Page 52 of Sombra
I understand Dani, but it could be all the wine.
She continues, “Here’s what I think is so interesting. The subconscious mind is more powerful. Way more powerful than our conscious. If we think we want something, but our subconscious says no way, we’ll never get it. That’s why people stay in ruts. They don’tchange on the underlying level. And the reverse is true. If we’re subconsciously attracted to someone, even if our conscious mind can think of all these reasons not to be, the subconscious will win every time. And the subconscious is what animates your body.”
She makes perfect sense. My conscious developed a relationship with Shane. My subconscious wants Tavo. And I can’t have him. Notmorally. Not ethically. Not anything.
I’m getting drunk.
No. Scratch that. I am drunk.
And drowsy. So drowsy.
Alcohol and comfort in the arms of a man I can’t have. Shouldn’t have.
When I rub my eyes one too many times, Tavo signals to the waiter, pays our bill with this funny-colored money—I’m still not used to Euros—and puts his arm around me as we walk backtoward the car.
As we leave, I hear Dani say, “What a great couple. I’m so glad Tavo found someone.”
I don’t have it in me to correct her.
As we head backto the car, we walk through a vacant, wide plaza. I ask Tavo, who’s a little blurry, “How come no oneelse is drunk?”
“Spaniards just get happy.Feliz. We sing. We don’t get drunk.” He pulls me toward the end of the plaza. “This way.”
I stumble down the street, holding onto him to keep from swaying. My heels make a clip-clop noise on the cobblestones. He smiles and kisses the top of my head, helping me along.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to embarrass you,” I slur.
“You’renot embarrassing. You’re cute.”
Cute. I think I like it that Tavo thinks I’m cute.
Once we make it down the end of the block, we enter another plaza. This one’s typically European—or at least what I always pictured as typically European—with a central fountain, lit-up restaurants on all sides, and a band playing in the middle.
So many people are out. And tonight, they’re dancing.The crowd claps along with the music, whistling and singing and moving their feet. A few women in longer skirts hold the ends up at their waists, their other hand held proudly over their head as they dance. The men stand, moving their feet and clapping. Horns sound. Guitar. And singing.
It’s so crowded, we can’t make it through the plaza without pushing our way. So, Tavo being Spanish,joins in. He pulls his shoulders back, swivels his head to the side, and brings his hands up to clap by his ear.
I burst out laughing, and put my hands to my mouth, not wanting to make him feel bad. I’m not laughing at him, I’m laughing with joy. I’m laughing because this is what I wanted to feel—the spontaneous nature of Spain. A different culture full of love and rhythm and joy and laughter.Something organic and natural and steeped in history. Not plastic and artificial. Something sensuous and deep.
Tavo leans over to my ear, his mouth brushing against it. “I teach you.” He lifts his chin. His warm body is right there. Right here. Pressed next to me in this plaza full of people. I can see the veins on his forearms and the back of his hands. Holding my hands, he shows me howto clap, with a little hollow in the middle so it’s louder.
Then he demonstrates. It’s so loud.
“Now, you.”
“Now, me—what?”
“Clap.”
I do, and my hands become a musical instrument. I become part of the night. I walk around him clapping, as he stands still, watching me move. When the song ends, all too quickly, I’m delighted, and I wrap my arms around his neck.He pulls me into him, placing his arms on my lower back. And now his narrow hips sway with a slower song. A lament.
How does he feel in my arms? Holding me? Unbelievable. Perfection. Like he’s made for me. He guides me around the crowd, and I realize that we’re actually headed in the right direction for the car. We’re just doing it dancing.
His dark eyes pierce me in the night. Hisheat radiates off him. My hands relish the softness of the back of his neck, the fact that I can put my arms around his strong shoulders in public. His scruff brushes against my cheek.
My breath speeds up. His hands tighten on me, but then his grip changes to subtly push me back. I scrunch my eyes so tight, because this is real.
But we shouldn’t.
