February 14th, 2008. Another absurd Valentine's Day, that sticky pink invention the masses celebrate with bovine enthusiasm. A day that, like so many others, shrinks in my memory. And yet, every time it comes around, it reminds me of something. Or rather, someone. The night I met Irene.
It wasn't Valentine's. Not even February. But that night, in the middle of a university party full of rich kids pretending to be interesting because they studied useless degrees in air-conditioned buildings, she asked me:
"You really don't celebrate Valentine's?"
And I said:
"I already told you I don't."
Arrogant and playful. As always.
"That's weird," she said.
"Of course it is. I'm not ordinary."
"My boyfriend and I always celebrate Valentine's, and he's not ordinary at all."
"Oh, he is. And you know it. But you'd rather not admit it. I get it. It's hard to accept that the people closest to us are just trash."
"Have you accepted it?"
"Sure. Wasn't that hard for me. Where I come from, people go out of their way to be garbage."
"Where do you come from?"
"North side of the city. Straight from the gates of hell. I'm from La Concepción. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."
"That's Dante, right?"
"Of course."
"I've never been to the north of Miraverde."
"Well, lucky for you, you're with the right guy if you want a guided tour."
"And when would you be available?"
"If you want, tonight."
"Now?"
"Don't you trust me?"
"I just met you."
"And I just met you. But look at me—I already trust you."
"That's different."
"How?"
"I'm a woman. You're a man. I'm not going to do anything to you."
"But you could, right?"
"No. Of course not. Why would I?"
"Just so you know, there are women who hurt people too."
"I'm a good girl."
"You say that because you have money?"
"No. That has nothing to do with it."
"If I told you I had a mansion in Chapiteles, I bet you'd come with me to have a little fun without thinking twice."
"Fun? I thought we were talking about an excursion."
"Excursions can be fun."
"You think you're fun?"
"If you let me, I'll prove it."
"You're wrong. I wouldn't have come. Not without thinking."
"Come where?"
"With you, if you had a mansion in Chapiteles."
"Why not?"
"I have a boyfriend."
"Ah, right. I forgot. You made me forget."
"I did? I made you forget?"
"Obviously."
"Why?"
"Because you're still here. Flirting with me like he doesn't exist."
"I'm not flirting."
"Yes, you are."
She looked at me with a slow-burning smile. Then said:
"Convince me. Why should I leave this party and go see La Concepción with you?"
"Because this party is a pile of shit for self-important idiots."
"You're here. Are you one of them?"
"I only came to rescue some poor woman from the boredom."
"And I'm that woman?"
"You're the chosen one."
"And what if I decide to go home instead?"
"You could. But that would just mean going back to being bored and living through another forgettable, pointless night."
"My boyfriend's at home. I can have fun with him."
"No, you can't. If he were any fun, you'd be with him right now."
"Look me in the eyes."
"I haven't stopped since we started talking."
"True. You really haven't looked away."
"And I won't. Not as long as you let me."
"Promise me something."
"What?"
"Promise me you won't do anything bad to me."
"I swear on my life. That's all I have to offer."
"And promise me..."
"No. I'm not promising anything else. Are you coming or not?"
Irene sighed, like she was surrendering to something inevitable, and then gave me a smile I've never been able to forget.
"Yes, I'm coming with you. One more thing."
"Tell me."
"I trust you. Now I do."
"That's fantastic. And since we're already in the trust zone, I might as well tell you something else."
"What is it?"
"I don't celebrate Christmas. Or New Year's. Or birthdays. Not mine. Not anyone's."
"Then I guess you're right."
"About what?"
"You're definitely not ordinary."
That night, Irene came with me to La Concepción. No, nothing bad happened. What happened is much harder to explain. Something without a name, but it left a mark. Since then, there's a part of me that no longer belongs to me. And though no one knows it—not even her, not completely—I carry it inside me, like someone hiding a shining secret in the middle of a ruined city. And if you stick around a little longer, maybe I'll tell you about it.