Puerto Rocan Spark... A Gulp

The sweat was just beginning to soak into his thin button up shirt. The warm Puerto Rican afternoon sun was behind his shoulders keeping a small shadow in front of him that just barely stayed ahead of him as he took the next step forward away from work and towards the Metro and his apartment.
He’d been following the same path for three years. He hardly noticed anymore the 17th century Spanish style building that he left his second floor air conditioned office. It was that buildings and the countless others surrounding it that drew tourists attention and pictures, not to mention the local casino, ritzy hotels, Hard Rock Café, and numerous little souvenir stores, where the store owners bought the trash for five dollars a dozen and sold them for ten dollars each, while the tourists snatched them up as fast as possible marveling at how cheap everything is ‘down here’.
It took a while to get used to the tourists, they walk slow, and have a tendency to stop in the middle of the road, sidewalk, or even doorway to engage in in-depth conversations about how aunt Mabel would love that, or Cousin Frank doesn’t like whiskey as a souvenir, or the minute benefits of one restaurant over the other.
By this time, Richard learned to watch the people and anticipate this erratic “I’m on vacation” behavior. He could sidestep old couples, spring breakers, and even honeymooners with amazing ease and agility. They never seemed to realize that some people actually work here, and with thousands arriving from the cruise ships every day, he was not the one to educate every one of them that at the end of the day, he just wanted to get home, prop up his feet, open a beer, and see how the Chicago Bears did.
For being an Illinois farm boy about five years out of college he never would have imagined living in a suburb of San Juan, Puerto Rico and working for the wealthiest bank on the island as they are about to make a debut in Miami, Tallahassee, and New York this year. His college internship with its parent company and becoming great friends with the regional manager landed him in the nicest just out-of-the-dorms job ever.

This particular day, be it Wednesday, or Tuesday, he did not remember which. It didn’t matter, all he knew was that it wasn’t Friday, so his buddy won’t be calling him trying to drag him off to some local college party, trying to sneak in and get some free beers and get close to a few college girls while they still looked young enough to.
He was warily watching the lady in front of him with an obnoxious red hat and about twenty bags, no doubt filled with items for her grandchildren, when his cell phone went off. He ducked to the first park bench and pulled out his phone. It was his boss telling him about something he needed for tomorrow. As his boss talked, and Richard absently watched the surging humanity around him, suddenly everything seemed to stop.
Richard no longer heard his bosses words, all thoughts of the red hatted grandmother drained away like the bathwater after the plug is pulled. Walking amid the overly tanned, and burned tourists, was a young woman, with a ruffled tan skirt and a red tank top. Her long curly hair waterfalled to her shoulders onto her back. It followed her like a faithful fan following its favorite singer.
In her hand she held a book, Richard was too far away to see the title. He wasn’t paying attention to the title, it was her face that captivated him. The large warm brown eyes, the smooth sun kissed skin, and the dusty rose lips that held themselves in a shy smile. She seemed to float through the crowd, and they, unknowingly, parted before her presence. She was still in a previous moment; it lingered around her like a rich perfume, and made her oblivious to the obnoxious tourists that surround her now.

Richard stared at her as she walked by like one who has seen a vision. In a town where so many people try to make themselves glamorous copied of Jennifer Lopez and Shakira, here walked a girl that put all those attempts to shame. She was a masterpiece marble statue to everyone else’s preschool play dough attempts.
Richard did not hear his boss finish and hang up. He did not hear the nearby couple deciding whether a steak dinner will be too heavy in this heat. He didn’t see anyone, or have a thought until the strange girl disappeared in the crowd and around a corner.
A few minutes later, when the phone’s contact on his ear formed a drop of sweat that fell to his shoulder, did he awake from his trance. He stood, walked through the crowd and to his awaiting tram, still preoccupied with this girl. Only when he fell asleep that night, did his mind finally release its hold of this strange girl that kept him wondering, thinking of her, and hoping to see her again.

The next day he left work at the same time. He did not work well that day, for he hatched a plan soon after he arrived, then impatiently awaited the rest of the day to go by so he could implement it. He left work again and sat down on the same bench, watching the crowd, scanning, and for the first time in a very long time looking at the faces of people as they surged and receded past, much like the ocean currents that swirl around the island.
As he sat, he was confident that his plan would work, and he would see the girl again, but as he sat and more faces than he could count passed, and the sun started in earnest toward the horizon, Richard had to give up, and made his way back to the train and his apartment.
Doubts started creeping into his mind. Would he see her again, is she just another tourist who is probably a million miles away back in her boyfriends arms? What is the use of seeing someone once, only to never see them again. Like seeing the room where the Mona Lisa rests without getting the satisfaction of looking upon that mysterious smile personally. Was she an illusion? He was a little dehydrated yesterday. He went to bed that night just as preoccupied as before.
Friday he went to work the same as usual, he flirted with Stacy the secretary with two elementary age kids, and joked around with Jose that when they are both in New York they were going to catch a Knicks game. As he was walking home, his cell phone rang, it was Charlie, his college party-seeking buddy. Richard answered, knowing the usual routine, uncertain as of yet if he wanted to go party, or just stay in.
He sat down on a bench as the skies started threatening a late afternoon shower. Charlie was busy convincing Richard that it was recruit week, where the frat houses open to freshmen new recruits, and there are always girls that week, when she walked by again. Richard continued to hear Charlie’s words, but they held no meaning.
Everyone else’s movement slowed, and blurred, as she walked by in her flowing skirt, sandals, and tank top. As she passed she absent mindedly played with the charm on her necklace. Some of her hair was held back with a strategically placed pencil, while the rest made its signature dark waterfall like descent to her shoulders and back. Richard did not realize he stopped breathing until she turned the corner.

He’d been with girls before, in High School being the good athlete he was made the goal or envy of just about every girl in school. College he had his share of girls he met at parties. He even dated a girl named Emily for two months after signing up for a Humanities course just so he could sit by her, and later ask her out. Never mind the fact that the Humanities did nothing to help him in his business degree, and he remembered nothing from the class other than the professor liked to speak softly, and she wore too many bracelets.
He’d known all kinds of females and dated many of them. But this one seemed different, like all the women before were only girls to this true woman. Truly mysterious woman. She stepped in and filled his mind so completely, that Richard did not realize he agreed to join Charlie tonight, and the Richard was going to provide the ride, and therefore be the DD. He just signed up for a boring night of watching his buddies get trashed and try to hook up with girls that would never give them a second look if they didn’t have a little alcohol in their systems. ‘
This gave Richard plenty of time to think of his mysterious girl. He already checked every girl here, making sure she wasn’t there by accident. He was trying to figure out if she was a tourist here for a few days, or maybe a local college student, or something.
By the end of the night, his clothes were permeated with smoke, he’d seen one girl and two guys throw up off the edge of the porch, and was exhausted with constant thinking of her. After dropping Charlie off at home, he wondered what was so special about her, before closing his eyes in his own bed and falling asleep.
Monday he was unusually nervous, and if anyone were to ask, Richard would just blow it off like it’s nothing. Fortunately, everyone was too concerned with the recent building problems with the Miami beach location to realize that Richard couldn’t stop tapping his pencil, moving his legs, or standing up a bit too quickly and jerky.
He didn’t even realize the extent of his nervousness, until after work when he made an almost straight bee line for a bench and unconsciously decided that he would stay here until midnight if it meant that she wasn’t just a tourist that left already.
This time he started breathing when she walked by. This time she was wearing jean shorts that showed off her tanned calves, a form fitting t-shirt, and the same captivating face that made Richard wish he could be nothing more than a pair of eyes to watch that face forever. He would have given his whole first years salary to know what it was that made her smile like that.
It became a daily ritual to leave work, sit on a bench and wait. He soon learned that if he had his cell phone out and randomly pretended to talk to someone on the other line, he could people watch as much as he wanted without getting stared back at, not that he really cared to notice anyone except the girl.
She would show up two or three times a week, sometimes on a Tuesday, sometimes on a Friday, or some other day. Each time he would stare as she walked by, and each evening he would beat himself up wondering why he can’t approach this girl, and say something, anything.
After three weeks, he mustered up the courage to walk behind her as she passed. Her hair left a fragrant trail that Richard breathed in like a man who never before took a breath and now was presented the most beautiful rose in the world.
He would do this once a week, the other times he’d just sit and watch her pass. He started noticing the days she had a reading book in her hand, the days she had a sketch pad, and the days her hands were free, swinging with the loose freedom that the Puerto Rican days give.
It was two moths to the day that Richard finally figured out a way to approach the girl. He’d been working on it for quite some time, and had no idea how to make an introduction that wouldn’t frighten her. After all this time, he felt so much for this woman he never said one word to. He desperately did not want that one word to be the wrong one, and mess everything up.
He decided that sooner or later he would have to approach this woman, or waste the rest of his life staring a random tourists waiting for her to randomly pass by. The next day he spent his whole lunch hour scribbling on a piece of paper, erasing something, circling something else, and sometimes just throwing the whole paper away.
He left work twenty minutes early, and waited anxiously by a palm tree by the bench that he usually sat at.

He knew for sure that she would pass that day, and when he saw her approaching, he tried his best not to stare. As she passed by him, he stepped forward and said the words that he had been practicing since he brushed his teeth that morning.
“Excuse me miss, this is from the gentleman who usually sits on that bench. He wanted you to have this.”
He then released his clammy grip on a white flower tipped in red and a card in a white envelope tied closed with a bit of ribbon thanks to the suggestion of the flower shop girl.
Richard couldn’t even look completely in her eyes, once she had the flower, he turned and walked away as fast and as dignified as possible. He didn’t even know how his words sounded; he practiced them so many times before, that they completely lost their meaning.
His retreating back saw a brown hand slip inside the envelope, open the card, and read the words. “My sun does not rise until my eyes see you” -RD.
Richard was breathing hard, like he just finished working out by the time he reached the corner. He wanted desperately to look behind him, but instead forced his feet to the tram and home.
The next few days he changed his usual spot from the bench to a palm tree further down the block, where he could still have a clear view of his old sitting spot. Again he held his cell phone to his ear, carrying on fake conversations should anyone look over at him. It wasn’t until two days after he approached her that she walked past again.
He was afraid that he scared her away. She slowed when she approached the bench he used to sit at. She stopped for a moment, starting at the bench like someone was there. Then she laid something down and walked away. He stared intently at her until she turned to leave, then he dropped and pretended to tie his shoe, praying a divided prayer that she would look over and recognize him, and also desperately praying that she wouldn’t see him.
Soon after the swish of her skirt passed, and the perfume faded, he walked back to the bench. Sitting alone on the bench he saw a coffee mug with the emblem of a elite local university known for its eccentric artists.
The mug was filled with hard candies each wrapped in brightly colored foil. He took the cup and held it like it was an elf gift and might vanish if he took his eyes off of it. That night, while watching the ten o’clock news, he opened the first candy.

About a week later, the mug sat on his desk, when he fished his hand in it to grab another candy, and his finger brushed across something. He stopped typing, and looked at the mug. He dumped the remainder of the candies on his desk. Along with brightly colored foil, there was a small ripped piece of paper.
In curled handwriting, it said Juanita’s Kitchen 7pm. His blood ran cold, there was no day to meet. Did she expect him to be there that first day, did he miss his chance, it was over a week later, is there any hope now? For the first time in months he went straight home that night, changed his clothes as soon as he got in, grabbed his car keys and left again.
Juanita’s Kitchen was located about a mile from the university that marked its stamp on his mug. He parked and sat in a corner table near the back. It was about 6:20.
He soon realized that there was no way he was just going to be able to quietly sit there, The waitress was over four times, continually asking if he wanted something to drink. There was a group of noisy students re-enacting parts of a new movie that recently came out to the entertainment of all. And the radio in the back kitchen was droning salsa music. This was one of the points where Richard started realizing that he was more removed than he thought from college life.
In his hey-day none of that would have bothered him. He sat there caught up in his own worried until about 7:05 when he said he would finish his Pepsi that the waitress kept refilling, pay his bill and split. He was finishing off his drink when the bell rang announcing someone’s entrance.
Richard looked up and saw her. She wore her smile as easily as her white button down shirt and rose colored skirt. As usual she carried a sketch pad in her hands. She chose a table up near the entrance and for a moment was hidden behind the noisy group of students.
She set her tablet down, greeted the waitress like she would a friend, and looked around the restaurant as soon as the waitress walked away. Her eyes caught Richards almost immediately. The small hints of worry vanished in a smile that made her eyes shimmer.
She waved, he reciprocated an awkward one back. He had an uncomfortable feeling, like a middle schooler going to his first dance. His fight or flight instincts kicked in as she approached. He stood when she got close; she stepped near him, and gave him a one-armed embrace and a soft kiss on the cheek, common for people from the island, but still a little new for an Illinois boy.
He held out the chair for her to sit. Conversation flowed easily for her, and Richard often would lose track of the words spoken and simply listen to the rhythm of her voice, the movement of her hands, and the light in her eyes as she spoke.
He learned that she’s from the southern end of the island, from a farm. Her brother is a police officer in New York, and her parents are convinced she is going to be a great artist. Three quarters of the way through the evening, he said something that surprised her. She stopped, then laughed. As soon as he heard it, he decided he wanted to hear that laugh every day.
He did not notice the waitress, the college student’s exit, or anything until, the waitress was standing beside them telling them that the restaurant was closing. They stood; Richard walked her back to campus, then backtracked back to the closed restaurant and his car. He floated that whole night.
Their next date was scheduled for next Wednesday. It was his decision of what to do. It was a risky move, but he got off of work early that day, picked her up, and headed to the baseball diamond. The local season was underway, and he wanted to see what kind of a sports fan she was. Her brother must have taught her well. She followed the game, and they again talked on about everything and nothing.
That Friday she stopped him outside of his office as he was leaving to go home. She said to leave Sunday afternoon open. They took a walk through the historic district and sat on the towers of the old wall that still stood from when San Juan was a Spanish military post 400 years ago. They watched the sun set, and had their first kiss. Life could not get better in Richard’s Puerto Rican paradise.