Episode Two

"Here you are, miss," says the stewardess, handing me the drink and another glass with several ice cubes.

He smiles at Julio.

"Bitch," I mutter, trying to cover it up with a cough.

The stewardess, after showing that she has all her potential in her tits and not in her brain, gives up flirting with the man to my right and walks off with her hips shaking excessively.

I look out the window to avoid swearing and explaining with a spoon to that fool that this man is not in it. It is a Beautiful young woman, just like the airlines look for in the hostesses. Blonde with presumably hair extensions, brown eyes, and a heart-shaped mouth. She is attractive and flirtatious. I owe you the vote of appreciation.

Suddenly, the stewardess's voice is heard behind the loudspeaker.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of Quisqueya Airlines, Commander Josua and the entire crew, we welcome you aboard this flight to Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, whose estimated duration is two hours. For safety reasons, and to avoid interference with aircraft systems, portable electronic devices may not be used during the take-off and landing phases. Mobile phones must remain disconnected from the closing of the doors until they are opened at the destination airport. Please check that your table is folded, the back of your seat is fully upright and your seat belt is fastened. We remind you that smoking is not allowed on board. "

I grab my phone and put it in airplane mode.

I take flight rules and statutes very seriously. For take-off the use of the mobile network connection is not allowed. I connected the Wi-Fi on board, a service that all airlines offer and that allow mobile phones to remain connected with social networks and others. I put on the white headphones and plug them in before the song of the group Cultura Profética begins to play. Complicity is one of my favorite songs.

"You almost bit her," says Julio the No-surname.

"As you say? I take off one of the headphones and turn to look at it.

My profession made me a stubborn observer. Every bodily detail is a sign of truth or a lie, of sadness or happiness. I am good at pretending, something I have cultivated over the years, although it was not so easy for others to pretend with me.

When I arrived in Queens, I was nothing more than a young woman full of dreams and goals for whom her mother managed to obtain a passport and visa. Born and raised in the Dominican Republic, a country where there aren't many opportunities for anyone, not just youths and kids. Life is difficult there. Prospering and having a quality education is practically impossible as the daughter of a single mother whose boyfriend pregnancy at the age of 16. My grandparents were supportive enough to take care of me and educate me with the main values ​​that I use today as a mantra: "Be honest and respectful, you will find the rest along the way." I grew up in a field of about 800 inhabitants, where all the families know each other and try to take care of their children and those of their neighbors. There is not the situation of a child disrespecting an adult without some of his teeth falling to the floor because of a good backhand to the face. I got used to being self-reliant and being afraid of my actions. My grandmother Ina always told me: "What you do today will define what you will be tomorrow," so I tried not to have sex until I graduated from high school, not for lack of desire or suitors, but for fear of and Unwanted arms, which abound like hot cakes. I was and still am the hope of my family. I had a lot of pressure when I was a teenager. I felt bad. My ideals are they strengthened when one of my classmates from the third year of high school got pregnant by a university student and she couldn't continue school. She died giving birth to her son. The consequences of this resulted in most of the girls in the high school feeling desperate and full of anguish. No young student is prepared for the death of a classmate, less when this only She is sixteen years old as was the case with Joanna Almanzar. The opinions in my house on the sexual life were without taboos or tepid cloths. I learned about a condom, menstruation, and other sexuality subtopics at the age of nine. Perhaps the knowledge of certain subjects at that age was not adequate, but the reality is that they made me cautious and fearful of my actions. More than anything, they made me the woman I am today. Since my grandfather José died when I was ten years old, my mother and my grandmother have been involved in making me a strong woman capable of getting ahead. Without having to marry someone who took me twenty years to progress in life, as was common in my little town Jimaní. At the age of nineteen, I came to the United States with two suitcases and many ideals. I have fulfilled 95% of them.

"How daring are you?" He asks with his sparkling eyes. They are common honey in color, but have a peculiar appeal, perhaps their mischievous shine.

"What kind of question is that for a complete stranger?"

"Do you know that one question is not answered with another?" Or didn't they teach you?

"You are doing the same." "I smile."

Returns to methe smile. He has a warm look.

"It only happens when he smiles, though," is the first thing I think of.

I keep the headphones in my wallet, since, based on what I see, I'm not going to use them. I place them on one side of the seat. My hair cut short at the neck allows me to relax enough not to be aware of whether or not I have my hair done.

-And good?

"I haven't been lately," I'm honest.

"We can remedy it."

"Where are you from? You speak Spanish very well to be an American.

Leguas is noticeable to me the foreigner. His complexion was neither very dark nor very light, a mixture between what my mother enjoyed and her color, white as milk. I came out a tan color. My hair, which I always keep short to save time at the hairdresser, is chocolate brown thanks to the dyes applied every month. My natural color has not shown any signs of life for years. When I was little, I looked like a walking light bulb. My tan complexion and chick blond hair was the cause of tears and sadness until I was ten years old when I realize that there are worse things than having light hair. For example, the death of my only father figure, my grandfather José.

Through the years in New York, I achieved practically perfect and clear English. Life on American soil forced me to learn, write and speak it quickly. I came from the Dominican Republic to live with a cousin of my mother named Anastasia, born on Saint Anastasio's day. I come from a culture rich in traditions and religiosity. In the Dominican Republic we believe that our greatest blessing is the strong belief in God. We have escaped hurricanes and storms that threaten to destroy us. Upon entering, they turn and do not affect us. Cousin Anastasiastressed forever.

«You are not in Quisqueya, dear Maria. Here evils do happen.

Foreversaid what same.

"Yes aunt".

My mother used to call me aunt and uncle anyone older than me for ten or more years. In Aunt Anastasia's case, for some twenty-eight years back then.

"Always wear the baby Jesus and nothing will happen to you."

As soon as I arrived at the airport and went to pick me up, he gave me a gold pendant with the image of the Child Jesus.

She is a fifty-four-year-old woman with two children, both boys. Manuel, twenty-three, and Rodrigo, twenty-seven. They were my second family. I owe them my first years in an unknown land, although life had not especially smiled on them. I can't help but feel nostalgic at the thought of Manuel.

"I am from Santo Domingo. I imagine you're also from there because of your accent, ”Julio replies.

He takes a drink from an espresso that the young woman has just brought him.

I do the same with my brandy. The taste floods my mouth. As the heat runs down my throat, I remember that I am alive. I must be grateful for being.

"I don't have an accent." "I emphasize what in my opinion is obvious."

"By the lack of one, I assume you are Dominican." Although, according to many, we speak differently, among us it is easy to recognize each other.

I nod as I take another swig of the brandy. It's delicious. I had a few pringles of pizza, but it makes like a lifetime of that. My stomach won't take a second round of brandy. I feel how when it reaches the stomach the alcohol claims everything as its own. A burning kindles me.

"I can tell from your face that you like brandy." You should take more slowly. In the end, whatever makes you sad, it doesn't deserve to get drunk.

The truth in his words bothers me.

He is a stranger.

I don't even know his last name and he already thinks he knows me.

"I'm not sad," I refute.

"And my wife was not unfaithful to me." He raises a perfectly arched brow.

"Maybe your wife was unfaithful to you" I place my left hand on his shoulder, "but my truth is that I'm not sad."

"Your eyes tell a different story, ice woman."

Does he see me cold too? Is that the idea that I project to others and that I want to project on myself?

I withdraw my hand and entwine it with the other around the glass.

What happens to people trying to meet a stranger with the naked eye?

"I'm not sad. In the case of being, which I am not saying that is the case, I would have my reasons. I raise my eyebrows as a sign of invitation silent.

"He doesn't deserve your sadness," he mutters without looking at me.

Gives the last sip to the express.

"Now it's a he." I smile and look at my brandy glass, which is crying out for me to calm down with its nectar. I give a sip; I know I drink very fast.

As the liquid falls languidly, I feel a slight numbness in my head, a simple tingle.

It's been months since I've had more than a glass of red wine, a Chianti or a Cabernet. No more than one drink to close deals or contracts. Enough to meet my clients at a dinner party. I never felt the overwhelming need to forget about the world and let myself go. I was always aware of not acting bad or hasty.

"It is obvious that it is so." You are too sensual to be a lesbian.

I almost choke on my own saliva when I hear his comment.

"Are you homophobic now?"

I know the answer, which is also obvious.

"Are you a lesbian?"

-Could be. Does sexual diversity bother you? "I take off the wine red shawl I was wearing."

According to the clock, there are less than thirty minutes of flight. Almost on Dominican soil.

I'm wearing a chunky beige blouse and grayish skinny Levi's jeans. The six-inch platform sandals make me look taller than I really am and make my legs, when sitting, go up a bit higher.

I put the shawl on my legs and I give the last drink of brandy.

"Not. " He places his right hand on my left thigh.

I raise my eyebrows as I feel intimately engaged. The warmth of his hand on my jeans penetrates up to my thigh. My skin burns. For some strange reason, it doesn't bother me that he placed his hand on me.

"Is something wrong with your armrest?" I ask when I grab her hand and place it on her thigh.

He watches me, funny. The cold occupies the space where your hand was. He's amused by my reaction.

"What would you think if I asked you to spend a night with me?" He asks, his eyes fixed on mine.