Romantic Musings: The Romantic (pt 9)

Hadriel Alighieri had worked as the professor’s assistant for a few semesters. He graded papers, directed projects, and assisted students with research and internships. Professor Aziz held up his end of the bargain, and did not inquire about the goddess.

And so, between the two of them they formed a bond of master and apprentice, the professor and his pupil; Abdul-Karim Aziz had taken Hadriel Alighieri under his wing and groomed him to one day become his replacement.

For the professor, it was his duty as dictated in the Qur’an: “Help each other to goodness and heedfulness.” For Hadriel Alighieri, it was an opportunity to make a living, and not squander the generosity and guidance of Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes, and Professor Abdul-Karim Aziz.

He had embarked on a new path and established a new life. The past hidden behind a veil that shrouded his heart. Hadriel Alighieri had committed to the endeavor of becoming a professor in his own right when destiny conspired with love to remind him that first and foremost, he was a romantic.

Despite his elusiveness, he had garnered the attention of women at the university. Drawn to his quiet confidence and intellectual disposition, they speculated among them who would be the one to capture his heart. For they had learned—from Professor Abdul-Karim Aziz—of Hadriel’s poetic disposition and musical inclination, which added to the appeal. Though he was thin, he had grown a few inches shy of two meters, and the stubble on his cheeks and chin framed his lips in such a way that accentuated their natural hue.

He seldom recognized the signs of seduction. Always the gentleman, Hadriel Alighieri refrained from presuming the motives of the women who invited him for a drink, or dinner, or to their homes. They speculated about his sexual orientation to console their wounded pride, but their interest never waned.

When Hadriel Alighieri met Celeste Williams she was eighteen, and dating a student he knew from study groups that he had befriended. She did not attend the university, but had come to the campus on that day to meet Nathan Moore for lunch. Hadriel Alighieri and Nathan were seated on a bench when Celeste Williams had arrived. Her misty grey eyes glanced at Hadriel Alighieri before she turned her attention to Nathan. She spoke softly, almost a whisper as she offered her hand. Hadriel noted her slender fingers, her fragile wrist, and tender skin an alluring mien of dark chocolate.

"Nathan's told me a lot about you." She raised her free hand to her lips, to hide her lovely smile—she did that often before her confidence grew—but nothing could veil her grey, hypnotic, almond shaped eyes.

Hadriel Alighieri fell into them, without her knowledge, and without her permission. They possessed tranquility about them, and swirled with a hint of silver. He found comfort in that realm, and dared not escape. Even years later, he tried, for the sake of her happiness, to flee, but gravity existed solely to prevent him from doing so.

He studied her in silence, forgetting to breathe. And stole a glance of her slender neck and shoulders and swaying hips. At that precise moment, Hadriel Alighieri believed that he had endured heartbreak just to experience that instant where even time stood still to admire her beauty, and to permit him to once again feel passion.

When he met her again, a few nights later, she arrived alone at the rear of Nathan’s parents house where the two had discussed Nathan’s academic ambitions. From there, the pages of time turned quickly. Nathan often declared that he loved Celeste Williams, but his actions revealed a very different story when Hadriel Alighieri ran into him on a date with another woman.

Nathan’s blue eyes and light brown hair appeared darker in the evening. His slim, two-meter frame stretched out from the bench opposite Hadriel as he leaned back with his arms crossed.

"Okay, so here's the thing." Nathan had said before he inhaled deeply. "I'm in love with a stripper."

"What?" Hadriel laughed. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, but what?"

"Just hear me out," he said.

"I'm listening." Oh, this has got to be good.

"I'm dating two girls, well, technically three, but the third—Amanda— isn’t important. She strips too, but I just use her for the money."

"Okay, go on." Hadriel leaned back.

Nathan clarified that the two main girls had been Cassandra Jones, and Celeste Williams. Cassandra was the stripper, but they had a history together. He believed that despite her vocation, she was the perfect girl. “She knows how to have fun."

"I bet she does!" Hadriel interrupted.

"No, that's not what I mean.”

He and Cassandra enjoyed each other's company. Their conversations flowed naturally, filled with laughter and reflection. Their shared insight revealed how much they had in common. She had become his best friend in the absence of Hadriel’s sister. Cassandra was a few years his senior, but was ready to settle down. Nathan believed that because of her experience she knew what she wanted. Whereas with Celeste Williams, he worried that she would soon become curious about the world.

"I see, and tell me more about Celeste Williams." Hadriel asked.

Nathan Moore regarded Celeste Williams as a silent dove. He found comfort in her presence, but found her quiet nature to be a bore. She wasn’t much for conversation, and in the presence of company she seldom interacted with others.

Despite Nathan’s confession of being in love with another woman, Celeste Williams had been the innocent one. She had been a virgin until Nathan came along, yet he liked that she was pure. Nathan had preferred her purity to Cassandra's experience. He had said that Celeste Williams remained young enough to be molded into the perfect woman.

"So, she's not perfect now?" Asked Hadriel.

"No, not like Cassandra." Nathan said.

"So let me get this straight. You're in love with Cassandra because, by your own account, she possesses every quality you want in a woman, and you have everything in common. But you're reluctant to commit to her because you were Celeste Williams’ first, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"Is this some noble gesture on your part, to stay with her simply because you were her first?"

"I wouldn't say noble, but she did say that she only wanted to be with one guy, and that's a stark contrast to Cassandra given what she does for a living."

"I see. Well, if you had never met Celeste Williams, or if you weren't her first, would you still have any reason to be apprehensive about Cassandra based on everything you know about her?"

"No."

"Then, as Spock would say, the best decision is the logical one. You share a bond with Cassandra that you don't have with Celeste Williams, and we both know that to find someone with whom you connect on every level is rare. My advice is to hold on to that, because that kind of connection, that kind of foundation to build upon is hard to find. You say you're in love with Cassandra, and let me tell you, that feeling with someone who fits you perfectly, only comes around, maybe once."

"It's not that simple, though." He pled.

"Why not?"

"I don’t know." Nathan shrugged. “It’s just not.”

Regrettably, Hadriel Alighieri played a major role in perpetuating Nathan’s behavior, and he did so out of loyalty to his friend. He adhered to "the guy code," where men foolishly cover for one another in confidence.

The string of women that waltzed in, and out of Nathan's life grew extensive. Between them, Hadriel Alighieri had often expressed his dissatisfaction with Nathan’s numerous affairs, but he wouldn't compromise their friendship, or Nathan’s happiness by divulging his unscrupulous behavior. And he certainly wasn't willing to take part in breaking Celeste Williams’ heart; at least, not yet.

Celeste Williams—on the other hand—hadn’t many friends, because in those days Nathan demanded most of her attention, and the few friends she remained close with had fallen away, eclipsed by Nathan’s distrust of their influence.

In light of his cynicism, Hadriel Alighieri’s optimistic nature was a relief and without realizing, he guided her with the gentle astuteness of a trusted confidant. By Christmas, their connection solidified, and their delicate friendship inspired her to begin writing music of her own after two years of prosaic script.

She decided to pursue her academic ambitions, and enrolled in a nearby junior college to acquire the credits she needed to advance her studies. Her limbo of happiness at the prospect of being her family's first college graduate was short-lived when Nathan insisted she focus on becoming a homemaker.

Hadriel was surprised that she conceded so easily. Celeste Williams behaved like what Nathan told her she was, his girl, under the direction of his interests. She became the delicate flower permitted to only blossom in his presence. And he chose to behave like what he believed was the role of a man: domineering, ambitious, and the focal point of her purpose.

Hadriel Alighieri sympathized with Celeste Williams and though he never identified her with Sophia Paula, he wondered about where she may have been. He remembered her then, his lost heartbeat, and his best friend. He had wanted to reach out to her, but he decided against it for the sake of her happiness.

La Señora Keila stopped in to visit Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes, who announced his retirement and plan to return to Santa Lucia. It was then that Hadriel Alighieri heard that Sophia Paula was dating a man named Joshua Abrams whom she met at university.

“You should call her.” La Señora Keila urged.

He dared not interject himself into her life for fear of creating any confusion.

Instead, Hadriel Alighieri focused on the friendship that he developed with Celeste Williams. Nurturing her budding presence in a world that might never fully appreciate her, because he liked her for who she was, and came to love her for what she could be in a fever of indistinct delights.

Celeste Williams had done more than merely walk into Hadriel’s life. Akin to an ocean breeze guiding waves to the shore she lingered into his thoughts. He often sought futilely to push away such fanciful fantasies, similar to a whisper trying to force the coastal winds to retreat. To no avail, and so he surrendered to destiny, torn at his core.

Cassandra Jones remained in the picture, as did Amanda, and whilst Hadriel Alighieri continued on his quest for love with countless conversations and various dates, he watched Nathan juggle the precarious task of leading a double-life.

On the one hand, he understood Nathan’s apprehensiveness about ending things with Cassandra, because it is difficult for the heart to set free someone whose breath coincides with it's beat. However, that didn't excuse the presence of Amanda, and the fourth young lady that lingered into the picture by mid-September.

Online chat rooms had been all the rage prior to the rise of social networking sites. Time was oft wasted away in a virtual chat room exchanging messages with a faceless stranger, whose call sign revealed more of their personality that embellished profile descriptions sought to conceal.

Hadriel sat before the glowing screen of Nathan’s laptop when an Instant Message interrupted his session by a user, named: DRK_N_LVLY_81.

Nathan sat across the room conversing on the phone with Amanda about a new gadget for his home entertainment system. He appealed to her vanity with empty flattery to coax her into paying for it when Hadriel motioned to the laptop that a message required his attention. When he stood over Hadriel’s shoulder to read the message, Hadriel heard Amanda's muffled voice echo from the receiver. Nathan smirked. He motioned for the laptop and told Amanda to give him a minute to use the bathroom.

After he arranged a meet and greet with the faceless stranger, Nathan Moore ended the phone call with Amanda, and asked Hadriel to accompany him on his endeavor. Hadriel Alighieri failed to realize it then, but that would become a pattern of behavior that peppered the landscape of their lives for the next two years.

They navigated through the city to a popular restaurant chain for drinks, and evening appetizers when Nathan flipped open his cell phone. He called Celeste Williams. After briefly inquiring about her day, and revealing only partial information about his afternoon, he informed her that they headed out for drinks, and that he'd call her when they returned home. That had become the standard practice to ensure she wouldn't call during his clandestine encounters. Thus avoiding the awkward interruption of not answering her call in the presence of another woman, and also preemptively avoiding any suspicions on her end for not having her calls returned.

Hadriel stared out into the night. He thought of Sophia Paula, and wondered how she was doing. He'd heard that she and Joshua had split, and then resumed their relationship, and she was happy. According to La Señora Keila, Sophia Paula truly cared for Joshua Abrams and Joshua Abrams cared for her, and Hadriel Alighieri convinced himself that everything was as it should be.

Romantic Musings: The Romantic (pt 8)

Despite the years that had passed, Hadriel Alighieri had not forgotten Sophia Paula. He worked day and night in America. Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes had procured him a job as a dishwasher, and later as a cook. The pay wasn’t much, but the experience proved invaluable.

He learned to speak English from the waitresses that flirted with him in the restaurant, and befriended the bus boys who wanted to learn profanities in Spanish. He gave piano lessons to supplement his income, and spent his free time at the local library, which was within walking distance of where he lived with his uncle in a quiet Chicago suburb.

His studious nature impelled him to enroll in night school at the university where Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes taught. And he prepared to take the U.S. Naturalization test for the purposes of becoming a naturalized U.S. Citizen. After Hadriel Alighieri passed the exam, Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes guided him on the path to citizenship.

“You earn your place in this country, mijo. The world is filled with people who will remind you of your flaws, and who will confuse your heritage with their prejudices. When you do things correctly, with your pride and your dignity intact, then the bastards can take nothing from you.”

Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes knew what it meant to be an immigrant. He had seen how Americans treated his fellow countryman. The ones who crossed the border into El Norte: without papers and without permission and without guidance. In a country where culture was replaced by tradition and the most recent migrant was viewed with disdain, Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes ensured that his nephew would succeed.

As a full-time student, Hadriel Alighieri pursued a degree in mythological studies. His passion for books and his interest in understanding the human experience revealed in mythology attracted the attention of a colleague of Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes, named Abdul-Karim Aziz.

Professor Aziz recognized something in Hadriel Alighieri that reminded him of his youth. He was a boy in need of guidance. An immigrant. He had yet to discover his purpose, yet he had already lost the love of his life.

“Tell me, young Hadriel Alighieri. What is the name of the goddess who hides in your heart?” Professor Aziz handed Hadriel a stack of books from the cart.

Hadriel Alighieri cast him a quizzical glance and dismissed the professor’s observation. He had not spoken of Sophia Paula in well over two years. Not when he was alone, for the mere mention of her name threatened to shatter his heart. Nor with anyone else, lest he find himself wandering through the dark corridors of his heart, haunted by a ghost that didn’t remember his name.

Professor Aziz and Hadriel Alighieri pushed the carts through the aisles of the library. They returned the books to their shelves.

“If you do not wish to reveal her name, I understand.” Professor Aziz shrugged. “So long as you never forget it.”

“Forget what?” Hadriel Alighieri turned, bewildered.

“The name of the goddess with whom you’re still in love.” Professor Aziz handed him a heavy volume.

Hadriel Alighieri did not answer. Instead, he ran his fingers over the burgundy colored leather bound cover. “War and Peace. Leo Tolstoy. Epic.”

“But all that is only life’s setting, the real thing is love—love!” Professor Aziz quoted Captain Ramballe.

Hadriel Alighieri avoided the professor’s eyes and returned the book to the shelf. Professor Aziz studied him momentarily. He recognized the pain that Hadriel Alighieri hid. It lingered like a wisp of smoke behind the image of the goddess reflected in his glistening brown eyes.

Hadriel Alighieri had harbored hope where none existed, heard her whisper in the rain, and clung to the memory of his sweet obsession. He endured the curse of every man. He had suffered the inevitability of unrequited love. And he would not have resisted that hushed affection to avoid the purest of pain.

But he was a different person now. Detached. Indifferent. Alone. Everyone had said that change would be good for him. And it was.

But it wasn’t.

Professor Abdul-Karim Aziz asked Hadriel Alighieri to accompany him for lunch. They walked to a nearby restaurant renowned for it’s authentic Indian cuisine.

“Lunch time is ideal for sampling foreign foods.” Professor Aziz waved a hand over the buffet. “You may try different things for a low price and find something that will appeal to your taste buds.”

Hadriel Alighieri filled his plate with a flavorful array of the professor’s suggestions. Tawa Paneer, sautéed cottage cheese cubes with onions in an orange masala sauce; both Chicken and Lamb Kheema Samosas, deep friend pastry cones stuffed with minced meats and spices; Tandoori Shrimp and Lamb chops marinated in exotic Indian spices, served with Kali Dal, over white rice.

“In essence, life is a buffet and love is the main course.” Professor Aziz continued when they sat. “One will not always know what they love most without having tasted the bitterness of heartbreak, or the acerbity of betrayal. And, perhaps it will be that you will always favor one above all the rest, but first you must taste a little here and a little there, to be certain.”

“What if I find that nothing compares to the one I may never taste again?” Hadriel Alighieri asked before he drank the mango juice.

“Then at least you will be certain of what you want, and have the courage to pursue it in lieu of hiding inside your books where you wait for a sign that isn’t there.”

Hadriel Alighieri smiled.

When they had completed their meal, Professor Aziz turned to Hadriel Alighieri and said, “I’d like you to work as my assistant. Your eyes reflect passion. Your mind loves mythology. That’s a good combination in this field.”

“And what field is that?” Hadriel Alighieri asked.

“The field of myth, of course.” Professor Aziz shrugged. “Where gods and goddesses intervened on mortal affairs.”

“I would like that.” Hadriel Alighieri nodded. “I will work day and night, grading papers until dawn, and addressing the students’ concerns when you are in meetings. In exchange, I request that we leave this business about the goddess in the past.”

The professor laughed. “Even if you immerse yourself in work. Even if you meet another goddess, and she too breaks your heart, you will never escape your shadow. For the memory of true love lingers. Always near.”

Romantic Musings: The Romantic (pt 7)

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. Hadriel Alighieri suffered from the devastation of heartbreak. Prostrate on his bed he cried himself to sleep. Woke. Remembered Sophia Paula, and fell asleep in tears again. To his mother, the cycle seemed endless. As delicately as she could, Claudia Alighieri tried to console him, but he would not sleep and he would not speak.

She turned to his father, but Señor Alighieri advised his wife to leave him be.

“This is part of becoming a man. He must endure this now, so that he is strong when he is older. When he is a man, his family will need him to be impervious to pain.”

The machismo of Latin men was not foreign to her, for she had seen it all her life. Latin men were a proud league; submissive to their passions, but seldom subjugated to their pain. Undaunted, she reached out to her brother, Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes. He had returned from El Norte to marry his teenage sweetheart, but prepared to return to America in a few days time.

“There is nothing left for him here.” Claudia Alighieri contended.

“He has his familia.” Mauricio swirled his tequila before he sipped.

“That is not what I mean.” She said. “His future is in America. The love of his life is in America.”

“Love of his life?” He laughed. “There will be others.”

“Other loves, maybe, but only one love of his life.”

“Tell me, sweet hermanita. Why are you so determined to send your son to a country that will despise him for his heritage, and hate him for his immigration into their land?”

She pondered her brother’s words.

“I’ve heard about the disdain that Americano’s have for immigrants, but even they understand love. Surely they know that one must find the love of his or her life, otherwise what is the purpose of life?”

Hadriel Alighieri was never conscious of the transformative journey. He watched the sunrise, and felt that chasm he felt every morning. He had been in the same state for thirty-three days: a catatonic trance where the echo of Sophia Paula lingered like a ghost. Now, it was too late to undo the past. The only thing that remained of their friendship was the memories.

There had been a time when everyone in the village assumed they would eventually marry. In those days they took life for granted, and Hadriel Alighieri believed his patience would be rewarded.

But as the time passed, even Santa Lucia had changed. Those who had migrated to El Norte had sent money to their families to erect stone houses in place of their mud brick homes. The dirt roads were paved with concrete. And a fountain was built on the water spring of Los Ojos de Agua de Santa Lucia.

Another generation of Mexicanos journeyed to America in search of work and opportunity and hope. Despite the changes, everything reminded Hadriel Alighieri of Sophia Paula.

“That is a consequence of love. The more you desire it with all your heart that is when it is most elusive.” Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes shrugged.

“To alleviate the pain. To distract yourself from that longing, a change of scenery is good.” Padre Carlo Coelho added. “Sometimes, a few steps out of your way will take you a long way. And if it is your destiny to cross paths again, then the detour may lead you back to the one you love. For when it is meant to be, there is no force on earth to prevent it.”

Hadriel Alighieri sat on the bench beside Padre Carlo Coelho and Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes. He pondered their advice and considered his uncle’s invitation to accompany him to America. He looked at the people he remembered from his childhood, and at the faces that looked familiar but whose names he had forgotten.

“I have lived in Mexico my entire life.” He sighed. “It is the land of my father, and his father before him. This is home.”

“That it is,” Uncle Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes nodded. “Prior to that however, it was merely a land that offered your great-grandfather a chance to start a new life.”

Padre Carlo Coelho turned to Hadriel Alighieri and Mauricio Maravilla-Fuentes, perplexed. He had not known that Hadriel Alighieri’s lineage traced its roots to Italy.

His great grandfather, Luciano Edoardo Alighieri, had emigrated from Italy to Mexico in 1930 after Benito Mussolini shed all pretence of democracy and established a dictatorship. With his young wife, Bellissa Maria Alighieri, he journeyed to the New World and settled in Santa Lucia. It was a new beginning in a new land with a new language. Perhaps that was what Hadriel Alighieri needed. Even if it may have been something he didn’t know he wanted.

He’d learn that destiny and love speak the same language, and it’s for that reason that heartbreak is experienced. For the heart will be tested during the journey of life, and if it is true, it will find the one person it is meant to love.

Romantic Musings: The Romantic (pt 6)

Over the years, the memory of Sophia Paula had inspired a myriad of poems. Although he had long been writing poetry before she entered his life, when he left for the military, he had not yet learned how to write without thinking of her.

So much emotion lingered for her like the scent left after an embrace. He had penned dozens of verses, in a tiny note pad, during the brief moments he had to himself: sometimes standing in formation before and after meals, or lying on his bunk at the end of the day's training.

When members of his platoon learned of his skill with a pen, they requested poetry for the loves they had left behind. That was when he knew that he would make a living as a songwriter.

He had established a system of appointments for his clients to describe the women they loved. He listened as they revealed how they met, where they fought, why they mattered, and when they had planned to marry.

Those distant lovers were as precious to them as Sophia Paula was to Hadriel Alighieri. And though he personalized every poem—the hundreds he had written for others and their hopeless love—page after page burned with the affection he felt for Sophia Paula.

In an era when romantic poetry remained reserved for literature courses, hidden within the pages of books that nobody opened, Hadriel Alighieri earned a reputation as the soldier's scribe. He wrote about every imaginable circumstance when it came to matters of the heart. A tempest of metrical composition, and Sophia Paula lingered in the eye of his storm.

To remind her that she had not been forgotten, he had written a letter to her about his experiences, his hopes, and his fears. He made no mention of love, because he reserved that secret for his heart.

Two weeks later, she sent him a photograph that hung in his private locker. His platoon mates did not believe he knew her until they read the personal message that she wrote and signed: For my best friend! She included a separate note that bid him good luck, and a humorous bit of advice: Remember, don't drop the soap!

He wrote her back immediately, but her thoughts never returned. Her memory kept him going. Emotions bled through his pen freely, augmenting his renown as a romantic poet.

He wrote love letters and poems for fellow recruits, and instructed them to re-write them with their own hand, but he imagined that he wrote to Sophia. When the lovers wrote back, it was he who had to reply. And so it was that he engaged in a feverish correspondence with faceless lovers that cherished someone else. Each letter written and received, every poem penned with genuine affection that Hadriel Alighieri believed dripped with the warmth Sophia Paula would have felt upon reading his thoughts had she shared his passion.

The days were long and his nights were longer, but despite the controlled chaos, he could not avoid lyricism, because his thoughts were only of Sophia Paula.

The seasons changed. The trainees had changed with them. Yet, despite the manner in which everything grew colder, at his core Hadriel remained the boy he had always been.

The soldiers rose before the sun. They endured the hour of physical training before breakfast, and watched their days blur by as they prepared for a series of tests to determine that they were fit for graduation, and ready for war.

The surplus of testosterone led to confrontations between the young men who grew impatient about returning home, but cooler minds prevailed, and their focus remained on their goals.

Hadriel hoped to return home like the fabled soldier in uniform. Properly groomed, and worthy of his heart's fancy. Regardless of the thirty pounds of muscle he had gained and a more serious demeanor, there remained evidence in his eyes of his mortal encounter with love.

He suffered through sleepless nights after he kindled the fires of love. His intention was to keep the coals alive until she felt inclined to reciprocate his feelings. He would have pursued her with more fervor had he known the terrain of her emotions, but they didn't know each other well enough to truly venture into love.

His ignorance proved fatal to their future, because a man cannot truly love a woman until he knows her first.

He lost himself in fantasies that never came to pass—his yearnings unfulfilled—but the visions comforted him, because in that way she remained in his life.

Although many sought to sway his heart with flattery and seduction, he declared that he would wait for love. And when others tried to convince him that love was an illusion, he remained steadfast in the idea that love is the only thing worth waiting for an eternity.

At nineteen years of age, undaunted, Hadriel Alighieri loved unconditionally, without reservation and without despair.

When he returned from his military service, Hadriel Alighieri learned that Dr. Fermin Luis Paula had been offered an opportunity to practice medicine in the United States. La Familia Paula emigrated from Mexico to America, and settled in Chicago where Dr. Paula attended Loyola University Medical Center.

They returned to Santa Lucia in December for a series of festivities: beginning on December 12^th with el Día de la Virgen de Guadalude, Las Posadas, which ran from the 16^th to the 24^th—the Biblical New Testament story of Joseph and Mary’s search for shelter in Bethlehem, Navidad on December 25^th, el Día de los Santos Innocentes, Año Nuevo Vìspera—New Year’s Eve, and concluded on the 6^th of January by el Día de los Reyes Magos.

The day that Hadriel Alighieri saw Sophia Paula on the steps of the basilica, he was seated on a bench in the plaza reading a book. He had not known of her arrival in Santa Lucia. He felt his heart break with each beat for inexplicable reasons.

Does she not wish to see me, he wondered. Perhaps there had been no occasion or means to notify him of her arrival. Hadriel Alighieri could not be sure, and he struggled to distract himself from one suspicion or the other.

Her hair had grown long, and straight, and hanged loosely over her shoulders. She wore a long white dress, plain, yet charming in its simplicity. Their eyes met. Sophia Paula did not seem to share the enthusiasm of the festivities, but when she approached, Hadriel Alighieri believed she was happy to see him.

They sat together on the bench in the plaza. She spoke of Chicago, the Windy City, and its myriad of skyscrapers and restaurants and museums. The stark contract between its historic architecture and bustling nightlife amazed her.

“It is a different world from Santa Lucia.” Sophia Paula remarked.

She asked about his time in the army. She inquired about his writing and about his plans, but she didn’t say that she missed him, or that she thought of him, and he didn’t dare ask her why. It wasn’t for lack of affection, for Sophia Paula cared deeply for Hadriel Alighieri. But she was careful not to tip the scale of their friendship, which hung delicately in the balance.

Perhaps the opportunity had been there in their youth, or perhaps that opportunity only lingered in Hadriel Alighieri’s imagination. The truth was that after all the time that had passed; she cared about him too much to deceive him with the false promise of love.

When they parted for the day, after she invited his family to the grand dinner at her home, Hadriel Alighieri had a nagging suspicion that his chance had not been lost. He had heard from the men in his platoon that when women deny a man’s affections, she does so to test his resolve. She waits for him to pursue his passion, and prove his level of desire, for men are notorious with words of devotion, and exiguous with actions of love.

 That night, Hadriel Alighieri decided to recite a poem to Sophia Paula. He was going to reveal to her, once again, the secret in his heart. She would accept or deny. But she would not live her life wondering if he was still in love a year after his initial declaration.

Guests filled the home. Every object of value polished. The walls lined with frescoes and statues. The tables set with the finest linen and silverware and china. La Familia Paula brought with them, from America, the custom of lining the windows with Christmas lights and a large Christmas tree.

After the meal, which consisted of tamales and atole and buñuelos, everyone gathered in the main room for refreshments and galetina de colores. The adults danced to the music and children took their turns swiping at a piñata on the terrace. When the clock neared midnight, neither Sophia Paula nor Hadriel Alighieri realized that the event would change their lives permanently.

With the intention to dazzle her, he knelt before her, and held eleven roses behind his back. She smiled at him, her lovely eyes twinkled like stars that twinkle before dawn, and he recited to her his poem as he handed her the eleven roses one-at-a-time.

"Before I woke up this morning

You were on my mind,

 And after I awakened

You were still the only one I could find

Thinking of the most special way

My heart may someday purpose,

I’m thinking of how to tell you that

This bouquet is not missing a rose."

Sophia’s lovely smile beckoned Hadriel to continue.

"The first rose and the second rose

Are to tell you that I miss you

And I love you,

The third rose and the fourth rose

Reveal how much I want to kiss you

And think of you

The fifth rose and the sixth rose

Of this dedicated bouquet,

 Are for the sweetness of your heart

And the things you've done to make my day

Continuing on the count

With roses seven, eight and nine;

 Can only begin to describe the many ways

I want to share with you my time

Sweet rose number ten

And beautiful rose number eleven,

Are for each of my eyes you have opened

To see that falling in love is heaven

But if finding that final rose

Is what you truly want to do?

It’s not missing from this bouquet

Just look into the mirror

And watch it stare right back at you."

Hadriel stood and motioned for Sophia Paula to turn around. Together they gazed into the mirror.

She looked at their reflection momentarily, seeing them as they looked a billionth of a second ago before her gaze fell to the roses in her arms.

She turned, embraced him, and whispered, "Thank you, Hadriel." She vanished, and he had no idea that would be the last time he held her in his arms.

That night he handed her eleven roses, a letter, and the deepest part of his heart. He had hoped she would cherish the memory all of her life.

La Señora Keila looked at him with deepest sympathy. The crowd stood confounded by Sophia Paula's reaction. Hadriel said goodnight, and a few days later he learned that La Familia Paula left the country.

Romantic Musings: The Romantic (pt 5)

When the letter came, Hadriel Alighieri felt that life, as he knew it, was over. The time for his mandatory military service had come. Though selection was made by a lottery system, fate had determined that Hadriel Alighieri’s time with Sophia Paula would end.

Six years together as the best of friends allowed them to learn as much as there was to discover about two kids who had yet to truly discover themselves, but as the date of his departure for the military approached, Hadriel was moved by the fear of what would be lost, and preemptively reached for her heart.

On her birthday in mid-July, he presented her with a letter, and two poems that confessed his desire to be more than friends. He selfishly ignored that he was leaving in less than sixty-days.

The entire village was abuzz when it was discovered that Hadriel Alighieri had revealed his feelings to Sophia Paula, because it wasn't a secret that could easily be kept. Everyone knew how close they were, and noticed that they had spent a week apart. A peculiarity that raised eyebrows, and inspired inquiries about "what happened?"

Even Padre Carlo Coelho weighed in on the matter when he found Hadriel Alighieri sitting alone on a bench in the plaza. The cleric sat down beside him without saying a word. After a while, Hadriel Alighieri turned to the old man and asked if this is why people pray.

“People pray for many things. God will grant you your request, if you ask Him from the heart.” Padre Carlo Coelho pointed at his chest.

“Matthew seven, seven. Yes, Padre, I’m aware of the verse, but if God holds sway over another’s heart, then is it true love?” Hadriel Alighieri closed his book.

Padre Carlo Coelho pondered the question and scratched his chin. God’s will, he thought. If whom we love is God’s will, then free will is merely an illusion. And if we love whom we choose to love, then how can God punish us?

Padre Carlo Coelho intuitively understood what Hadriel Alighieri endured. For he too had once fallen in love, in his native Brazil, when he was a boy and love was a hopeless passion. He remembered her still, Maria Ruiz-Gonzalez, the angel that paralyzed his heart. Padre Carlo Coelho reflected on the kindness in her hazel eyes, and the comfort he felt in her embrace. He always loved to see her wear her long wavy brown hair twisted in a braid over her shoulder.

Her heart was restless and her laugh contagious, but it was her smile that he remembered most. For when Carlo Coelho emerged from the ashes of the fire on December 15^th, 1961, the Gran Circus Norte-Americano’s premier transformed into a tragedy that claimed five hundred lives. Among the dead lied Maria Ruiz-Gonzalez, and the unborn seed in her womb.

Devastated, Carlo Coelho fell into a deep depression, and there was no power on earth to grant him solace. Within a broken heart lie a realm of impenetrable shadows, and the echo of what could have been. A devout Catholic, he turned to God for answers, but He did not answer. Not at first.

Then, one morning, he woke in the street. Carlo Coelho had passed out from the excessive consumption of alcohol, and wandered in the night in search of the shadow of death. Instead, Azrael had come to him in a dream.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Azrael leaned in close.

Carlo Coelho gave the angel of death a guarded look.

“You possess the answers that you seek.” Azrael whispered.

Carlo Coelho inched away. The angel of death nodded at Carlo Coelho’s chest. Carlo felt something press against his ribs. He rummaged through his pockets to see what Azrael referred to. He pulled out a flask, and tangled around the lip was a rosary.

How did this get here, he wondered. For Carlo Coelho had not seen his rosary since his First Communion. “You are the devil!” He looked at Azrael, astonished.

“I am not the devil.” Azrael loomed closer. “He is kinder than I.”

Carlo Coelho woke from his drunken dream. The sun peered over the peak of the Corcovado Mountain. A silhouette loomed at its summit. The statue of Christ the Redeemer with outstretched arms was the sign that led Carlo Coelho to take the Cloth. For he had long ago promised Maria Ruiz-Gonzalez that he would never love another woman, and he intended to keep his promise.

Thirty-three years later, he sat on a bench in the plaza beside Hadriel Alighieri. He knew how the boy felt. He was familiar with the seismic tremor of young love.

At eighteen years of age, Hadriel Alighieri presented young love with the fervor of a man, no longer a boy enthralled by childhood obsessions.

Padre Carlo Coelho was right: puppy love is all bark, no bite, but young love with its refined romanticism gently caresses a heart, so as to not disturb the rhythm of its beat. Learning it, studying it, until the breathing falls in sync and the heart falls in love.

Hadriel’s error was in his haste, or so he thought. He granted Sophia Paula space to reflect on the words he poured onto pages. Lyrical, liquid love as strong as ninety-proof alcohol, and she was left with a hangover that lasted a week. Though the permanent intoxication, he'd learn many years later, never truly dissipated. The words of the letter had long since been whisked away by time, but the poems he kept prisoner in his heart. In a realm that remained interlocked with hers.

When Sophia’s reply arrived in the form of a letter, Hadriel raced home to retrieve it. He entered his home and found La Señora Keila seated beside his mother. She stood and approached. Her eyes shone with the giddiness of a schoolgirl awaiting a letter from her own, first true love.

"She sent for you." La Señora Keila embraced him. "What happened?"

"I was in the plaza." Hadriel Alighieri answered. "Is she here?"

"She went out for a walk, but she left you this." La Señora Keila brandished an envelope with his name written in Sophia Paula’s tight cursive script.

He studied her smile for any indication of the contents of the letter, and asked, "Did she say anything to you?"

"No, mijo. She has kept to herself all week. She didn't come out of her room except to eat, shower, and go to work."

Hadriel’s blank stare fell to the floor, and he wondered how Sophia Paula felt.

"Something you should know Hadriel is that despite how beautiful my daughter is, and despite how much attention she gets from boys, no one has ever approached her in this way.”

La Señora Keila explained that no man had ever taken the time to pen his emotions in a letter; no one had ever given much thought to courting her with romantic poetry inspired by sincere expressions with carefully considered words. She knew that Sophia appreciated Hadriel’s sincerity.

Sophia Paula had never before secluded herself from the world to consider the prospect of love. She had been moved. Regardless of what she wrote to Hadriel Alighieri, he needed to know that if it hadn’t affected her then she wouldn't have responded at all, or she wouldn't have taken so long to formulate her reply. La Señora Keila believed that by making the effort to consider her own words carefully, it revealed more than one letter from her would ever say.

La Señora Keila embraced Hadriel, and he fled to the sanctuary of his room. The note within the envelope had merely been a request for a little more time. Without much appetite and with very little sleep, Hadriel Alighieri clung to hope. A low rapping at the door distracted him from his thoughts. His mother stood beside a servant from the home of the Paula’s with a message that Sophia wished to meet him in the garden.

She sat on a bench beneath a mango tree. Her green eyes were pensive, and glistening in the evening light. Sophia Paula smiled when Hadriel Alighieri approached. She stood to embrace him and invited him to take a seat. It was the same stone bench where they conversed for the first time. In essence, it was the center of their universe. It was where their friendship began.

She asked him about his reasons, and his timing. For it perplexed her that he professed his love on the eve of leaving for the military. He sat with her in silence. His voice escaped him, just as it had when they first met. He tried to say something, but he feared ruining the moment. He feared chasing her away. For he never felt more at ease than when he was in her presence.

La Señora Keila stepped out onto the terrace before he replied. She called out to Sophia Paula, and reminded her that they didn’t have much time. Dazed, Hadriel Alighieri could have sworn he heard La Señora Keila mention packing and the move.

In those few minutes, the sun fell beyond the horizon and destiny and chance were taken with the day. La Señora Keila called out to her again. Sophia Paula stood and waved at her mother before she turned again to Hadriel Alighieri.

“Remember me as I am.” She said to him.

She left him under a tree and under the moon and under the stars. She did not promise to return. She gave him a kiss and a letter. A long letter that was difficult to write. A letter that gave him a glimpse into her heart and revealed her confusion.

He watched her leave with tears in his eyes. He already realized how completely he would cherish the memory of the only woman he would ever truly love. After reading the letter, he folded it the way she folded it, and kept it folded that way until the end of his days.