It's still a farily young night, almost 2.00 in the morning, and it has been wickedly crazy. Tonight is a for the first time in... night if there ever was one.

First of all, and thanks to one of the last good persons still left on this earth, I got my first first-world translation rate ever. That rocks, for one thing.

Up until then the night was fairly normal. And then, all of a sudden, all hell broke loose.

First, the phone call. Rosemary, Belendor's crazy aunt, has gotten her first pshychotic brake in almost two years, so for the first time they need Belendor to help control her and keep her from killing her mother with a knife. The ambulance service tells him to roll up some bedsheets so they can tie her in case it's necessary. So Belendor rushes out.

An hour later, Arwen arrives with Ánwyn, our good French friend who is on her first vacation in Mexico in the last two years. They tell me they're on their way to a party which happens to take place at the Galaxy, a new bar which also happens to lie just below our apartment. The entrance is free, the booze is free, I'm three steps away from home, so, Arwen reasons, I have no excuse not to go. So I go out without my boyfriend for the first time in eighteen months. Upon entering, I have for the first time in more than a year an honest to God Mexican dark, icy cold beer in my possession.

[Um, I also have, for the first time in almost two years, a totally pleasant alcohol induced buzz, so you'll excuse me if the grammar or the typing is a little erratic. Ahem.]

And lastly but not least important, I saw him for the first time in more than a year.

He is, without a doubt, the only guy in this green planet that would make me cheat on Belendor. You couldn't tell by looking at him. I mean, he's tall, and dark, but he's definetely not handsome. He tends a little toward stoutness. He wears glasses. His hair is rough and always wild. Even worse, he's from Argentina.

And all the same, I saw him and my heart started pounding like crazy. My knees went boneless. I felt heat coming up my face. And when he spoke to me... I felt the biggest smile stretch across my face. He is the only man on the face of this planet that makes me feel like a schoolgirl. And I guess he always will be.

I could have loved that man so much.

Our story is commonplace, I guess. When I met him, I wanted him. Simple as that. He had a way of his, never bowing to anyone, all the things that he ever said were truly his and therefore sounded new. We met frequently, though never alone, and nothing happened between us. There were a couple of conversations at parties, conversations that were deep and meaningful for me but that never made him lose his businesslike manner. Nevertheless I liked him. I wanted him.

Then one day, he called me to my house. For the first and only time. He later said he just felt like talking with me, of all people. I usually was at work at the time he called, but that particular Friday I had cut work because Corvux and I were supposed to take a bus to a nearby city to attend a wedding the next morning. We ended up losing the bus so, after calling mom, who was already there, and telling her we wouldn't arrive until the next morning, we decided to elope. I got into the car and it took me, all by itself it seemed, to his house. I expected he wouldn't be home, or that someone would be with him, but he was alone. And we talked. And talked. And talked. Now that I recall it I see we didn't talk about serious matters, nothing that would change my life: he told me about his childhood, about his school, about his roamings in a fisher boat. Trivial matters, anyone'd say, but I also recall how fascinating it all seemed to me, how I liked listening to him talk to me and watch the way he moved his hands.

I didn't leave until fifteen minutes before our bus left. Needless to say, I slept through the wedding ceremony. And dreamt of him.

He didn't call. I didn't expect him to, either. Next week, coincidentally, was also the week I decided to move out from my parents' and actually did it. I went to the new apartment with my new set of keys on Friday night. Will, my new roommate, wasn't home. I tested my new keys on every lock of the house, and then I found out I couldn't open the big lock of the main door. I mean, I just couldn't. I turned it this way and that, I wiggled it, all to no avail. Half an hour later, I started facing the reality: I was locked in. Will wouldn't be home until next day, and I was locked in with no telephone. I tried to call out from my cell phone, but as this was (let's tell the truth) a shitty basement apartment, the connection was also shitty. I started to seriously worry.

I started pacing through the apartment, looking for a way out. The windows were all sealed and barred, and the motherfucking lock just wouldn't give in. I tried again with the cell phone, no good. But half an hour later, as I started to browse through Will's books, my cell phone rang. It was him. I told him my situation and he took a cab to my place, I passed him the keys under the door, and he opened the door as if the lock was buttered. We tried again, and the lock worked perfectly. That was very strange.

We went to his place. He made me a cup of tea and we talked... and talked... and talked... and talked some more. When the sun was starting to come through the window, I found myself lying face to face with him, talking. I want him to touch me, I thought. Oh, how I ache for him to touch me. And then, still talking, he stretched his arm around me and held me.

We've all read, I think, about that crap of 'seeing stars' or seeing 'strange dancing lights' when someone really special touches you in some bodice-ripper, or maybe in some stupid pink novel. Let me tell you, it's so not crap. When he touched me, I saw a whole display of fireworks before my eyes. I'm not joking. I saw them. There were red lights, and yellow and blue and silver lights, dancing before me. What I felt... I can't even begin to describe it. 'Bliss' is the only word that comes to my mind, and I guess it's not a very good one.

We kissed. We kissed at dawn. I was on fire (literally, all those lame clichés proved to be very fucking true.

We didn't make love that day. It was the last day I would actually live at my parents' and I knew that if I didn't come home at least to sleep a couple of hours I would never hear the end of it. So I left.

This time he did call. He showed up at my house next saturday at ten o'clock, and we walked all day and talked all day. Neighborhood after neighborhood, subject after subject, all day. He left me home at ten o'clock in the night. Twelve hours we walked and talked, talked and walked.

Next weekend, he took me to his house and made love to me. We made love all night. And talked. Then we slept, woke up, made love, and talked some more.

This went on for several weeks.

What happened then?

I just don't know. We got distracted, I guess. Or maybe I realized I might very well love him much more than I ever thought I could ever love. Maybe that scared me a little. I mean, I didn't ever came to actually be in love with him, but I realized the potential love I could have for him and that scared me. I was in a time of my life when I wanted to be loved as much as I wanted to love, and I wasn't very sure about his potencial of love for me. Maybe he was in a similar position. I don't know.

What happened was, I stopped calling him. I stopped going to the places I knew I'd meet him. He never called. Not once. Weeks went by. Then one day someone knocked on the door, I opened it, and it was Belendor outside. The rest is now.

I met him several times afterwards, but we never could speak privately. I remember the first time I arrived to a party with Belendor and he was there, he just looked at me. And looked. And looked. We spoke a little about his upcoming documentary's shooting, but not much more. I guess we both felt awkward. I know I felt as hot and feverish and nervous as I always felt around him even though by then I loved Belendor very much, so I avoided him after then.

Months later we had a chance to talk. Belendor was out on tour, Arwen had passed out on the sofa, and we were both a little high. High enough to speak our minds, not high enough to do something I'd regret later on. He told me he thought ours had been a story of disencounter. Both of us felt very strongly about each other, and yet none of us had had the force to attempt a relationship at that moment. So we just... let it go. But still, I said, I feel for you. My heart is racing (yet another cliché that proved to be 100% true). Mine too, he said. I'd like to kiss you. And I said, I want you to kiss me. And we did. We kissed.

That was all, and I hadn't seen him until this very night. And (another cliché!) I'm still shaking.

I have Belendor now, and I love him very, very much. He has a girlfriend whom she lives with and he also loves her very, very much. Still, when I saw his look of happiness when he saw me, when I saw the way he rushed towards me and embraced me, I knew he still feels the same way that I do.

I could have loved him so much.