“What a fascinating woman,” I thought as I entered the bathroom before the taxi arrived to pick me up, “she has a gift for making me speak, fluently and without inhibitions, about almost anything.” In the years we have been in contact through Facebook, the famous, and in more detail by e-mail, we have written each other about our hardships and glories; loves and breakups; children, siblings and parents; dreams and fears; etc. since the adolescence, when we last saw each other, until today. Also, we have captivated each other’s mind with witty comments as well as pertinent and wise writings when we perceive in the other a need for exhortation, encouragement, scolding, compliments, or simple attention and affection. We have expressed in prose, poetry, and even images; directly, by metaphors, or lyrics. However, in this first reencounter, enriched with voice tones and enthusiastic gestures; enhanced with exquisite gazes, smiles, and even grimaces, other memories, experiences and emotions have been gushing forward. I’m exhausted from laughing, crying, thinking, and discussing. What a friend! This evening has been like a marathon, and all we have left is the sad goodbye, hopefully not for ever or for decades as the last one.”
I walked out of the bathroom and found her sleeping placidly on her comfortable reclining chair, her likely companion for reading, and for a thousand sleepless nights, watching TV, talking with friends or waiting for the happy and comforting return, of certain little clone, from some party.
“What does one do in these cases?” I asked myself in silence. The peacefulness of her sleep is so heavenly that it would be a crime to wake her up. On the other hand, leaving without seeing her magical way of looking one more time would be sad, and going without saying goodbye, discourteous. Although, in reality, we did say goodbye; I just asked for the restroom before starting my return to the hotel in the city. Besides, she turned off her world while I was inside there, it couldn’t be more than a couple of minutes, including the nostalgic contemplation of my image in the mirror, the only familiar thing in this far away suburb, of this enormous and strange city, and this odd-customs country. Her day was very tiring even before seeing me: first at her job, and then were the buying, and the painstaking preparations for receiving me in her home.
I contemplated her in all her splendor for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. Her face reflected the peace of a baby, “like a little angel,” as my grandmother would put it. Receiving me in her very far away home and as family was very flattering. But falling asleep during my visit clearly showed the trust I’ve earned in her mind and heart.
Now, being alone in a house full of sleeping creatures (even the pet), I realized how easy would have been to say goodbye at a restaurant in town.
I should just kiss her forehead and say “thank you, my friend, and goodbye” and leave stealthily. But there is a cute curly lock of hair on the way and moving it with my hand would imply, almost inevitably, a caress that could very well be interpreted as an impudence, crossing the threshold of our friendship, so long in time, but incipient in person.
Her radiant beauty was growing too fast, like nurtured by my silent admiration and complicated considerations. “I’d better hurry up.”
Her head, slightly leaning to the right over her nape, made it impossible to kiss that cheek. The left one looked too illuminated and obvious, almost insipid. It was then when I was attracted to an impossibly perfect spot, between the chin and the left cheek, just below the end of her thick inferior lip, lightly reddened by the exquisite wine that went with dinner, table talk, and then accompanied us to those cozy chairs separated by a little table, very adequate to talk with a friend, but decidedly hindering if it were a couple in love.
I had never thought about how hard it is to kiss a woman that is awake, with all her defense mechanisms active: the intention analysis, the projection of potential outcomes, the circumstance evaluation, and many more. All under the relentless supervision of her effective intuition that can only be paused, lessened or distracted for short moments through a very smart conversation, drinks, perfect circumstances, deep glances, etc. or a masterful combination of several. Luckily, we were designed to survive as a species, and once a woman has been kissed correctly and her heart rightfully won, she goes blind and loves her fortunate conqueror extravagantly, even if he’s ugly.
“But, what am I thinking? if I only want to say goodbye, honorably, to a loved and adored friend. To a wonderful woman that lives in a world that is distant and distinct from mine,” I reasoned in a reconciliatory tone.
“The cheek is for common friends and the mouth for her lover, when she founds him,” I thought a bit jealous, while I tasted the last sip of wine, like ending the session and gaining courage, “I am between the two.”
“I kiss you on the left side because that’s the one you left accessible, dear friend. From below to demonstrate my admiration and respect for you, adored friend. Close to your mouth so you don’t forget me, and because I love the words that come out from it. Gently, to grant you my comprehension to your abandonment, and calmly, to give you my forgiveness in case you need it, sleepy pal,” I thought while I kissed her briefly but forcefully, and a little above than I had planned, covering part of her lip and feeling a shiver as a consequence.
“Rest, my dear friend, I love you.” I whispered immediately, a little frightened, while I slowly withdrew from her skin watching her potent, indecipherable and mystic countenance. If I could faithfully paint this magnificent image of the sleeping beauty who did not awake with a kiss, it would be one of the most impressive paintings ever made, and that’s how it’s going to be hung in the gallery of my heart, beside that other picture from her adolescence, which I watch so full of affection every time she writes to me.
I grabbed my coat sighing and left silently, closing everything and guessing the obscure way to the street. My careful steps emitted the only sound in the cold and foggy January night. “People must only dream with mimes in this neighborhood,” I murmured enviously visualizing the centric and bustling all-stop corner in my beloved city of La Paz. The taxi that she called before falling asleep arrived in exactly half an hour, as she was told and as one should expect. After greeting and instructing the chauffeur in a dumb and already inappropriate English, I immersed in complicated feelings and emotions triggered by the memory of the prankish and hardly explainable kiss I had just given.
Suddenly, I saw the whole story of our delightful friendship. “Oh my God!” I thought alarmed. “They say that when you are dying, you see your whole life in an instant. This kiss is as eloquent as death, I hope it’s not as lethal” I pondered with a big grin.
“I hope she never asks” I meditated imploringly. “How can a few miserable fractions of an inch make such an enormous difference? And how can an inert lip make me tremble with its touch? How can she, being asleep, leave me speechless? Then, how would her kiss, full of intention, be? Oh my friend, I love you plenty more than I thought, and today I’ve learn that even if I’m never yours, I’ll always be.” I muttered resigned.
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“I was weary and falling into a deep and vivid dream,” I thought aloud, trying to explain what had happened, “I was in a sunny and colorful coast that my imagination created, perhaps based on the description of your beaches, when I felt your kiss, soft, warm, and unexpected. It left slight moisture with the fragrance of wine that lasted an instant. It was brief but intense. It produced goose bumps and awakened my femininity from a prolonged lethargy, even before your thick lips separated from my skin and your mustache tickled my lip, chin, and cheek. I hope you didn’t notice it. My first reaction was to complain with a condemnatory stare and maybe even one of those aggressive and hurtful phrases that I sometimes say before thinking. The second reaction, fractions of a second later, was to grab your nape with my hand, impede your coward escape until you gave me an explanation, surely absurd but amusing. But between the intoxicating sensation of the kiss, the profound dream-state, and your velvety farewell words, I managed to stay silent and still, enjoying the effervescent sensations you provoked. Never had a kiss caused such an impact in me. Because it took me by surprise, perhaps? Or because I was half-asleep? Or was it the unexpected, inappropriate, and even adventurous what made it so special? I can’t believe that at this stage of my life, a simple kiss in the skin can cause such physical reactions, mental confusion, and emotional revolution. You have been, are, and always will be a friend, nothing more. I can pretend that I was sleeping so deeply that I never felt your kiss, so I don’t have to enquire, but I would never know why you did it and curiosity is killing me... ‘In one kiss I knew all what I’ve silenced’ I said smiling and paraphrasing Pablo Neruda’s quote ‘In one kiss, you will know all I have silenced.’ But if I ask you, I will have to explain why I did not wake up to say goodbye.”
“Mischievous friend, when I thought you had opened, discovered, understood and written all what I am, you have enliven a new me that we are just about to discover. That is why you are the friend, but what am I going to do with you? What am I going to tell you? You should have woken me up, villain! Better not.” I added with a surprisingly throaty voice, as I closed Facebook, defeated, at least for one more day….
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“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear friend! I’m sorry for not saying goodbye the other night, but I was exhausted and fell asleep. Huge hug your way.
PS. That night I dreamt that you kissed me in my sleep.”
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“I, on the other hand, have dreamt it every night since. Happy Valentine’s Day, my beloved one!”
The End
This story is fictitious, so any resemblance to real places or persons is mere coincidence, at least until it happens.
Painting: The Subtle Kiss, by Alejandra Morante
This is one of my first published stories, in the February 2012 issue of the Nice Magazine. It is also my first invented writing. I made it up since they requested a story that would mix "Friends" and "Lovers" (since Valentine's in México is as much for friends as it is for couples in love and they wanted the whole issue to be about it) and I didn't have an anecdote which met their expectations.
I had not uploaded it to this blog before, because it's been controversial. My wife received comments of concern from close friends and relatives, as if it were an anecdote, rather than fiction. This was partly due to my section being called Anecdotary and partly due to my"clever" disclaimer at the end, which was funny, but evidendtly not clear enough. On the other hand, the feedback from people (strangers) who read the magazine was abundant and motivating. I have written mostly fiction, since.
Alejandra Morante did this painting inspired in the story and hung it in La Toscana pizza place. when I learned this, I went to see it maybe buy it, but it had just been sold that morning. It was still on the wall so I watched for a long while. Years later, the buyer of the painting moved back to the States and left the painting to be hung at La Morante Art Bar on consignment to be sold. The moment I saw it, I enquired about it in order to buy it. Again, it had been sold already, but not taken off the wall yet. This time, however, the new buyer of The Subtle Kiss was Ana, my wife, who gave it to me in our wedding anniversary a few weeks later.
It´s now in the wall above our bed, so I assume the story has been forgiven and is now publishable.