Something Yet to Learn

It’s that time in the year when people run down the sidewalks, with their bags and wrapping paper and boxes, with their fast steps, just running down, trying to get that last copy of favorite CD or nice sweater for the ones they love.

It’s that time of the year when people let their differences and prejudices and love each other.

It’s that time of the year when you realize that you are surrounded with your friends, feeling alone.

It’s that time of the year I hate the most.

And for the last ten years, since I realized that Santa missed my roof, since I didn’t got that Barbie doll I wanted and waited for years, I refused to believe in miracles. Childish? Yes. But I was a child.

A little girl, playing all alone, dressed in her favorite dress, red bow in her golden hair, while other girls played with their dolls. Envious little child, sad and broken, just whishing she could scream from the top of her lungs, to cry out from years of disappointments.

Even now, at the age of twenty-two, the girl who was often described as “the one who won’t make anything out of her life” was standing alone, in her favorite dress, surrounded by her friends, sipping on her spiked punch and laughing nonchalantly at the words coming out of people’s mouth.

Words that had no meaning whatsoever. Or laughter, or song playing in the background softly.

I lost the privilege to believe in miracles, deciding to find facts and double meaning to everything.

Everything, even love.

“Hey party people. The Cobras have arrived,” the obnoxious voice of Gabriel Saporta overpowered the music, echoing the walls.

I smiled at his childish antics and placed my cup on the table. Waiting. Searching.

Just as I was about to turn the other way, a pair of arms wrapped around me and a soft voice tickled my ears.

“Hey,” I whispered lightly, placing my hands on top of his.

“Hey,” he whispered back, swaying us both in a soft rhythm of music. “I missed you.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, trying to find a way to just turn off my mind and my reasoning, and just let go. To let myself be taken away by the sound of his heartbeat next to mine, and to the light tunes playing around us.

“I’ve got something for you,” his voice danced in my ears like a soft melody.

“Alex, you know that I don’t like presents,” the little girl, the little disappointed girl inside me surfaced. The little girl that didn’t believe in miracles, that was always used to disappointments.

“Come on, you’re gonna like this one,” he said with his always there smile. The smile that never left his features, the one that I loved the most.

Holding his hand, we walked out on a cold night, tiny snowflakes falling down, melting on our skin. People were walking around us; smiling and whispering “they look so pretty together” while we were twirling around, our shoes getting white from the snow on the ground.

“Alex,” I giggled, getting lightheaded.

Without a word, he looked me deep in the eyes, with a smile never leaving his lips, his soft lips dancing with mine; he took my hands in his, and led me to the car waiting on the sidewalk; to the big hotel room.

“No peaking,” he whispered, yet once again, placing his hands over my eyes. I walked in complete darkness and silence. Not even a footsteps; it was like walking on the clouds. “Now open.”

The pastel green walls were covered with white, fake snowflakes, a small tree in the corner of the room with reds and yellows and blues all over. So simple, yet so beautiful.

“Alex, it’s beautiful.”

“That’s not all,” he said and walked to the small tree, taking a box from underneath it. “It’s a little something I saw. It reminded me of you.” He shrugged his shoulders, looking at the pink wrapping paper with white bow on top uncertain.

I looked at him, amused and with a small smile, I opened the box. My smile disappeared as soon as the box was open. There it was. Smiling back at me, dressed in her signature pink dress, and her perfect golden hair. A small piece of plastic perfection, lying in my hands. I couldn’t believe my eyes, my teary eyes.

“Oh my God. I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to make you cry. You were just talking about it so much, I...” the words were too much at that point. A simple gesture of lips on lips, a silence.

“I love it,” I whispered with my eyes closed, forehead rest on his. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby girl.”

And, a little girl grew up. She realized that the miracles happen, and that they were obvious in Alex Suarez.