Kiss me, please…

 The bus left the nine friends on the shoulder of a dirt road, right where the asphalt gave way to the undergrowth. The driver wished them a good day with a lazy wave and drove off in a cloud of dust, leaving them with their backpacks and the sound of the engine fading behind the hill.

—This way! —shouted Javier, who had already checked the map three times during the trip and felt invested with a momentary authority.

The path descended among pines and strawberry trees. The morning sun filtered in rays through the treetops, drawing staircases of light on the leaf-covered ground. Marise brought up the rear, behind Clara and Pablo, who were holding hands and playfully pushing each other with the innocence of two children who had just learned to play. Further ahead, Ana laughed out of politeness while David adjusted her backpack.

Luis walked in the middle, alone. His backpack was poorly adjusted and his head was slightly tilted, as if he were listening to a song that only he could hear. He was holding a quartz stone he had just picked up from the path because its whiteness against the dark earth had caught his attention, playing with it, turning it over and over between his fingers, completely oblivious to the group's chatter. Marise watched him out of the corner of her eye. She always did. Ever since they were seated next to each other in Literature class in September, her gaze had learned to find him in any crowd.

—Are you coming or are you going to stand there daydreaming? —Elena said to her, walking at her side, and gave her a playful nudge with her elbow.

Marise smiled without answering. Elena knew. Everyone knew, really, though no one said it out loud.

The river appeared suddenly before them, like a wound of light among the trees. The path opened onto a meadow of tall grass and yellow flowers, and beyond, the current ran clear and lively over a bed of white stones. The water sounded like a constant murmur, clean, erasing every other word.

—This is beautiful! —Ana shouted, dropped her backpack, and ran toward the bank.

Within five seconds, everyone had dropped their backpacks on a large, flat rock. Javier and David were already taking off their shirts to jump into a deep pool under a willow tree. Elena spread a towel on the grass and lay on her back, arms behind her head. Clara and Pablo wandered downstream, hand in hand, looking for their own private spot. Santi sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and began to peel an orange with a small knife.

—Luis, will you come explore a bit further upstream with me? —asked Marise. She hadn't thought about it. The words came out on their own, as if someone had been rehearsing them inside her for months.

Luis looked up. For a second, their eyes met. He hesitated, just an instant, and then nodded without saying a word.

They moved away from the others, walking along the bank, stepping on the damp grass and loose stones. The noise of the group grew smaller, like the buzz of a mosquito fading into the air. Soon only the water remained, the wind in the willows, and the rustle of their footsteps on the earth.

Luis walked half a step ahead, and Marise watched the curve of his shoulders under his white shirt, his dark hair falling over his nape, the way he pushed aside branches to let her pass. She thought that this was like walking inside a painting, or inside a memory that hadn't happened yet.

They followed the river along a path where the trees sometimes formed a green tunnel. Through its cracks, between the branches, soft yellow light filtered through, drawing threads of gold over the current. Finally, they reached a clearing where the river opened up: the water danced there with a constant murmur of silver reflections, and ran clear over fine sand and white stones.

Marise stopped. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, against her ribs, like a trapped bird. She turned toward Luis.

He stood a couple of steps away, rigid, breathing hard. He was looking at her with a strange expression, half curiosity, half fear. As if he knew what was going to happen and didn't know whether to stay or run.

—Luis —Marise said, and his name sounded different in that place, deeper, truer—. I have to tell you something.

He didn't answer. He just looked at her, and in his eyes there was a small tremor, barely visible.

—Say it —he whispered, and his voice came out rougher than he intended.

—I like you —she said, and the words came out clean, without trembling—. I've liked you since I saw you take out that poetry book in class, since you let me borrow your notes when I was out for two weeks, since you laugh that laugh of yours that seems to embarrass you. I like you, Luis. And I couldn't keep not telling you anymore.

Luis looked down at the ground. His hands opened and closed at his sides, as if searching for something to hold onto. He moved his head, barely a gesture, a tremor.

—Marise… —he said. His voice was almost a whisper—. I don't know. We're friends. And this… this is…

—It's okay —she interrupted, and took a step toward him. The distance became so small that she could smell his body, that smell that always distracted her in class.

Luis looked up again. Something broke inside him, or something gave way, and then he took a step back. Just one step.

Marise closed the distance he had opened, tilted her head, and said very slowly, her voice made of something more fragile than air:

—Kiss me, please… before I wake from my dream.

 

 mvf