Kiss

Maria named her first daughter Francesca inspired by her youth dream of becoming a professional artistic photographer. When she first learned about this Woodman lady and her work she felt she was meant to follow that kind of life, a modern one, American, artistic. Unlike the traditional catholic upbringing she'd had in her provincial city. Not that Maria was ungrateful of her hard-working parents, teachers who had devoted themselves with remarkable abnegation to their children and people. They had been the very reason she didn't follow that calling and went on to become an accountant, far from her dreams but close enough to their expectations. She managed to squeeze in some time to learn that craft for a couple of years. Even though she was told she was good, her chosen profession took over. She hadn't practiced long when she married that lawyer, a competent and responsible young man, a sweet and devoted suitor, but too honest and scrupulous to advance as far as she later found out she would have liked to. Her pregnancies made it unsafe for her to be in a dark room, raising the girls made it impracticable, and having someone develop film for her was uneconomical. Her duties to her family took her away from professional activities too, but her beautiful and smart daughters filled her with a pride and purpose that more than compensated for what she could really have regretted; shelving away her black and white prints. Francesca seemed to embody her not yet forgotten dreams. Her little girl was very inclined to the visual arts ever since she could hold up a crayon to a sheet of paper. As she grew up she developed the same seeking spirit that had taken her mother to the big city. Curious and incisive, she didn't show much interest in social games. By the time she was in the body of a young lady, her heart had gone by all the regular secret crushes that no one was ever to learn about, except her best friends, and theirs. Her demeanour was shy and quiet when in public, but in her close circle her opinions were strong and outspoken. Had she followed the mores of her time and place, she would have had a boyfriend to come seeking for her parents blessing, but instead of that she shied away her eyes whenever there was the slightest risk of an intense stare landing on them. Like any other girl she waited eagerly for that moment with a yet unknown boy, who would be not just cute but the right one for her, that moment when she would get her first kiss. Of course this boy should also have some manly qualities, like knowing how to take charge and lead her on during the kiss. Maybe hold her arms or some other gesture of authority, without losing kindness. Maybe whisper some special words that would help her give up her chaste lips to him. So it happened that she came across Benigno during an exhibition. He didn't look at all like a dream come true, but he was forward in an innocent way. His dress didn't call her attention in any way, but his smile had a charming sincerity that caught her attention. His conversation was intelligent without any pretentiousness and he managed to steal a glance from her eyes, no small feat. From then on, seemingly chance encounters went on happening almost every day, which she wasn't able to ascertain whether she or him had had a hand in bringing about. Their conversation flowed as if they were long time friends, helping her lower her so far ever-standing guard. She learned he was into politics and that it came from his family. It showed a lot in his discourse against social convention, belied by his easy-going manners. As their acquaintance went on, she discovered how much she was enjoying his company. They started making arrangements for quiet outings, mostly cultural events. She could tell how very self-conscious he acted the first time he touched her shoulder when saying goodbye. She liked it. A friend told her not to let him go too fast, advice she dismissed saying there was nothing serious going on, knowing by then that it wasn't wholly true. That was the same day they went together to the concert. As usual he did most of the talking on the way there and back. She did voice her opinions with plenty of self-confidence, letting him elaborate with the length he seemed to like so much. On the way back she let him take his hand, feeling happy and at the same time a little scared at his boldness. Then he got them down from their ride a few blocks away from her home. She didn't asked why, she was dying of curiosity without knowing what to expect. He said it was a pretty night to walk in the park. There was a strong scent of tropical night flowers in the air and a soft breeze cooled her skin. So they walked, both of their hearts racing wildly. He held his arm across her back as they walked ever so close. It felt so nice. Then he turned around to face her, stopping her on her tracks. Is this it? she thought. It was. He leaned towards her face. She closed her eyes, raised her face a little and waited. There it was, the soft touch against her lips. Then again. Where were the words of love? Little did she know how confused he was, wanting to perform well in this rite he had been already initiated in, and at the same time reluctant to speak about a compromise he felt belonged to an outdated time. Still he felt wholly committed to her, fully in love. Despite the tinge of disappointment, she was happy and it showed in her smile. They walked on clouds to her building's entrance and the arrangements they made for the next day had the particular tone of a couple, they were a couple now. His goodbye and his turning back to see her as he walked away was all the reassurance she needed at that time. After seemingly never-ending hours of elated reverie in her bed, she woke up and went to school feeling a completely new person, a woman in love like she didn't know she could be. She was happily indifferent and mechanical about everything around her, other than catching sight of him. Her first concern came when she saw him, far away, chatting with a group of friends. He had always been very much of a loner, why did he suddenly seem so popular? And the way they all cracked up laughing! Then came his look, a greeting with his eyes from that long distance. He didn't come to her. Not for a single word, him, the great conversationalist. She turned around with an intense pain inside her, tears welling in her eyes. The pain wouldn't let her articulate a single coherent thought and she wandered around aimlessly before falling by chance in her class for that period. He was very much at a loss about what had happened. That day he came in very high spirits as well. His usual casual friends vaguely felt it, he had a brand new kind of charisma radiating and they all gathered in an easy way. Then one of them made a comment on what he called his new sweetheart, upon her showing up on the distance. Though Benigno wouldn't deny her, he didn't like the appellative, so he couldn't think of anything better than dismiss the question with a non-committal remark that to him was neutral, as he looked for her. That split-second of tension brought by his hesitation broke off with the laughter that Francesca heard at a distance. He made a quick decision not to introduce her right away; yet he had been, and planned to go on being, very open about their relationship, as he showed by greeting her at a distance. Open, that was the word he liked. He even made a start to go meet her halfway, but she had already turned around, very fast. Maybe she was in a hurry. He was, one of his classmates was calling him back, they had a class together coming and there was an academic issue to resolve in the few minutes remaining. From there on, things fell on a steep downhill. She was furiously despondent to his later approaches. He couldn't come even close to articulate an explanation. By the end of the day they were both badly downtrodden. Francesca couldn't hold her tears in public as she made up her mind that she was done with boys for good. As she walked in her apartment, her mother knew it the moment she saw her rush by. Her poor little baby had had her first heartbreak. What could she possibly do for her? Not tell her this too will come to pass. She walked in her room, sat by her side and held her in a tight hug, her daughter's tears dampening the chest of her mother's dress. Many other lines of advice came to her mind, like how she would always be here for her, that she should just focus on her studies or suggest something fun for both of them to do now, and many other such things, much the less how terrible men were. She dismissed them all. At least she felt her daughter was finding some comfort in her arms. Then she remembered her own heartbreaks. Some were distant ones, at her daughter's age. Then another one; a blurry, indistinct and uncertain time, from later years. What could have anyone have told her at that short but terrible period of her married life? There was one thing she had no doubts about, it was her happiness of having her family together. She had overlooked a shadowy doubt, one that she had all but forgotten about. Then she knew what were the words she had for Francesca. “My treasure, give this boy just one more chance, okay?” Her daughter stopped crying and looked up questioningly. “But just one,” with a touch at her pretty little nose “let him show you he's not mean, that he just did a mistake and that he's sorry. If he doesn't, then good riddance with him!” They both smiled. In a final and calmer hug, Maria visualized what a great composition they must be making in that moment.