Christmas Eve Grace
I still haven't heard anything about her tastes or personality, but her very presence catches me up. I can assure you that many times I have been eager to photograph girls here in Morocco, but never before meeting the girl herself. Is this how it feels to be in love?
I was so crazy about this girl that I even broke my prince dream to be in the commercial area very early. I had the idea that if I waited for her there before dawn, I could find out exactly where she worked at. I couldn't find out before because the owner of the bazaar wouldn't let me go out for a walk.
As I said, I once interrupted my sacred dream and was early in the shopping area. Almost no shop had opened. It was cold and there were several barks and howls of dogs, while the rays of the sun barely sprayed the place. I was crouched on the roof of one of the stores waiting for her to pass by. I think I fell asleep for a moment, but I woke up alert when I began to hear the opening of tents here and there.
I changed my position from vigil to pursuit when in the blink of an eye I saw her coming out of one of the many alleys leading to the shopping area. As always, she was walking very loose and detached from everything around her. I jumped from store to store until I reached one with a side staircase. I looked like a leopard hunting. I thought I had her, when out of nowhere people started coming out from everywhere and I couldn't see her so easily anymore.
No doubt, I was afraid my boss would scold me for being late to the bazaar, but I was even more afraid of losing her of sight. I continued to walk quickly several meters behind her, when suddenly the Sun came out completely and she disappeared completely as well. I looked to the left, to the right, to the back, but nothing, there was no trace of her. I almost disarmed myself from the sadness, but the obligation to work pushed me to walk back.
I took a few steps and bumped into a big guy carrying a lot of fruits. He almost broke me in half for this, but I helped him to pick up the fruit as fast as I could. And it happened that when I picked up the last orange from the ground, I felt a look over me, in addition to the big guy's. I followed this impression and boom! It was the new girl at the counter of Hassan Amwaj Jewelry. As soon as I saw her with my mouth open, she immediately stopped looking at me and made a concentrated face looking away from me.
I haven't felt this lucky since I bought my last camera. Ignoring the big guy's latest sermons, I walked like a hypnotized man to the jewelry store. She still didn't lose her focus and didn't see me. I walked into the jewelry store as if I were entering Paradise and from nerves I said:
—Are you God? I'm a bed, hello! Instead of saying: Hello! I'm Ahmed, are you good?
Naturally her expression of strangeness was great, but she said nothing. She just saw me with a frown as if looking for an explanation of my reason for being there and my tangled words.
I got my nerves back together and managed to tell her who I was, what I did for a living and how much I wanted to do a photo shoot. I took out my camera to show her my last shots and thus demonstrate my sincerity in the matter.
I think she was curious when she saw the photos. Her face said so and, besides, she ended up adding:
—They were all taken here in Morocco?
Her voice was as sweet as honey, it tasted sweeter to me than anything else I had ever tasted. It was lovely. I said yes and she just added a dry "okay". Still hoping that she would say yes, I asked her in a respectful tone:
—Can we schedule a session with a lot of light and jewelry like we have here?
She looked at me seriously and shook her head. I raised my hand as if to tell her something else to convince her, but in a not so sweet tone she uttered:
—Sir, I cannot help you, I am sorry.
Out of the jewelry bottom came a middle-aged man with a long beard and a fine cloth on. His hands shone through the rings with precious stones he wore on several fingers. This man, in tune with his appearance, looked at me contemptuously and asked the girl arrogantly:
—Miriam, is something wrong?
She soon told him it was just another annoying guy, but that I was retiring from the jewelry store. There, my hopes were dashed and I almost fell apart. I was defeated, really beaten up by her treatment over me and her words. I was only left with the consolation of knowing her name. I still think that knowing that was what allowed me to get to the bazaar and endure all the boss' scolding.
When this happened to me, I took myself as the world's greatest unlucky guy for love. However, my luck would change.
Today I am happy. After a gray week because of what happened, today I can say that I will fulfill a dream: to photograph Miriam. It won't be easy to assimilate or believe, but I received help from the one who I least believed to be sweating all over the emotion today.
Being so disappointed about Miriam, I needed to express it to someone to free myself. And then Omaira appeared. She is a girl of Spanish ancestry. She's been working in the bazaar since the middle of the year and I've had conversations with her a few times. She is a kind girl and hardworking. She even invited me for her 21st birthday to take some pictures.
I really didn't want to tell anyone, even though I was dying to express it. But it must have been my face full of sadness and lazy activity in the bazaar, which motivated Omaira to ask me what was wrong with me. As I saw her really worried, I told her everything. I think I even cried. Having let go of every last ounce of disappointment, she spoke to me with a bright face:
—I'm sorry all that happened to you, Ahmed, but I have to tell you that I know the smug man in the jewelry store. He is my godfather. I don't deal much with him—then she gets a smile on her face—but I don't think he'll mind if her goddaughter asks him to take a few pictures with one of her workers as a birthday present.
I got over my amazement and asked her in a low voice:
—Didn't you ask her for some precious jewelry?
Omaira answered me after a small laugh:
—He would rather give me a car than a piece of jewelry. Anyway, I don't ask him for anything. But I can make an exception for your love story.
So here I am today, Sunday, standing next to Omaira, waiting for Miriam to arrive at one of the entrances of the commercial area. The three of us are supposed to leave from here to a small village on the outskirts of the city. I have seen my watch no less than twenty times. Omaira has told me all her jokes to relax me, but as I said before, I am sweating all over the place without stopping. It was going to be four o'clock in the afternoon, when with her unique walk, Miriam appears out of nowhere. Naturally, I just had a shock, but I restrained myself and now I greet with the same tranquility that Miriam greets Omaira and me.
We start walking towards the small village that is two kilometers away from where we are now. To break the ice, Omaira starts asking Miriam what she have learnt about the commercial area and if she could stand her conceited godfather. She gives short answers, but with a relaxed tone and smiles interspersed. Every time Miriam answers, I admire her whole way of expressing herself and maybe I ignore the answers a little bit. My racing heart and sluggish body inhibit me from introducing idiocy into the conversation like the other day at the jewelry store, and I only seem to accept everything they talk about.
While they continue to talk, I take some test shots of the arid landscape and confirm that the light favors me for this dream session. We are almost at the village. Suddenly, something interrupts my expectation. It's the red headscarf of Omaira that comes out of her head and flies away.
They scream about it, but I calm them down. The headscarf is already in my hands, although I think it could have stopped at the Sahara with that strong gust of wind coming out of nowhere. I stretch out my hand to return the headscarf to Omaira, but I feel something strange in my body when she thanks me and smiles.
Finally we are in the village. As they are already relaxed by their pleasant conversation, I feel very free to photograph them without asking them for any specific pose or to show me their smiles. I take several pictures of Omaira. Always so charming. I think sunset colors along her white and delicate complexion adorned with the red headscarf do good to her. For some reason, I concentrate on taking pictures of her from the best possible angles, but I notice she makes a gesture with her head. She asks me to go for my dream: to capture Miriam in my photographs for eternity.
I immediately set out to do so. I open my lens to focus as much as I can on her bright, angelic face. It is incredible so much beauty. Her ruby lips and amber eyes add an exquisite expression to her already outlined face, bathed in golden threads everywhere. Nerves come and go. Fortunately, I get good pictures of her.
For a second I look at Omaira and she looks pleased with what she sees. Again, she gives me a sign. This time I think it's to give Miriam the gift I have for her.
I take courage and say:
—Omaira, excuse me, could you leave Miriam and me alone for a moment?
Of course—Omaira nods.
—But what is this...
Don't worry, Miriam, I won't do anything wrong— I say with a silly smile.
Miriam keeps her usual calm, but curious she asks me:
—What is this about?
I babble a little:
—It's that, it's that... I have a little present for you. It's just, let's say, a letter where I express some feelings.
Having just said this, I stretch out my arm to give the letter to Miriam. She looks a little surprised, but there is no negative gesture afterwards.
Miriam opens her lips a little as if to tell me something, but closes them again. She squeezes them. She arranges her hair a bit and releases her lips to say something forcefully:
—Hey, this is very nice of you, Ahmed... but I'm going to marry Moulay, my boss at the jewelry store.
She hides the letter a little from me and I notice a gesture of compassion on her face. Do I look so bad now? I'm going to talk. Yes, I have to say something. God, I feel like a stone in my throat, what is this?
Miriam comes a little closer to me and with her hands joins mine to return the letter. The nerves have total control of me, but I think I'm in denial. I get the strength to speak and say what I have in mind:
—Could you please read the letter?
—Do you want to? I have already told you that...
—It doesn't matter. I will be happy if you know my feelings.
Miriam opens the letter completely and starts reading. Her face takes different forms in the process. There are even smiles. Every facial expression of hers fills me with life again. Maybe I did left my heart in those letters and she can tell.
Miriam closes the letter and with a twinkle in her eye, she approaches me with her arms outstretched. She gives me a short hug to which I don't know how to react. It must be the best moment of my life in a long time.
Out of nowhere, I manage to say:
—Christmas is coming soon and sharing it with you would be my best gift.
I think we are both shocked by what has been said. She, however, takes a few steps back and opens the letter as if to look for something in it.
"...because my love for you is a necessity"— Miriam reads very slowly. Then she asks: Do you think love is necessary?
I'm sure it is. It keeps the world spinning — I answer.
Miriam reads on: "...even though I don't know you very well, I know you're the one for me." How can you be so sure? I even treated you badly before.
I've wanted to, I've wanted to... I don't know how to complete the sentence and then she interrupts me by reading another part of the letter.
"If you are a little younger than me, it's not a problem. Love ignores the ages." This could be true sometimes —Miriam said in a sad tone.
I come back and make a bigger effort than before and ask:
—What's wrong, Miriam? Why are you talking like this?
—Ahmed, love is complex. I'm going to be the wife of a man that is twenty years older than me, who I know little about and with whom I really feel no need to share anything. Could you call that love? I feel that some in this life are lucky enough to do what they want, but others, like me, are just slaves to someone else. You are free to declare your love to me, but I am not free to reciprocate.
At the moment, I see several tears coming from Miriam's amber eyes. I want to comfort her, but she takes a deep breath and then says:
—I had to accept the job in the jewelry store, even though I had been studying, because my parents were broke and couldn't do anything. My dad, who has known Mr. Moulay for years, offered me as his new wife in exchange for a job to support him and my mom.
Right now I feel absolutely devastated. I don't think I can even breathedue to all the accumulated tension. I see Miriam coming up to me again and hugging me, sobbing. I hug her very hard. As strong as I can, even when I'm so weak.
This scene doesn't last long because I feel Omaira coming back and Miriam immediately steps aside. Miriam makes a gesture of positivity and Omaira responds with another one. She says:
—Guys, it's been a nice afternoon, hasn't it? But it is already getting dark. We'd better get back to the city.
The way back wasn't two kilometers. It was eight kilometers through all the silence and thoughts that were overwhelming me. Omaira barely spoke a few things, and Miriam responded timidly. About an hour ago, I left Omaira in her house, after having left Miriam in hers as well, and now I am sitting in the entrance of mine. I think I have the best pictures I have ever taken in my camera, but I feel like they are the worst.
I have been working very hard today in the bazaar. My boss was surprised and congratulated me. He says that if I keep this up, he will invite me to his big end-of-year feast. In the meantime, I don't know what will become of my life. I don't even know what I will do for Christmas Eve. Maybe I will throw pieces of bread to the dogs that wander around my house. What an entertainment!
The last hour of work arrives and I'm picking up some of my things. At that moment I am interrupted by Omaira, who had not seen me since last sad Sunday.She walks around very brightly and tells me with great enthusiasm all that her family has bought to celebrate Christmas Eve. She asks me what plans I have made, and I tell her about the dogs. She laughs a lot and asks me the same thing again. My empty answer of "I don't know" I think leaves her worried and that's when she invites me to her family celebration. I don't accept it because I don't have the courage, but she insists so much that I end up agreeing to her invitation.
You'll have a great time, Ahmed. My family will receive you as if it were yours, you'll see— Omaira tells me with the best of intentions.
I sigh and with great effort I manage to say:
—Thank you very much, Omaira. I will try to bring something.
However, several hours later, already when many families have to be together, I am at the door of my house looking at the sky looking for some hope. I feel sorry for Omaira and her family, but I feel as dry as the Sahara and the Kalahari together. There is not much I can offer. I think the best thing is to go to sleep. I shake my pants and push away the dogs that want to get into the house with me, when I hear a voice shouting: Ahmed, Ahmed, wait!
I turn towards where the voice is coming and I see Omaira coming running with an extremely beautiful dress. She is all beautiful.
—Ahmed, what are you doing here? In my house we have been waiting for you for two hours.
Hey, I'm not in the mood— I say bitterly.
Omaira makes a worried face and approaches me to ask:
—What's wrong with you? You're not like that. Shouldn't you be happy because you finally photographed and proposed to the girl of your dreams last Sunday?
That's precisely why I'm this way—I respond in a low voice and with my head down.
What happened?— Omaira asked me right away.
I explain to her everything that happened and my feelings come to the surface as they did when I confessed to Omaira what I felt and wanted with Miriam last time.
She says:
—The way your face was and hers when we came back from the session, I knew something wasn't right. But I didn't want to ask you anything. I—she goes on—was a little sick these days and that's why I hadn't looked you up to see what had happened. I'm sorry.
—Don't worry about it. It's not your fault at all.
After this Omaira asks me to get my camera. I'm in and out in an instant. To my surprise, she takes it and turns it on as if she knew it very well. She searches through the folders and gets to the Sunday photos and selects one of hers with a beautiful flowery background.
Everything can't be that bad—she says. Do you like this picture?
Yes, one of the best ones from that day—I answer.
Then, there can be many more like it because I can be your model whenever you want— Omaira says to me in a very sweet tone before kissing me on the cheek.
Just with that kiss I feel the same as when I gave her the headscarf and she thanked me with so much charisma. The emotion is suddenly ambushed throughout my body and I regain the hope I had lost. I can't believe it and with great strength, I hug Omaira.
Ahmed, don't crush me, please. I still want to eat—she says in a stifled voice.
I let go of her and we laugh for a moment. Then she takes me by the hand and starts running. We arrive at her house and her whole family shouts my name as if I were a celebrity. Soon they serve me food and speak to me with great affection, while Omaira looks at me with great happiness. In the end, I think it is going to be a memorable Christmas next to those who I least expected it.
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Hello, people! I am happy to take part of this Writing Challenge once again. Being this its last week, I can say firmly it has been both a demanding and enjoyable process from which I have learned so much. I thank @theinkwell for it. Hope you liked this Christmas-influenced short story towards holidays.
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