My world had been an unending parade through dark theaters, dingy bathrooms, smoky bars, and unmade beds. But the world that Joaquín shared with me that night was clean, brightly lit, and inhabited by sophisticated young people who welcomed me with open arms. Still, I feared that my own peasant bloodline would show, and they’d stop wanting me in their lives.
I knew how to hide behind my looks and my gift for drawing people in. I had studied and listened, and could talk about things in a manner that made me seem older than I actually was. I knew I could hide behind my façade. And so, cloaked in my tools and tricks, we hopped from one tapas bar to the next, meeting his friends at each stop.
It was after eleven when we approached a table where a jubilant group was engaged in frantic debate. I was startled when one of the young women from the group jumped up and kissed and hugged me before Joaquín introduced us. She was handsome more than beautiful, and her gregarious demeanor gave her a certain grace. Her straight auburn hair, parted in the middle, draped long past her shoulders and onto the round collar of her close-fitting white lace top. She wore a short brown and red plaid skirt, which matched the colors of her chunky Mary Janes.
“Mi hermana Pilar,” Joaquín said with a sense of familial pride as he introduced me to his sister. And just like that, she welcomed me into her life. I felt safe next to Pilar and Joaquín. I felt loved. I felt clean and reborn.