My Soul - Mi Alma (Ongoing)

3 Mick

We arrived at my house. His hotel was just a block down the same street.  

"You want to come in for a drink?  It's only the housekeeper and my dog's home."

"You live in your grandparents' house," he asked a bit surprised – I had almost forgotten that his family knew mine from Spain. 

My dad is American, but my mother's family emigrated to the US in 1973 during the Franco dictatorship in Spain. Our two families had been close in the old days before my grandparents moved here.

When my grandmother died five years ago, I inherited the house, a 100 years old Upper Eastside townhouse, and Mick and I moved in here when we married. It is what the real-estate ads call charming and unique – meaning there is a lot of work that needs to be done on the house to make it contemporary.

"I would love to come for a glass of wine; maybe we should just drop the restaurant dinner, and cook something here"  he looked at me with hopeful eyes. 

"I think I have some steaks and veggies in the fridge, so why not?" I smirked at him, and as my mother's daughter, I keep the wine-cellar well stocked. 

My two delighted dogs greeted us enthusiastically. "Goya! Maya! Sit and greet our guest nicely. Goya – don't jump!" I sent Carlos an apologetic glance. Maya is Goyas' daughter, and they are always very happy when there are visitors in the house. Carlos burst out in a roaring laughter, "Alma I don't know anyone else but you who would name their dogs after a painter and his mistress." 

"My mamas' dog is named Sir Francis Bacon," I said with a shrug – "so I guess pretentious dog names run in the family." 

Rosa, the housekeeper, who came with the house, looked out from her room. "Mr. Alvarez! Is that really you? – what a pleasant surprise to see you again after all these years, you look exactly like your father" she said and greeted him warmly.

"Carlos is staying for dinner; we're working on an exhibition project together – do we have any food?" I asked Rosa – who, with a smile, confirmed that she will cook something delicious for us and she volunteered to walk the dogs this evening, so Carlos and I could concentrate on work. Rosa came from Spain together with my grandparents and my mama. She has always been with us.

I grabbed a bottle of white wine and lead Carlos up to the roof garden. The moment we were up the stairs, he embraced me, found my mouth, and placed a sweet soft kiss on my lips. I had forgotten how sweet his lips were. I returned the kiss, and six years of suppressed passion shivered through our bodies.

"Mi Alma, you don't know how long I have been waiting for this moment, all the lonely nights all the days in my office daydreaming of Mi Alma." 

"Why did you leave me, Carlos? I was a total mess." 

"Alma – I had to go. You were so young, I had a wife with MS and two small sons at home. Your mama called me and asked me to let you go. I was on the verge of leaving my wife – but you don't leave someone who is terminally ill, My life was a chaos,  I thought of my sons, they were 4 and 6 at the time.  I was miserable; I'm still miserable – I always dream of mi Alma. My soul and my guiding light."

I felt tears running down my face – "I never knew she had MS. How is she doing now?" I asked in a whisper. "She died two years ago. She went to Switzerland to have an assisted suicide," Carlos explained.

He continued darkly; "I felt so bad, bad that I had left her alone to struggle with the illness, bad that I cheated on her, bad that I fell in love with you, bad that I went away – my life has been a constant mess of bad conscience for the last eight years mi Alma. I love you, but I also loved her, she was my best friend. Look at us! Now we are together, and the roles are reversed. I'm free to go; you're married to your best friend – the irony of faith, I guess." He looked me deep in the eyes and took a sip of his wine.