The Imaginary Life

The Letter

If not now, then when?

It's been more than six months since you last gave any sign of life and I can no longer talk about you to anyone. Not that anyone has said anything, but I can tell they've all had it up to here with me harping on about what happened to the two of us. It's not like before, when they'd ask me how I was as soon as she came me to they set eyes on me and I'd talk nonstop. And then Rita, Carlota, and Alvar would spend hours poring over every last detail of our story: when you said this, when I told you that, when you didn't accompany me to that dinner party we all attended because you had something very important to do, when I told you I couldn't go with you to your hometown that weekend because Rita had met some Argentinean guy and had to tell us all about it, when you started coming home late, when I started falling asleep...No one cares anymore, Beto.

Not about you, or me. But I do. Don't go thinking that just because some guy at work has written me an e-mail that I'm going to go back on my promise to you. No way. The hell with that. And since I don't know what to do, I've written a letter to let you know I'm doing fine, and above all, to put your mind at ease, so that you don't feel down every time you think of me because you think I hate you. Now that is out of the question.

Alberto:

It's been some months now since that rain-drenched evening, and there are still days when I miss the trips we used to take and the cold of your attic apartment. However, certain things have happened during this time, and I get the feeling that my life has always been this way, the way it is right now. If not now, then when...if not you, then who...That thought's never even crossed my mind. I like to imagine, however, that one day we'll run into each other in Madrid, or any other city in the world, we'll go for a coffee, and time will stretch out endlessly while we talk about us. I won't ask you why you haven't given any signs of life or why you didn't reply to my texts or calls.

Strange as it may seem, I still believe in you, and I know that someday you'll be back. I'm not really sure why I'm writing this letter, which you might never read, as I may not dare to send it to you. Perhaps it's just to make sure time does not distort us, to make sure I don't make the stupid mistake of forgetting how happy I was with you and so that you don't forget it either.

Nata

Needless to say, this is not the first letter I've written you. I began writing to you because I remembered that Galeano short story you read to me one night before bed.

You know the one—the three thieves who break into an old man's house and make off with a chest thinking that it's stuffed with notes, but when they manage to pry it open on the banks of a river, they discover all the letters the old man has received throughout the course of his life from the woman who loved him. The thieves argue about what to do with the letters: one suggests tossing them into the river, another suggests burning them, while the third insists that the only thing to do is to return them to their rightful owner.

They decide to resend the letters to the old man, one by one, once a week. And the story comes to a close with a sentence that goes something along the lines of: "Even Saint Peter himself could hear the old man's heartbeat quicken when, in the distance, he could make out the approach of the postman atop a donkey, whose saddlebags contained a love letter addressed to him."

Ever since you read me that story, I've always thought that one day I too might have a little old man in my life to whom I'd send letters and, when we broke up, I suspected that the old man might be you.

I wrote the first one and went out to buy a crimson envelope and a thick sheet of paper to make it pretty. I also bought a felt pen. I wrote it out four or five times until my handwriting was perfect and left it on the kitchen table to send it to you the following day. It was to be the first of many letters you would receive. The next morning, I drove up to the door of the post office, and just as I was about to enter, it dawned on me that I didn't have the letter with me. I'd forgotten it. I went back home for it, and when I entered the kitchen and saw it on top of the table just as I had left it the night before, I thought: It's a sign, Nata. Don't pick up the damn letter, leave it right where it is. I closed the door behind me,  went to work, and on my return that evening, put it in the box where I keep some of your stuff: e-mails, photos of trips we took, and receipts from restaurants we always swore we'd go back to.

Perhaps you are no longer my old man of letters because you won't receive any.

But no matter, you've been my invisible friend since the day you left. You're always with me. I can't see you, but you're there. I can't touch you, but I take you by the hand everywhere I go. You can't hear me, but I talk to you out loud. I tell you what's going on at work, I tell you about my friends' lives, and lately, I've spoken to you about Mauro.

"Seriously, you like that guy?" you ask. "I don't know, Nata, you don't make much of a couple, truth be told."

I explain all about the e-mail and the coffee he wants to grab with me, as well as all of the doubts that assail me when I think about meeting up with him. You reply that there's nothing wrong with meeting up with someone for a coffee. I say sure, sure, I know there's nothing wrong with it, but it seems to me that I'm not yet ready for a relationship.

"A relationship?" you ask, doubling over in laughter. "Nata, meeting up for a coffee with someone is not the same as having a relationship."

I reply that sure, damn it, I know that. You don't have to tell me that, but just in case.

"Just in case what?" You ask.

Nothing. Just in case nothing. A coffee means nothing, but that's not what I meant to say. What I meant to say is that a part of me wants to meet up with Mauro, but another part of me is afraid. I don't know why, but I am. So I'm thinking of drawing up a contract, and if I do end up meeting him, taking it with me to get his signature.

The happiness of Nata Fortuna is hereby guaranteed.

This agreement requires that the signatories have fun, enjoy themselves, travel, and be happy for such time as they are together.

The contracting parties swear that they shall not hurt each other; they shall cry no tears other than tears of laughter; they shall not make each other feel insecure; they shall maintain social relations outside of the couple; they shall not live together in order to avoid boredom; they shall not break up only to get back together and then break up again; and they shall not compare themselves to other couples or let third parties interfere with their relationship.

They agree to talk things over before communication breaks down, and should one party decide that there is someone else in his/her life more worthy than the other contracting party, the other contracting party shall understand and accept such circumstance without drama or pain.

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Very interesting as it seems that Beto still has a hold over her.
I wonder if she'll ever get over him?
Please vote and comment your opinions.
Until tomorrow....

Ciao.