The American

Chapter Four

We step into the night, into a city brimming with more life than us. The streets extend infinitely and without a formula, like they are there for us to get lost in. It is nearly midnight but I can hear in the nearby pavements conversations in Spanish and Catalan, exchanged over a cup of cerveza or vino tinto. Teo leads us through the narrow cobblestone roads, but it is like a journey through time. Exquisite traces of the town's history are planted in its every recess, in the dilapidated buildings, in its historical architecture and in the avenues that seem at best the byproduct of mere happenstance rather than intricate urban planning.

It is at our first bar that I learn that Teo, despite being from Málaga, is fluent in Catalan. He is speaking to the bartender, who he seems to know quite well.

I slide onto the stool beside him. "Three languages. Impressive."

He chuckles, turning to face me. "Don't be so impressed, Margarita. It is not so uncommon here."

The bartender, Lucas, is quick to fix our drinks. When put before us, Teo takes one of the shot glasses for himself and motions for me to take the other. "Chupito," he says, pointing to the drink.

"Chupito," I repeat, taking the shot glass into my hand.

"It is how we say shot, the Spanish style."

I laugh a little, causing the drink to spill into my fingers. "Thousands of words in the Spanish dictionary and that is the first one you teach me?"

"I'm starting with the basics, of course."

I shake my head in amusement, clinking my glass with his. "To learning more words like chupito."

He smiles, clinking his glass back. "To learning more words like chupito."

It takes us five chupitos before I am hysterical. We are on our sixth drink when Teo's best friend, Francisco, joins us. "Is this her, the Americana?" he asks—but I can barely focus on formalities without first indulging my desire to kiss somebody under the stars, merely for the poetry of it all. I am rummaging the bar for a potential victim when I notice the delicate blush coating Teo's cheeks.

"Francisco, meet Margarita," he says. "Margarita, Francisco."

"Nice to meet you, Margarita," Francisco says. He is smiling at me—at my restlessness.

"We'll have to meet another time," I say. "When I haven't had five chupitos, courtesy of Mr. Riaza here."

"Don't tell me you've been getting her drunk all night, Teodor."

"Yeah, why have you been getting me drunk all night, Teodor?"

"Let me show you?" he requests. He offers me his hand, which I am a little too eager to take. Francisco laughs at us as we clumsily make our way to the dance floor. There is something about the way our bodies intertwine, as if decades of concealed nostalgia is incarnating under the sinful lights in the form of our bodily harmony. An indecipherable song palpitating behind us, all I can hear is the distant sound of Teo's laughter, so close and yet so far—and suddenly it is like I have done this dance before, with this very boy. I want to ask him if he feels it too, this uncanny familiarity, but how can I? I have known him for less than a day.

Once we exhaust ourselves, we find Francisco at his very spot on the bar, with a boy I later come to know as Ansu. Within seconds, I fall in love with Teo's friends. Their spirit, their energy, their laughter—it is a stark contrast to my friends in America, who, despite their loveliness, are consumed by the culture of prestige. With the boys, it is like we have everything even when we have nothing but our conversations to carry us along.

We crawl through the city, from one club to another, until it is finally time to part ways. Then it is just Teo and I, pressed against the fading Catalan night.

I want to call Mario and tell him how wrong he is, how ludicrous it is for him to suggest that I am at risk of falling in love with Teo. After all, love is far more invasive when it arrives. It is not intended to happen so fast, on the banks of the Onyar with Teo's lips dangling a piece of lighted cigarette. Behind us, the river flows gracefully under the illuminating moonlight. 

"What a night," he says with a sigh.

"What a night," I say breathlessly.

A cloudless night above us, we are met with a rush of the late night breeze. I can feel its every motion on my skin, in addition to the heat emanating off of Teo's body, as we are sitting along the bank, our thighs inches apart. He turns to meet my eye. "It's like it was meant to happen, you know?"

I smile at the idealism associated with his words, an idealism that I am far too used to hearing on the lips of my father. "You are quite the romantic, aren't you?"

He shrugs, dropping his cigarette. "How can you not be, when you live to see nights like these?"

"But we are so young, Teo. We have our whole lives for romance."

"Are you honestly telling me that you have no interest in falling in love, Margarita?"

"Is there a reason you are asking me? It's not like we are going to fall in love anytime soon."

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "Of course not."

Of course we're not. Because tonight, we are nothing. Tonight, I am nothing more than an exuberant soul confined in a finite body, seeing the world through desire. I am open to many fleeting pleasures, but it is far too soon for love.

✫

Author's Note: Omg, I finished the chapter. It is 11:26 and I finished the chapter with 34 minutes to spare. I am super proud of myself. But ahhhh, knowing how much I rushed this, this chapter is probably total shit. I'll look at it later, when I am ready to take on this mess that I have created. I hope you guys enjoyed it regardless! Please vote and comment and leave your thoughts, hehe.