In the 1986/1987 academic year, I was in the third year of the B.U.P. (Bachillerato Unificado Polivalente), which was then the penultimate year of pre-university education in Spain (and which today is equivalent to the first year of Bachillerato). I attended the Miguel Hernández Secondary School in Alicante.
That year was the first time (and I seem to recall it was the last) that I entered a short story in a literary competition, specifically the competition organised by the school’s Parents’ Association (the APA… in those post-Franco days it was still called the APA… over time, as democracy took hold in Spain… the APA came to include us mothers and was renamed AMPA, the Association of Mothers and Fathers)…
Well, the APA/AMPA saw fit to award me the second prize in the short story category. Inside the envelope containing the prize was this congratulatory card and a cash prize (I can’t quite remember, but I think it was 500 pesetas, a bit over three euros). I was absolutely thrilled… My first prize! That’s when I had a hunch that I’d become a writer when I grew up… and yes, I wasn’t entirely off the mark; I’ve written a great deal in my life, but mostly reports, speeches and emails… Nothing like that childhood dream of devoting myself to literature.
We had to submit the typed text, and that’s what I did. I wrote it by hand and then typed it up on my mum’s typewriter. Personal computers already existed back then, but they were mainly widespread in countries like the US or Japan. In Spain – at least in my household – they hadn’t arrived yet, so I still had to make do with the typewriter.
Here I’m uploading the original version of that text I submitted in typewritten form, entitled ODAM.
And here is the full text of that first (and last) short story of mine to win a prize.
ODAM
I was strolling slowly through the shadowy streets, bathed in a light so faint and diffused that it was barely visible to the eye. It was raining. The rain was falling. A barely perceptible drizzle, light drops. I was lost in thought as my feet wandered aimlessly through the winding alleyways of that ancient city. I remembered the day I met him. He was wearing a long black coat, old and worn from use, and his elongated face struck me as mysterious, even attractive, though not beautiful. He had immense blue eyes, whose depth seemed like an endless path of tenderness… The more I looked into them, the more they dazzled and captivated me. It was a fleeting glance, an insignificant moment, which I later magnified in my mind. I gave him the customary two kisses and we exchanged a few polite words. Although I was already tired of having flings with friends, I realised that this stranger made my heart flutter in a very special way. He insisted that we meet up and took advantage of our coffee breaks to hint at a tempting relationship. I refused. I would only be staying in that city for five more days. It wasn’t worth it… He kept insisting and, in the end, gave me a furtive kiss. He pressed his lips to my forehead and slid them gently down my nose… until they brushed against my lips. I then felt an incomprehensible, inexplicable shiver and a sense of pleasure. I couldn’t understand how a simple kiss could have caused such an emotional surge. We said our goodbyes. Without realising it, I had somehow sealed my fate.
The next day I saw him again; I shook his hand and gave him a hug. Little by little, I began to feel more affection for this mysterious and almost unknown person, of whom I knew only his wild passion for the occult.
Those five days served to strengthen a friendship tinged with passion and tenderness. We parted knowing we wouldn’t see each other for a long time, but secure in the knowledge that, come what may, that spark of affection would remain exactly where we’d left it.
After ten long months, during which we’d both given ourselves over to the sweet pleasures of romantic liaisons, we met again. I had almost forgotten his face and could barely recall his misogynistic and Nazi-like quirks. The letters had helped us stay in touch, but in them we could not convey that inner world struggling to break free, to be captured on paper so as to convey to the other the agony of desire. I timidly kissed his full lips, and my nose brushed against his. It was an exquisite delight, as if I were tasting an exotic delicacy that had been consigned to the trunk of memories. I felt him very close to me, as if that interlude had not belonged to the world of reality, but to that of dreams. We played at love in a frenzy of passion, like two lion cubs who had strayed and were playing to shake off the fear and anxiety their surroundings instilled in them. We were two little creatures discontented with our surroundings, reluctant to accept the hypocritical displays of affection offered to us by those around us.
There I swore my loyalty to him; I promised him that my heart would be his alone… and so I did. Those three days came to an end all too soon. The happiness I was on the verge of savouring with my own lips vanished, as if I’d woken up in the middle of a fascinatingly beautiful dream. I was left with a smouldering sense of disappointment, feeling that I had been on the verge of attaining something everlasting that had vanished just as I was about to brush it with my fingertips. I felt unsatisfied, let down, unable to pinpoint exactly the reason for my bewilderment.
A few months passed—I can’t say exactly how many—and we got back together. This time, the volcano that had so abruptly gone out came back to life with more force and more fury than ever. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me from reaching that distant star of happiness this time. No. I would reach it.
When we saw each other, our bodies trembled, as if resentful of the wait. He confessed to me that during that time he’d been with another woman – not because he loved her, but simply to quench his thirst. He apologised. He told me he cared for me, that he loved me, that he needed me… But I couldn’t bear it. It was like a bullet. Anger, rage and pride raged within me. I hated him for having prevented me from ever being happy. My selfishness filled me with sadness. My pride made me weep, but not because I’d lost him, not out of jealousy, but because I’d seen my hopes of eternal happiness cut short… I shouted at him. I insulted him. I spat all my pent-up resentment in his face. I made him believe that it had all been a farce, that he’d merely been a plaything to me, that I’d never felt any love for him… Perhaps I didn’t feel it, but I’ll never be able to know for certain.
My footsteps led me to a bar. That’s where my sweet, aimless stroll came to an end. There, I found myself face to face with my loneliness once more. My only companion… because I’m now only capable of sharing my life with my memories. I don’t know why, but for some time now, they’ve been the only things that make me happy. Perhaps that is my fate: LONELINESS.