her. No, we are not going for biftec tacos***. Tonight, we are in quest of some dark chocolate.
My house mate likes her chocolate with 80% of cacao, our gardener prefers 90%. I like anything between 78% and 95% depending on the seriousness of my craving.
Non-essential businesses have been closing down one after another, in the face of the pandemic. I thought my chocolate shop had only changed its operating hours. But maybe not.
The sky is turning pink, under the heavy clouds. It’s almost sunset time and, Quebrada bridge is next door. We turn left on calle* Umaran then, right on calle* Quebrada. The bridge is deserted. Only Paloma and I. But below, on calle* Canal it is rush hour. I only see red lights driving away, out of town. In the purple sky, a fire ball is burning a thick layer of clouds.
I often lose sight of the big picture and, I focus on the little things. Sometimes this is the reflection of the lemon tree in my green tea. Another time, a red cat walking with caution on the edge of a party wall, imbedded with shards of glass. This evening, my little thing is the sunset on Quebrada bridge. It gives me peace. The sun sets quickly but it is enough. We go home, without chocolate but contentment.
On March 9th, as I walk home via calle* Orizaba, I freeze. There is a paper plane, laying down on the sidewalk. An old piece of paper with broken wings. I remember the date because, Nati died on March 10th.
A few nights later, I woke up rested. I slept well. Paloma is outside, barking at the hot air balloons. My mind is at peace. Nati answered my invitation. Our worlds have met in my dreams.
* Calle = Street
** Panadería = Bakery
*** Biftec tacos = Beefsteak tacos
The flower without her Little Prince 