Chapter 11: Sweet Nothing

That weekend passed normally, back in the city of Caracas. I caught up on my university work, listened to "Sweet Nothing" by Calvin Harris, did yoga, read, ate, and wrote. And yet, that tingling in my stomach when I remembered the stranger kept happening. I thought about how much I missed that feeling she made me feel, the feeling of ecstasy. I didn’t miss her because she was a stranger; I didn’t even know her name, but that sensation of abandon and thrill I had while dancing with her haunted my memories.

"How can I miss a stranger so much? I don’t understand." I questioned myself. "Is this some sort of attachment?" I wondered. "God, I need to see a psychologist."

Maybe with time I would forget her; after all, life is what happens when we make new plans. The plans are drawn away from my stranger and me, destined to meet, and we continue on our paths, forgetting that calm energy frozen in our subconscious. It’s easy to let it go, to forget every gesture and sensation, every sigh and signal of our burning bodies. But everything exists in the charge of our atoms, and if I ever cross paths with that person; beyond a physical attraction when we touch; or chemistry when our atoms orbit around the same nucleus, towards the center of our fused bodies, becoming one in a dance, that’s where the real magic happens. Beyond all forces of attraction. Both souls will magnetize each other, they will do so constantly even when separated. That’s where true and authentic magnetism is born.

I didn’t know where to find her or how to ease my restlessness. Sometimes I thought maybe I was just exaggerating and that encounter with that girl hadn’t meant more than a night of drinks, where my stranger was probably a Latin lover aimlessly flirting with everyone in the bathroom of a nightclub and then dragging them to the police station.

I didn’t want to be just another of her conquests; I wanted to give her everything within my reach if what we felt was genuine. I could be sweet, loving, and a perfect lover, everything my stranger wanted, if only I could see her again. I remembered her brown hair and her seductive eyes amid the noise of a bar. I began to wonder what her voice would sound like when she was very tired, just before sleeping, or when something excited her a lot; I felt a certain accent I had heard before somewhere when she spoke to me. Fate had played its hand that night, and now her tones, her nuances, and her gestures remained a riddle, a very unsettling one that wouldn’t let me put my mind anywhere but on our bodies dancing. I wondered if the police told the truth, if it was true she was drugged, or if she was just a victim of injustice; I thought about her and couldn’t help but worry.

I didn’t want to think about her so much to avoid stealing her moments; I didn’t want to build her on a sandcastle without her having built her stone one first; I just wanted to discover where her castle was, to know who she was, and to be the foam of the sea that embraced her. I just lay in my bed with my eyes closed, arms open, waiting for it to become more than a fantasy. To meet her, twice, three times, many times. How I would have loved to meet her! At least to know her name. That Sunday afternoon, I decided. I wouldn’t stay with the uncertainty; I wanted to meet her, and I would. Even if it ended up disappointing me and shattering my crystal fantasies. I got to work on my search. I had idealized her so much that I was already dreaming of meeting her; she was my ideal girl, and we would end up getting married in the Canary Islands. In the afternoon, I sent a message to all my contacts on Blackberry Messenger saying the following:

Good afternoon, guys. I would like you to help me find a girl I danced with Saturday night at the Jackos nightclub in the city of Mérida. She was dark-skinned, wearing a white blouse and jeans, with short, wavy hair, above her shoulders, in the style of Rihanna in "Umbrella."

She was about one sixty-something, wearing a black bra, and she was dancing in the corner of the dance floor next to the speakers around 7 PM at the Jackos nightclub. If anyone knows who I’m talking about, please let me know how to contact her, and thank you very much. Hugs and Kisses! P.S. I loved her, and I don’t even know her name; help me find her.

Adriana Faublack: I know her; that's my Psyche. Musa Berhnhardt: Your Psyche? Adriana Faublack: Yes, I met her last Saturday at Jackos.

I called Adriana.

Hello?

Where did you meet her?

I met her at the nightclub. That night I left without her number because she disappeared, she disappeared, and I couldn’t ask for her number. She asked for my number, but I told her I had lost my phone, and I told her my name so she could find me on Facebook.

But explain to me, how did you meet her? - I asked, paying attention to every word. Could it be that Adriana was talking about the same person I was looking for?

I met her in the bathroom; we were both waiting for the bathroom to free up, and we started talking... She told me she liked my hair; she said, “I like your hair, I love it, I love it,” and then I told her my name was Adriana, and her name is Psyche; her friends call her Rocío.

Rocío?

Yes, she offered me a cigarette with a green tip, and we started talking; she asked me if I had marijuana, and I told her no. - I sighed upon hearing Adriana on the phone. “Omg, it was the same green-tipped cigarettes that my unknown girl had offered me... it was her!” My heart raced. Her name was Psyche... and apparently, she had the trick of offering her cigarettes and smoking in the bathroom while meeting girls, with more than one girl that night, and also... she liked to smoke marijuana. I analyzed all the information with Adriana on the phone.

No one had ever offered me to smoke cigarettes before that night; maybe for Rocío, it was a normal thing to do, while for me, it was a gesture that inspired complicity. I had mixed feelings: excitement at knowing her name and disappointment at having felt special because she noticed me. I knew I was special, but I wasn't sure if the connection I felt with her was mutual.

Her name is Psyche? - I repeated, asking Adriana on the phone to confirm the information.

Yes, her name is Psyche, and she is beautiful, but she left, and I won’t see her again.

Where did she go?

To San Juan de los Morros; she lives there. She invited me to a reggae festival on May 29, and I’m planning a trip to go see her.

She lives in San Juan de los Morros?

Yes, she studies medicine there.

And what sign is she? Didn’t you ask her sign?

She’s a Taurus.

Really? I’ve never been with a Taurus.

I know, Taurus girls are sexy, and she is very sexy, but you are more sensual, beautiful little crab — said Adriana excitedly. — Besides, I’m tired of the active ones, and I want a passive one like you. - I made a gesture of displeasure in the air at the turn of the conversation; it was starting to annoy me, trying to approach me.