My Soul - Mi Alma (Ongoing)

4 Carlos' perspective

My god – what had I thought? That Alma would still be the same young, insecure beauty I first met? The Alma I met today was a mature and reflected woman. 

I remember my first lecture at NYU. I was so nervous, would they make fun of my Spanish accent? I knew my English was excellent,  but teaching master students in New York was a whole new experience. 

I had never prepared so well for any lecture in my entire life as I did for the first at NYU. I had been teaching in Madrid for a few years, but for me, as a 32 years old professor – this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

I came into the classroom – there were only 20 students. This was master level teaching. This was scary. There she sat, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. So different from most of the girls I had known. Dressed in skinny jeans and an oversized green sweater. He mac open in front of her, and she looked so serious. My eyes met her hazel eyes, and I was lost.

Two weeks later, I was invited over to the Bech family for dinner. Antonio Bech was one of my father's old friends from the resistance movement during the Franco regime in Spain. He now worked as a commentator in the New York Times.

I had not met my father's old friend since I was a small child and went to Perpignan with my parents for summer holiday.  He had refused to visit Spain after he fled to the US. However, I had met his wife and his daughter Susannah – Almas mum – once in Barcelona. Susannah is an impressive woman, a true bohemian hating all conventions that follow the life of a wealthy New York lawyer's wife. She is a very talented painter and works at the Guggenheim museum as a curator.

 I was invited to dinner in the house where Alma now lives. There she was again, the beauty from my class at NYU. I had never talked with her in person, she never approached me after class, but she was active in classroom discussions. I had most definitely noticed her – I dreamt about her at night.

- I believe you and Alma already know each other, Antonio Bech said. I confirmed she was in my class. I was seated next to her at the table. I don't remember what we ate and drank – I just remember Alma.

The next week we had a meeting in my office about her master thesis. She wanted to do it on Goya. Our relationship was strictly professional, in the beginning. But as the weeks passed our mutual attraction became more and more evident to both of us.

Alma is smart, Alma is creative – probably one of the best students I ever had. Alma had a boyfriend, and I had a wife and two sons.

What was I thinking???? As a young inexperienced professor, on an exchange program for young professors, I could not touch Alma! She was my student and also the granddaughter of my father's best friend.

I rented a small flat in Chelsea, and one evening when I was running in Central Park, I saw her. She was running fast – she was in fantastic physical shape, in the running outfit she looked like an amazon. Long legs, tall and muscular.

I joined her, and invited her for a coffee – she wanted to run for 20 more minutes, but after that, she would love to go for coffee. We had such a good time on our first coffee "date". I thought she was a quiet girl, but she's not. She is fun and witty, and totally unlike any woman I had ever known.

She told me she lived with her grandparents; she didn't get along with her dad. He had been very disappointed when she chose art history over law school. Her parents lived in the same neighborhood, and she saw her mother a lot. They were very close. 

Alma and I had a passionate relationship. We ran and walked every corner of Central Park and every street in Manhattan.  I had met a free spirit – like I wanted to be myself. I felt free.

Some months in, our relationship took a turn. We were together on a study trip to Mexico, to explore the art, and look at some restoration work on a few of Diego Riveras pictures from the 1920-ies. As the only two who spoke Spanish fluently, Alma and I ended up being the interpreters for the entire group of students. 

One evening we just ran off, sick and tired of the rest of the group. We found a small restaurant and just enjoyed the peace and quiet. I took her hand over the table, she bent in and touched my lips with hers – and we sat there like a lovesick young couple under the moon. At three in the morning we got back to the hotel, everyone was asleep, and I sneaked into her room.

I made love to the woman of my dreams, and it was fantastic. I know I'm a good looking man, and there have been many women in my life, both before and after Alma, but no one compares to her.

I wanted to quit my job at NYU at that moment. I wanted to divorce my wife. I wanted Alma! Mi Alma. My soul and my guiding light. That was all that mattered to me.

We went back to New York. I asked the university to find another supervisor for her to dual with me since our families were so close. I made love to Alma everywhere, in my office after hours, on the subway, in a closet at school – and in my bed. I could never get enough of her – nor she of me.

I knew she was young and inexperienced. But I lived for the moment—the moments with Alma. I knew my wife was getting severely ill. When you get MS early in life, it usually develops fast, and unfortunately, Mariella had an aggressive type of MS. Medication kept her working for a few more years, but as a concert pianist, her performances became few and far between. She blamed it on our two small boys. Had I only known what she had to struggle with. When I look back, I blame myself for being young and inconsiderate. I should have seen it. 

The summer between Almas's first and second years of her master, I helped her get an internship at the Prado museum. That was the summer of my life. Mariella and the boys were in Mallorca, where her parents had a summer house. I was in Madrid with Alma.

I went to Mallorca for a few days, but I was obsessed with Alma and found excuses to go back to Madrid.

When Alma went back to New York, Mariella and I had a long and serious conversation about her illness. The youngest of the boys was just three at the time. Mariella said the medication kept her going more or less like before, and she insisted on me going back to New York. I was quite unsure, I loved Alma, but couldn't leave my best friend and wife, Mariella, and our two sons. She assured me she would be fine. New York is an opportunity of a lifetime for you, Carlos; you will become the director of the Prado Museum by the age of 40, she said. I didn't tell Mariella about Alma and I went back to NYU and my new found love.

My last year in New York was a rollercoaster ride. I wanted to stay with Alma forever, but I knew it would never be, and I couldn't tell her. I already had a family to take care of and a wife with a fatal diagnosis – and a pretty grim outlook.

The one who set my perspective right was Susannah, Almas's mother. "Do you want my 23 years old daughter to be a stepmother for your children – let her go, let her live the young life girls in their 20-ies are supposed to live. I know you're a good man Carlos Alvarez but let her go."

Alma and I said goodbye with two broken hearts, and I left for my family in Spain.

I tried to follow what happened to Alma, after all, I knew her family. Susannah refused to talk to me, but Alma's new boss at the Met, Francis North, was an old friend who kept me posted, and Rosa the housekeeper at the Bech residence was the younger sister of my housekeeper Maria. I knew she married her boyfriend Mick, but I had no clue it was a proforma marriage. I don't know if I am comfortable with the arrangement, but if that means I can be with mi Alma, my soul, and my guiding light again – I will go for it.

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