Chapter Five
I stumble out of the overcrowded building with difficulty. I’m not the most graceful person, rather more of a klutz, and the added distraction of my mind turning summersaults didn’t do much for my balance. Walking down the corridor instantaneously becomes a challenge, something to overcome. I welcome the obstacle, eager to defeat something. I turn a corner sharply and come face to face with the wall. Realizing that I’m much too dizzy for my own good, I slouch down onto the floor.
After I regain my senses once again, I’m greeted by a rather unhappy man. He points at me and shouts in a language I do not understand. Confused, I franticly glance around for help.
After several minutes of listening to this man scream, and probably curse, at me in what seems like gibberish, the journalist comes to my rescue. I watch him in awe as he calms the man down in his native tongue.
He then motions for me to move from the tile I reluctantly placed myself upon. “Don’t worry about him.” the journalist reassured, “When people’s space is invaded they tend to get a bit testy, especially when their space is only four square feet.” Bad timing on my part, I had chosen to rest in the exact spot the outraged man called home.
“Listen,” he continues, “you seem to be a little displaced. Now I don’t know what troubles you have to deal with, but we all have a lot on our shoulders. It helps to have a helping hand sometimes.” Without another word he slips me a scrap of paper with a name and phone number. Explanations are unnecessary; I know this is his way of repaying me for the cash. He calmly walks back over to his daughter, who is sleeping with her legs tucked into her chest.
“Thanks,” I quickly glance at the paper, “Mr. Diego,”
“De nada senorita.” He calls over his shoulder.
After much deliberation about what to say next, my words fail me. Generosity is hard to come by, especially from strangers. My first instinct is that he wants something, like all those other guys who pretend to be gentlemen until they fulfill their primal instincts. This man seems nice enough, almost like a father figure, but as always I’m slightly skeptical. Just in case I tuck the phone number in my jean’s pocket and head back towards my car.
Detour after detour leads me to Alejandro’s apartment. He’s lived here with his mother for as long as I can remember. I’ve been over at least a hundred times, so I know her well. I awkwardly parallel park my car, finally settling on leaving it at an angle.
As usual, Alejandro is standing at the apartment door, waiting for me. I'm always relieved; because I don’t have a key to let myself in. As soon as we get in the door he knows something is wrong with me. He takes my hand in his and asks what is troubling me. “It’s nothing extremely serious. I’m worried about Julio. Do you think he made it there alright? He promised he’d call or write as soon as he got there.” My mind begins to search for alternatives. “Maybe he didn’t go. He could’ve come back to his senses right before the boat took off. But if he was still here why wouldn’t he call….”
“Margo, listen to yourself, you’re freaking out.” Alejandro cuts me off. “He’s fine, I’ve known that kid since we were knee high, and no damn wave is gonna to take him out. And of course he hasn’t called yet. They’re in a revolution for Christ’s sake; free chat time is hard to come by down there.”
Strangely enough this straightforward speech of his makes me feel leagues better. “Come on; let’s go upstairs, I know what will get your mind off of this crazy world.”
He takes me by the hand again and leads me up to his apartment for a much needed distraction.
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