Summer In Barcelona

Prologue

Some people say it takes six months to be classified as depressed. Jorge didn't quite get why people put a time limit on depression, he had known he wasn't just sad when he had last interest in doing what he loved. Painting. He hadn't painted something in weeks, his paintbrushes clean and away, his paints drying out like the sheets he hung on the line. He tucked a strand of tray hair behind his bandana, sighing quietly. he guessed he should water the plants on the balcony. It took him ten minutes to convince himself to actually get up. The water can was almost empty, the bottom holding bits of dirt from when the wind blew the soil into it. Now he had to rinse it out and refill it if he wanted to give the plants fresh water. He put the can back, deciding to do it the next day. By then the flowers might be dead, but he didn't care. He laid in bed, only to have someone knock on his door. He groaned. Was there ever a moment of silence in this cobblestone prison? Jorge pushed himself up, walking to the door. He didn't even know who it could be. He opened the door, falling into the prettiest hazel eyes he had ever seen.

"Hola, senor?" he said questionably. Jorge frowned.

"Hola?" he replied.

"Soy Benji, me mudé en la puerta de al lado y pensé que sería agradable conocer a alguien" (I'm Benji, I just moved in next door and thought it'd be nice to meet someone) he said unsurely. Jorge nodded.

"Soy Jorge" he nodded. Benji smiled as though that was the best thing he had ever heard.

"Uh, um, Encantado de conocerte!" (nice to meet you) he informed. Jorge nodded, unable to keep from smiling at him.

"Tú también" he replied. Benji nodded, still smiling. "¿Te gustaría entrar hace calor aquí afuera?" he asked his hand perched on his hip. Benji looked confused, his smile a little less sure. "Would you like inside hot...out here" he tried to translate, since his English wasn't that good. Benji perked up.

"You know English! I'm so glad, my Spanish isn't that good and yes, maybe moving to Barcelona wasn't that great of an idea, but you know Paris was busy and I don't know French" he explained. It was Jorge's turn to look confused. "Mi español apesta" he reiterated. Jorge laughed, moving aside so Benji could step into his small apartment.