Barcelona Sunset
The sun beat down on my face as I walked down the main drag of Barcelona. The bag on my back began to weigh me down. I could feel my throat crackling from the dryness due to the sun. I had to stop for a bit.
I could hear some music in the distance and began walking to the area from which it came. I quickly found an old-looking pub that was emitting the sweet sounds of the guitar I had heard for so long through the streets.
My bags collapsed next to my barstool and requested that a glass of water be passed over to me. After a few seconds, a plastic bottle slid down from the opposite end of the bar and I devoured the cold liquid. My throat began to soothe and it relished the very welcomed drink.
As I turned away from the bar, an attractive Spaniard playing a guitar caught my eye. He played with such emotion. I could tell that he had a genuine passion for his craft.
I noticed him look at me as I was admiring him and quickly turned towards the bar. I could not keep away, though. I’d been many places before and met many different people, all of whom were fascinating. But this man, this stranger, was so interesting to me. Slowly, my stool twisted back in the direction of the guitarist, allowing me to admire his every movement.
His fingers slicked against the strings of his guitar with such professionalism, showing that he had played this hypnotizing song many times before. He continued to watch me, but it seemed not to bother me the second time around. Instead, I kept on watching him play his music. I was soon in a trance. The man’s fingers were moving so increasingly faster than before as the climax of the song approached.
Soon, there were three additional guitarists that were brought into my view. I knew they must have been there before, but for some reason, I just had not noticed them. The lead guitarist, the man I had watched do intensely from the moment I walked into the ancient pub, took the solo of the song in a magical bridge of music.
The sun began to set in the western sky, clearly visible from the pub’s dusty window, but I was rooted to my spot. The music, and the man, was now such a deep part of me. I had to know him and his music. The wait was almost unbearable, but I held it out. Soon, enough, his solo ended and he walked towards the bar, leaving the remaining three guitarists at the front.
Sitting just two small seats away from me, he ordered a beer and it was passed to him almost immediately. After taking a couple of thirsty sips from the frosty bottle, he turned towards me, giving me his full attention.
“What’s your name?” he asked me with much interest.
“Lucy. Lucy Cavelton,” He smirked at my name.
“Cavelton?” His heavy accent poured out. “I have not heard this name before.”
“Yeah,” I grinned. “That’s because it’s American.”
“Why have you come to Spain, Miss Lucy?”
“Exploration,” I told him. “I like to go somewhere new every year.”
“Did you like my music?” He had an intense look in his eyes, keeping me in his main view as he sipped his beer once more.
“Very much, thank you.” I took a sip from my water bottle.
“What did you think of it?”
The truth was I didn’t know how to explain the feelings I had developed for his music. It made me fly higher than the clouds. I could feel the cotton-like substance run through my body as I flew higher and higher. The heavens were clearly visible when he played.
He asked me if I would like him to play again. I would’ve, but we never made it to the private session. We walked down the remainder of the main drag, silently, as if the music had died. We reached my hotel after a mile or so.
“You never told me your name,” I pointed out to him.
“Carlos,” he whispered in my ear and kissed me on my cheek, as if to say goodnight.
I didn’t want to say goodnight to him. There was just something about him that I didn’t want, no couldn’t let him go. I would never have a chance like this again.
When he turned to walk away, I stopped him and made him face me again. Pure and selfish desire washed over me and before I knew it, I was kissing this man, a stranger more than anything else. But, for some reason, it was okay. There was nothing sinful about this kiss. I t was as innocent as a newborn baby.
When I pulled away from his beautiful face, I gazed into a pair of gorgeous brown eyes. We both knew there was something special there.
I decided to stay a few extra days in Spain. A few days turned into a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks turned into a month. A month turned into a year. And now, the night before my wedding day, I tell you the hopeful romantic story of my life. For dreamers everywhere, anything is possible if you only believe.
