I meet a lot of people on the metro. People who only gaze at you once, and move on, hopping off to another train. People who hope to read you in what little time they have.
I met a man once, a Spaniard. He was about 28 years old, with a scar on his mysterious face, tired eyes, rough, worked hands. He had a ring on his finger, but not a wedding ring. His eyes were searching for something. He wasn’t an ordinary man, but one of interest, personality, a wounded soul. A man who was not easy to read, who had suffered something deep, something that had left him fatigued, scarred within. I watched him as he got off, walking away to the right, gone forever. I would have liked a moment to see him again, even to talk in what little I knew. But he was gone, his scar forever in my memory.
Everyday, I encounter the oddest, most peculiar faces. I like to listen sometimes, just to hear the sound of their voices, the pitch of their accents, the movement of their lips. I like to see what makes them interesting, what makes them so out of the ordinary, so foreign and impenetrable. Inside the metro, outside under the sun of Madrid, inside the bars and restaurants and clubs, on the sidewalks and inside dense underground walkways…
Today I meet Mercedes, my Spanish exchange partner. She is in her mid-twenty’s, brunet, with a beautiful accent, pink lipstick and a cigarette. She has been a smoker for six years and wants to quit but only when she is ready. She is an actress, playing parts in theater, hoping to get a part in television. Her boyfriend of four years is in Barcelona. This is her longest relationship so far. Mercedes is a coffee addict like myself so we walk to SOL and find a quiet, tranquil spot outside under the sun, order two café con leches and talk. We have divided the time to talk both in English and Spanish, for she too is trying to learn English. We both love the city, but for different reasons. I decide that she is a true Spaniard who loves cinema, coffee, beer, theater, fiestas and all that Madrid offers.
We part ways and I walk back home, content, tired, sleepy, but no longer lost. I once again realize that I have made the best decision of my life, that I have done something extreme and grand. I get off my stop, go up and around, leave the metro station, pass by Penelope’s beautiful poster on the big brick wall and take out my keys. And the sun starts to disappear behind the towers of Madrid.