The Imaginary Life

Life

If not now, then when?

Life sucks. I don't mean always; I mean now. I don't mean that life has sucked since the moment I was born. I mean these past few days, weeks, months. Days when I open the window in the morning and couldn't care less if the plum tree opposite me is in bloom or has withered away. These colorless months, not even black and white but drab. Like the pages on a calendar: the mornings at work, the evenings when I collapse onto this sofa and stare at the wall until everything goes blurry and I have to blink because my vision has clouded over.

And not once do I think to myself If not now, then when; if not you, then who, like you told me that day. Not once. What I like to imagine is that we run into each other one day in some city or another, somewhere neither of us live. It would have to be a foreign city, somewhere there wouldn't be the slightest chance of running into you. Somewhere I wouldn't be expecting you and you wouldn't be expecting me, which would make more sense since it's been quite some time since you last expected to see me...Damn it! Now I'm overdoing it. Forget that. So, we were running into each other in some city.

It'd have to be cold. Paris would do, for example. Yes, Paris would be just fine.

It's cold. I've got a hat on because my ears get cold when I wear my hair short. I'm wearing the hat my grandmother knitted for the winter. A few strands of my hair fall over my forehead and, since it's growing longer, also escape around my neck. I'm wearing jeans and a pair of knee-high boots. The boots are made of leather, the ones I bought when I went with you to that gig in Bilbao. I was wearing sandals and when they said on the radio that it was going to rain in the north, I made you turn around and drive back to the center of town because I wanted to buy a pair of boots. And since they seemed so fabulous I left the shop with them on, looking a fool because it was hot as hell here and, as it turned out, in Bilbao too. Ninety degrees. Not only that, since I didn't have any socks, I kept on the footies they give you to try things on and my feet were burning up. Whatever, that's neither here nor there. Six months have gone by since then and the boots now look worn-out, although you can tell they're well made. You can't just wear any old thing in Paris. You have to look your best in Paris. So on the day of our encounter I'd have to wear these leather boots and the green coat I got for Christmas. Funny, now that I've put on my green coat, I picture myself with long hair, although I imagined it short just a moment ago. But my grandmother's hat never changes. It's clear that imagination is free, or that time has passed, or that I'm imagining we meet up in Paris many months, perhaps years, from now.

"Hello!"

"Shit! What are you doing here...? Hello!" You give me a hug.

No, no, hang on a second, it can't be that straightforward. We can't just run into each other in a strange city and the only thing that occurs to me to say is "Hello!" No, no, no. Anyway, you'd never say "Shit!" You never use that word. Let me get my bearings. First, I'll get my bearings. The truth is I'd much rather we ran into each other in New York. Sure, why not? New York is much better, and anyway, we've been there together. The story would be a hell of a lot cooler if we ran into each other somewhere we've been together, because then perhaps we'd both be thinking that running into each other there is not exactly a coincidence.

Everything I've written so far would work just as well for New York, although in New York I'd also be wearing sunglasses because everyone there wears them, even when the sun isn't shining. So where were we? I'd be wearing my hair long. I have a hat and a pair of shades. On we go.

I don't picture what you'd be wearing. I couldn't care less, that much is clear.

In New York, we could bump into each other in the vicinity of Central Park. It's Sunday. I'm there on some business or something, just like you, but since it's our day off we have nothing to do. Now I'll have to come up with some work-related excuse, because you could easily be there on an architectural research project, but what about me? What the hell am I doing in New York? Whatever, it doesn't matter; I'll come up with something. Let's focus on the encounter for the moment.

I pop into a deli to pick up some coffee and a bite for breakfast and, just as I'm leaving with my brown paper bag, we come face to face.

"Hey! Well, well, well...What brings you here?"

We exchange a kiss and a hug. The hug lasts quite some time. We stay like this for a while, clutching each other tightly, you so slim and me so small, your arms enveloping me, your face buried in my neck. I take in your scent. You smell the same as ever. You smell the same as ever. You smell the same as ever. Stop it.

"The last person I was expecting to see," you say.

"Shit, same here!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I had to give a speech at this language conference organized by the Cervantes Institute. I've been in the city for a week, but we're done now."

"Now there's a coincidence!" you say, thinking It's not exactly a coincidence. "I had a project for a client and, in the end, what with one thing or another, it's been nonstop every day. It's been a real madhouse, because these New Yorkers are truly crazy, Nata....Thank God we've finished too. Hey listen, when does your plane leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. What about yours?"

"Tomorrow too. Hey..." You take out a cigarette, light it, blow some smoke, smile, and ask me: "Are you meeting someone, or shall we grab a coffee together?"

Anyone can tell I'm making it up as I go along, because I'd never go to a language conference in New York. A lot of things would have to change in my life, that's for sure. For starters, I'd have to be a language professor rather than working in advertising. And I'd have to give speeches all over the world and not work for an agency in Madrid. And anyway, you'd never be the one who asked me to grab a coffee with you. Come to think of it, if any of this really were to happen, you'd act as if you hadn't seen me. And if it couldn't be helped—if, for example, we collided head on—you'd come up with any old excuse not to hang around, at least now that you're incapable of answering a simple phone call and it hasn't crossed your mind to dial my number even once just to see how I'm doing. But hey, what the hell. Imagination costs nothing, and I can think whatever I want. If I want to, I can imagine that at that very moment you drop the croissant-filled paper bag to the ground, get down one knee, tell me I'm the love of your life, and we live happily ever after. I could picture it if I put my mind to it but, damn it, let's try and keep it real: we've run into each other in New York and the two of us are sitting with our breakfast on the grass in Central Park.

Anyway, it so happens that I have a birthday party to go to, so I have to leave it here. Time's running short. So I'm shutting down the laptop for today. I'm off to take a shower, get dressed, and head out. I'll pick up where I left off tomorrow if I feel like it and, if not, I won't. Ciao
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The First Chapter is done yay!
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