It's not official

So I was there, waiting him, five minutes after the appointed hour, all my mental alarms ringing and saying with musical voice, ‘haha, this was a baaad joooke, he was mocking youu, you deserve it for having lunch dates with strangeeeers,’ when I saw him, in the opposite side of the street looking –as I did- worried enough. We waved at the same time and he crossed the road, joining me at the door… of the wrong restaurant.

After an awkward moment where we seemed unable to decide which cheek should be kissed first, I standing on tiptoe and he bending his head slightly, he handed me a book. It was an old but well-preserved book, obviously used, which talked about the idiosyncrasy of a book obsessed, the perfect present for a bookworm like me, he said.

It was obvious that he had been spying my readings too and he had included me in the group of the literary gluttons, so he gave me one of her favourite books… which was -can you believe it?- one of my favourite titles too…

We ordered our meals in Italian, laughed a lot and talked –mainly- about books and, though we had not too much spare time, we decided to have a coffee, or an ice cream next day, after dinner.

And, how this was not enough, we decided to study together, in the library of his Fac, on Saturday afternoon, where he learnt a bit more about me and I find out what he thought about this Evil Spambot:

Cute Reader: I still have to think a good approach to the last part of my monograph, about ‘La saga/fuga de JB’…

Evil Spambot, without raising her eyes: Ugh, I’d prefer ‘Los gozos y las sombras’, even ‘El rey pasmado’ * would be fine before than that one…

Cute Reader: How do you…? Have you read those???

Evil Spambot: -rolls eyes-

Evil Spambot: I’m a nerd, you know?

Cute Reader, obviously flirting: Yeah, a cute, pretty nerd

Evil Spambot: And sexy

Cute Reader: -appraising look-

Cute Reader: And sexy

Evil Spambot: -grins-

Cute Reader: ♥

*These titles have not been translated, so I won’t do what the experts didn’t.

And, as one thing leads to another, we finished having dinner together, where he ate kangaroo only because I told him that he should taste kangaroo, and watching fireworks at midnight, when we were coming back home.

Since then, we have found every day a minute to be together and talk of this or that, except yesterday and today... We have killed our phones credit by now.

It is not official, but… he loves me. I’m sure.

Yours,

~ Evil Spambot ~

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The reader (on the tube). The denouement

After the disturbing look we had exchanged two days ago, I was decided to conceal my curiosity so, next day, when I came into the coach and there were no free seats close to him, I mentally sighed of pure relief.

I sat on the opposite row and, when I was going to open my book, carefully keeping my eyes on my hands, he stood up, walked across the corridor and took the seat next to me. Then, he handed me his book, saying, ‘Here. I think you were interested.’

I took the book and, for a second, I had two books on my hands and I dind’t know what to do with any of them. Without giving me a chance of saying something, he continued, looking directly into my eyes, ‘I’m Alessandro *****, but everybody calls me Corso.’

His voice was low and kind, as it was his look: he was talking just for me, smiling with the tiny smile of someone who knows how things must be done. And then it was when I burst into laughs.

I laughed uncontrollably until the train stopped in the next station, the books on my lap, almost crying. He let me laugh, without saying a word, an amused look on his face, as if he knew why I was laughing my head off.

‘Sorry,’ I told him when I got a grip on myself, wiping the tears from my eyes, ‘you’ll think I’m insane, but… I have a character called Francesca Corso…’

He didn’t look confused at all; without leaving that expression of kind interest, he said only two words, ‘Wow, a serendipity…’

And then it was when I stopped dead in my tracks and gasped of amazement, when I realized that I could fall totally in love with him, when I could have kissed him, right there, without further advice…

Instead, I said, ‘Let me check your book,’ and we both laughed together.

That day we left the station together, walking slowly, holding our books. We had lots of things to say.

Since then we have shared lunches and dinners, ice creams and walks, hours of study in the library and nights of fairs and fireworks.

And books.

Yours,

~Evil Spambot ~

The reader (on the tube). 2nd part

Sooo… you can see us again, a few days later, one sit next to the other, staring at our respective books with iron discipline when -oh, surprise!- he closes his book, and takes out from his bag a brand new one.

That was cruel. I couldn’t but giving it forced sidelong glances, because staring openly would have been SO rude… At the first, I thought it was a book written in French –the letters were tiny-tiny- but later I thought it could be Italian…

I’m sure he noticed all these more or less concealed looks; he couldn’t stop playing with his hair, so at the end he was a good enough male version of Ms. Granger. But the worst part was the mine: imagine if I was upset, that I closed my book one station before our stop because I couldn’t concentrate on it! I thought I could see the cover when he closed his book, but nooo… On purpose or not, he kept the book quickly, its cover conveniently upside down…

We stood up at the same time, as a single person, and waited the train stopped. As always, he strode out the couch as soon as the doors were open, walking hurriedly towards the stairs. I followed him (not because I was stalking him, but because it was my stop and I had to leave the station too :p), thinking he soon would go out of sight, when, before running stairs up, he looked back. At me. For what seemed an eternity, he looked directly into my eyes. It was not a random look. He was looking at me, and I looked him back.

Then, he climbed the stairs almost running, as usual, and I walked up too without knowing if he had looked at me again or not, because I didn’t dare to look at him.

And when I was leaving the station I realized that, when our eyes met, none of us was smiling. We looked each other with a look of acknowledgement, a look of ‘I knew it’, frank, direct, without concealments. Without smiling.

Now, I fear my next tube ride. And I can’t imagine why :S

Yours,

~ Evil Spambot ~

TO BE CONTINUED…

The reader (on the tube). 1st part

He’s tall and thin. His eyes, behind those small glasses that you’d relate with intellectual people or with Harry Potter, are blue greenish, or green bluish, depending of his clothes. His waved, shoulder-length hair is always held in place with a colourful headband, or tied in a short ponytail. He always wears jeans and shirts, or a pair of comfortable-looking trousers. Oh, and he wears a little goatee, very Orlando Bloomish or Johnny Deppish… And a book. He is always reading a book.

Everything began last September, maybe October, when I was doing my usual scanning to get new titles for my Top Metro (Click this link for further information). As I do, he always takes a seat in the last coach, probably because we reach the exit doors before than everybody; so I see him very often. I can’t remember when I saw him for the first time, but I know he was reading a book in Italian and I thought he would be one of those exchange students in our Uni. One day, we were sit one next to the other and I had one of my Italian readings on my hands; I know that was the day when he noticed me… or my book :D

Since then, he has read a couple of books more (I didn’t manage to see the titles, in Spanish, btw) and lately he is making last one of those Terry Pratchett books as much as I’m making last my Dry Store Room Nº1.

However, you’d say, ‘why is she writing this blog now? To talk about another bookworm?’

No. Last week, something happened. I was on the platform and when the train arrived, I saw him, as ever, through the window. There were two free seats next to him and, when I stepped in the coach, he raised his eyes for a split second, looked at me and next, for a millisecond too, he looked at the free seat next to him.

See… I took it as an invitation. What more I could do? :p

As ever, we didn’t talk, we just buried our noses in our respective books. And when we arrived to our station, he left the coach as if hundred Hellhounds were chasing him, as he uses to do…

If someday we talk, maybe we should agree our next reading –I love shared readings, it makes great convos and lots of fun. Do you think he had read Brisingr? I had to drop it when I barely had read a few pages and I’d love reading it now.

Today he has looked at me, for a millisecond, but for real. Maybe there will be a someday.

Yours,

~ Evil Spambot ~

TO BE CONTINUED…

Chau definitivo, Benedetti

Aprendí la canción sin saber de ti y años más tarde, leyendo tus poemas, encontré aquellos versos tan familiares. Y entonces comprendí.

Chau definitivo, Benedetti. Hoy el amor y la libertad están de luto. Y yo.

Tuya,

~ Evil Spambot ~

I learnt the song without knowing about you and some years later, reading your poems, I found those familiar verses. And then, I understood.

Goodbye forever, Benedetti. Today, love and freedom are in mourning. So am I.

Yours,

~ Evil Spambot ~

Fan

I have a fan. A supporter. o.O

I’m not talking about my first and most loyal fan –you- who always reads and comments my blogs. I’m talking about a new fan.

-insert spambotic squee-

My brand new fan never will read my blogs. My brand new fan never will post here. But my brand new fan will be there, supporting me, loving what I write, proud of me, and I’ll be aware of it.

I’ve chosen that song, utterly unrelated with this blog, as a present for my new fan. It’s a well deserved present. Serendipity, serendipity, I was going to change it for the version of Antonio Vega, but it had a very poor quality.

Rest in Peace, Antonio Vega.

Yours,

~Evil Spambot~

Name Day (2nd part)

Today is my Name Day. Again, yes. Because I’m cool like that :D

<3>

Yours,

~Evil Spambot~

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Sweet Red Floyd

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have you found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

Pigs were a bit too much right now. <_<>

Yours,

~ Evil Spambot ~

(This blog is for the girl with wonderful light hazel eyes and for the red-haired boy; for all what could have been and it wasn’t)

Name Day

This week is my name day. It is, also, the name day of Mum and Grannie and it was my Great-grans’ name day. More than a century ago, one of my ancestors decided that his daughter would receive a name in her Baptism. My name. I’m the 4th generation of women in my family wearing that name. If one day I have a little Spambottie, she will receive that name, too. The 5th generation. Wow. It is something, isn’t it? :)

As every year, we are going to celebrate it. My friends and relatives will phone me –will phone us- and if you call home, you always will find the line busy, very busy. I’ll watch the fireworks display at midnight and at 2:00 pm; my city also celebrates that day :D We’ll have a family lunch, and I’ll get presents, flowers, chocolate…

And you won’t be here. I’ll miss you.

Yours,

~ Evil Spambot ~