It's difficult to find the way everything fits into place once it's broken, even if a surgeon gives you a pretty significant first push. Alexia's recovery is progressing with hope. Her knee is responding well to rehabilitation, but she doesn't feel...
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Alexia appeared at The Elf Bar just two days later. She came alone. It had been barely five minutes since I had cleared out the bar, expecting to close as soon as I finished sweeping the dust. That's why when I heard the door close lazily, still holding the broom handle and without even bothering to look up, I said:
"It's closed."
I knew that the person who had just entered hadn't moved because I didn't hear their footsteps on the old wooden floor. He or she stood still, and a few seconds of silence passed. Was that person deaf, perhaps?
"I'm sorry, it will only take a moment."
"Hey!" I complained, looking up, exhausted. "Didn't you hear me? It's clos—"
The words died suddenly in my mouth as soon as our eyes met again.
She was wearing a cap, a jacket, and a sweater, all in black. Loose jeans and white sneakers. Her blonde hair gracefully fell over her shoulders, framing a perfect face.
"Hello, Mía."
I swallowed hard upon hearing my name on her lips, as if it was no big deal, as if it didn't awaken a million questions about how and why she had found out.
I leaned the broom against the bar and took an uncertain step toward her, offering a shaky greeting in response. She accepted the gesture and descended the steps, then walked the distance that separated us, standing in front of me.
I had never seen her so up close, not even in my wildest imagination. Her head exceeded mine by exactly 5cm. Her perfume embraced me, sweet and tangy in my nose, like a slightly unripe strawberry. She looked at me from head to toe in silence, her expression serious, and I prayed that she wouldn't notice how much my pulse had quickened and how worrisome it was that my hands were trembling.
"I wanted to apologize," I furrowed my brow, confused. "I saw you at the game and didn't come to greet you." My head started making an unbearable noise. I was dreaming. There was no other explanation. "I don't know what happened. I just froze, without knowing why."
"D-Don't worry. You don't have to..."
"I do worry," she interrupted me. "It wasn't right, and I want to make it up to you." If she only knew that just by standing in front of me like this, she could make up for anything... "I brought you this." Alexia unslung the backpack from her shoulders and searched inside for a few seconds. Finally, she pulled out a jersey and handed it to me, her lips pressed together, unsure. "I know it's not a great relic, but I thought you might like it."
I took it in my hands as if it were made of glass and could break with a single forceful blow. I examined it carefully, like a work of art, perhaps it was, maybe I should frame it.
Alexia looked at me with concern, afraid that giving me a shirt she had used wouldn't be enough to make up for the snub she had imagined herself. I would have never thought she remembered me, even a little.
"I don't know what to say..." I marveled, ignoring my fear of being perceived as a fan just to make Alexia feel at ease.
"You can say it's from any other game, or I can give you another one if I do better in any of them," she added without looking at me, putting the backpack back on her shoulders.
She seemed genuinely vulnerable, downcast. I hadn't realized it until that precise moment. Her eyes were tired and circled with dark eye rings, her brow drooping , her lips dry. She appeared insecure and inadequate, even with me, who she could confidently consider her admirer after seeing me at one of her games a couple of days ago. I saw the emptiness in her eyes again, and my heart sank.
"Why do you say that?" I asked with concern. Alexia fell silent, probably weighing the pros and cons of sharing her problems with a complete stranger. "If you want to tell me, I'll listen."
"It's nothing," she downplayed it. "Just a bad game."
"Is that really what you think?" I questioned.
Alexia fell silent again. It sounded terrible to say, and I probably wouldn't admit it aloud because of how morally ugly it could be, but her feeling insecure and vulnerable in my presence gave me the courage to act beyond my nerves and anxiety, as if I wasn't myself and she wasn't Alexia Putellas.
I saw in her gaze that she wanted to speak, that she wanted to release what she had inside because it was consuming her. I saw the plea escaping from her eyes, but her mouth refused to speak, and then I had an idea.
"I won't pressure you if you don't want to, but even if you might think I'm crazy, I have a feeling that you do want to, but you don't feel safe," without any objection from her, I took the initiative and grabbed a sheet of paper towel from the bar. I sat on one of the stools beside her, once again enveloped in her perfume, illuminated by the street lamps outside and her own eyes. I started writing quickly with the pen from the order pad, and she looked at me with curiosity. After finishing, I smiled, to which she expressed surprise, and I handed her the paper towel and pen. "It's not easy for anyone to talk about their feelings and concerns, their weaknesses. It takes a lot of strength, even more so when doing it with a stranger and being a public figure. That's why I thought of doing this."
Alexia patiently read the paper towel in her hands, her expression filled with disbelief.
"Are you a psychologist?" she asked without changing her expression.
"Yes! And licensed," I replied, satisfied with my own accomplishments. I watched as Alexia looked around, trying to locate a licensed psychologist behind the bar of an Irish pub. "I know I'm losing money, but you never lose hope that an opportunity will come along," I laughed. "But let's get to the important part. Do you know what that means?" Alexia shook her head slowly. "Professional confidentiality! Like a priest. Nothing you say can leave this place. They could even revoke my license," I raised my index finger as a warning.
And Alexia laughed. And it was the most beautiful sound in the world.
