HISTORIAS Manuel Espejo
The Lady in Red
In the innocent days of our childhood, we were inseparable. We shared the same school, the same class, and our days were woven with laughter and shared secrets. We played together, unburdened by the complexities of the adult world. I recall how some of my friends, wrapped in a veneer of machismo, teased me, warning that if I continued to spend time with the girls, my "tail" would fall off. I paid them no heed, for I cherished our friendship. It wasn't the company of other girls I sought; it was hers. When I last saw her, the specifics elude my memory. It was likely before her parents transferred her to a prestigious school in the city center. They probably believed it offered better prospects than our neighborhood school, teeming with people like us—lacking resources, living in poverty, and, as some would say, destined for mediocrity. I made inquiries about her from our mutual friends, but the information was sparse. All they could tell me was that she had changed schools. Some insinuated that I had fallen in love with her, and I couldn't help but blush at the mere suggestion. The embarrassment led me to cease my inquiries, and I never crossed paths with her again.
As the years passed, life unfurled its tapestry of joys and sorrows. I completed my high school education, and given my decent academic aptitude, they convinced me to pursue a university education. Initially, I was hesitant, burdened by familial financial responsibilities. My family was teetering on the precipice of financial ruin, and I, as the eldest of four siblings, felt the weight of this obligation acutely. My father's passing had further exacerbated our financial plight.
Upon obtaining my university degree, I quickly secured a job, a stroke of good fortune that would forever shape my path. I had navigated the challenging waters of combining work and study while shouldering a fatherly role. Remarkably, everything seemed to fall into place. Within a couple of years, my career soared to new heights, and prosperity flowed my way. It was a reality I had never dared to dream of just a few years prior. I recall expressing my profound gratitude to my boss, expressing how incredibly fortunate I felt to be part of his firm. His response was simple yet profound: "You're not lucky; you've earned it."
During my student years, I encountered some remarkable women, though our paths did not intersect harmoniously. It appeared that I lacked what they sought, and I felt ill-equipped to provide it. Later, as my financial standing improved dramatically, I found myself in a different position. Now, it seemed that women were more interested in me. Yet, I was no longer the one in pursuit; I had become the selective one. Suddenly, I was in search of the perfect woman—someone with whom I could build a family and raise children. My perception of women had evolved significantly in just a matter of years.
One fateful evening, I attended a colleague's party, where familiar faces gathered. Even amid the merriment, something extraordinary occurred. My eyes locked onto a figure across the room, and I couldn't believe what—or rather, who—I was seeing. It had to be her. Despite the twelve or thirteen years that had passed since our last encounter, the transformation from child to woman, it had to be her. I couldn't tear my gaze away, and it seemed she was equally captivated. Recognition dawned on both of us like a beacon in the night. It felt miraculous, a reunion after countless years.
A colleague queried, "John, do you know her?" Oblivious to his inquiry, I was spellbound. I moved toward her, as if drawn by an invisible force, and uttered a simple greeting, "Hi, it's been a long time, hasn't it?" She responded with a smile, initially wordless, her eyes speaking volumes. Gradually, the smile broadened, verging on laughter, and without uttering a word, she drew near, her arms enveloping my shoulders as she kissed my cheeks, one after the other. Pulling back slightly, she regarded me from head to toe and remarked, "You look the same, yet you're different." A pause, and then, "I've missed you so much." I was left momentarily speechless, a rarity for me as a lawyer. I usually knew exactly what to say, but this time, my thoughts were scrambled. I managed to utter, "I've missed you too."
That night, we were worlds away from the revelry around us. We talked throughout the night, as we had so much to share. It may not have been the right thing to do, leaving the party behind to find solace in each other, but at that moment, nothing else or no one else mattered. For both of us, there was only each other.
That night remains etched in my memory, our first night—the night she wore that enchanting red dress—the inception of our real life together.