They say of me that I exist in an invisible “everything.” I dare say in everything, because regardless of social, cultural, or spiritual class, of any individual whether human or a beautiful monarch butterfly, all have had to do with me in the course of their lives, and as if that weren't enough I am not entirely proper to the living.
What I am about to tell you will matter little to many. It is a simple and unspectacular story. It all begins like this…
The handsome young man walked along the pier of his hometown. She who was enjoying a vacation precisely in that same place had decided to wander the downtown without any company during the day. Downtown and the pier were barely two blocks apart. When, on the sidewalk, she crossed the street, the young man did not, because of a few coins that slipped from him. She passed by his side and he couldn't help feeling her perfume, but, that time they didn't meet…
Another of the times their gazes were about to collide was when he decided to go to a fashion show. His girlfriend practically forced him. There was the young man, seated at the back of one of the many halls of a renowned and elegant hotel, holding his companion's hand. She was in the chair next to him. For more than thirty minutes, the young man was tempted to fix his gaze on the owner of that aroma that seemed familiar to him. She was too many times, I would say, tempted the same way, to turn her eyes to whoever it was that smelled of tobacco. The smell that came off the young man's clothes wasn't unpleasant, it was more like freshly sanded mahogany, it was a smell of man, of wood that didn't get confused with the other aromas in the hall. But that time they didn't see each other either…
And so it went many times. For different factors the encounter between her and the young man never took place until that Friday…
The bus couldn't be distinguished completely in the night. The lights of its interior seemed electric ghosts flying along the highway. In the passenger aisle, in seat number 25, the young man was tremendously weighed down by his remorses. It wasn't easy, for him, to have left his home behind with the purpose of finding fortune and if he had any luck finding himself. He missed his parents, his mother especially. Memories with his family and friends ran through his mind like enormous black-and-white photos. He felt almost as if in a process of hiding his previous life and forging a new one, and if he couldn't, he would invent it.
When the bus completely stopped the purr of its engine, the young man couldn't help noticing the station that the side of the ADO reflected in the fogged windows. The marquee announcing meals for only 13.- new pesos was reflected in reverse, on the side of the bus. The young man sketched a slight smile seeing how the station sometimes existed and other times, because of the fog, was lost in the night. From the aluminum door that surely let out a creak when opened, three individuals came out running. The bus access door emitted a sigh and then opened to half its width. On the bus everyone was sleeping, except the young man, who for some reason hadn't been able to fall asleep throughout the whole trip.
She crossed the street hurriedly, on one arm she carried her briefcase and on the other a thermal cup of coffee. Arriving at the bus entrance she looked at her ticket number, 26 was the seat she would travel in. Her well-formed legs gave a little spring climbing the first step. Her bluish-green eyes reflected in the windshield. The driver couldn't help seeing them. She was about to put her suitcase in the overhead compartment when she noticed she would have a travel companion. She wasn't in the mood for a talk, in fact for any talk. She continued without turning to look. The young man didn't raise his gaze either. She sat in number 32. No problem, since there were about 10 empty seats inside. Up to here it seemed our protagonists wouldn't meet…
The young man and she slept during the following three hours. She the lost sleep and the young man the desired sleep. Here my friends is when I enter the story. Only two hours before our ordinary ones would arrive at their destination.
The driver was completely lucid and awake. The radio played a song by Lara, “Azul” if I remember right. The chewing gum had completely lost its sweet flavor, and the driver prepared to take another from his pocket. Suddenly without any reason at all, the driver fell asleep just like that. It was like a lightning bolt straight to his consciousness. It was as if his mind slowly drifted away from him, detaching from any reason. As one might think, the bus didn't take long to leave the highway. When the driver's traveling mind looked back at the night, the only thing he could see was a tree that seemed to grow from the sky. People screamed desperately. From nowhere and everywhere hands began to come out crying for help. She and the young man, it seemed, were the only ones unharmed. The passengers' screams could be heard muffled from outside. Only that and the running of gasoline on the ground broke the silent enchantment of the night.
After the whole crew had been evacuated from the bus by the young man and her, and while the driver chewed frantically his chewing gum which by the way now had an unpleasant bitter taste, the man addressed in the blue jacket lit a cigarette. He had matches, of those that are waterproof. The flame that sprang from the surface was totally blue. Of all the people who had been on the bus when it rolled downslope, and with the exception of 2 or 3 bruises the size of a fist everyone was in perfect though frightened condition. Strange then that those who had no bruises, those who had managed to get the crew out of the bus, were standing in the puddle of gasoline. The burns were slight. The explosion of the bus was almost apocalyptic, more than four of those present affirmed seeing an atomic mushroom form in the firmament. “Matters of fright,” the doctor had said.
The ambulance arrived skidding at the hospital. She was unconscious. The young man couldn't see well. Both were attended by Dr. Oñates. Both were attended in the same room, at the same hour, the same day. Both were in collective room number 30. She read a month-old Vanidades and the young man a Vanidades with the same cover. The only thing that separated them from meeting was the plastic curtain, which never moved, not even from the wind. Both ate chicken the same day, and as if that weren't enough the same nurse attended them. But they didn't meet either, though they had already heard each other…
On being discharged the same day, and to my advantage, the young man and she went down in the same elevator. Nothing happened. He recognized her perfume and she did too. Both for reasons they no longer wanted to seek, didn't raise their eyes. Both wore the same pair of sneakers. She size 5, and he size 8. Needless to say I was starting to believe they were going to meet in pieces, but something happened that I had nothing to do with…
The young man, decided to continue his journey, extended his index finger and shortly after got in the taxi. A few meters ahead, she, also decided to continue, got in the same taxi. He traveled in the front seat and she in the back seat. The taxi driver asked – where to? -, the question had no direction so both answered in unison, – to the ADO, please -, they looked at each other and smiled. Once they arrived at the bus station, the young man went to buy a good book at the variety store nearby. He finally decided on “Love in the Time of Cholera” by García Márquez. She was reading the same book, with her ticket in hand, seated in the cafeteria.
She boarded her bus, and settled in number 26. The young man settled in 12. This time the bus didn't overturn, but stopping to eat at the first station, the two recognized each other in the cafeteria, talked, and traveled together for the rest of the trip.
During their florid and interesting conversation, the two brought me to light. My laughter was uncontainable, I had waited a long time to get rid of this little job. They didn't know that within very little time I would marry them and fill them with children, their whole life would be filled with happiness, thanking me for having found them. Their names are of no importance. Though this time was one of those I struggled with most.
I believe you now know my name and if some don't know it they commonly call me destiny. This little story I have only thought to tell so that you realize that sending you your own path is not traced, though too many times as it stands, the ending is the same…