Thump thump thump thump…

A pair of black embroidered heels hammered against the cobblestones as they sped away from the port and into the cover of Barcelona’s bustling, afternoon summer streets.  A faint but clear “Holly! Holly where are you?” pushed against the ocean breeze and sniffed around into the city like a pack of bloodhounds, prompting her to take a sharp left turn down a small shaded calle and soften her steps to a light trot until she found a bar to slip into.

The young, dark-haired bartender holding an empty glass and a rag raised a silent eyebrow at her as she sat down in front of him and began stripping, removing first the gray woolen shawl around her bare shoulders and dropping it carelessly behind her like she had no intention of ever picking it back up again.  A girl of no more than twenty, she placed her dark sunglasses on the counter and smoothed out her short blonde hair and the slim black dress she’d put on right before the boat docked, then she reached her right hand down and took off her scuffed heels. She took a napkin to dab the dots of sweat off her face and said to the bartender, quite out of breath, “Oi você fala português?” 

The bartender stared at her a moment more before putting down the glass he was cleaning.  “You from America?” he asked in a thick Spanish accent.

Holly let out an exasperated sigh.  “Oh I’m so pleased you speak English!  I really am dreadful at Portuguese.”

“You would speak Portuguese in Barcelona?”

“Barcelona?  As in Spain Barcelona?  I could have sworn we’d made it to Portugal.  I was so itching to get off that damned boat that I really didn’t care where I was.  As long as I’m here I’ll take a martini.”  

The bartender turned around to make her drink while she put her dark glasses back on her face.  “I hope you don’t mind the dramatic entrance, darling, I was on that boat for four weeks and now everything is moving so terribly fast.” she continued.  “Four weeks.  And two days ago we ran into a kiddy-storm that ended up being a lot worse because no one was expecting it.  I mean really, we were surrounded by water and no one thinks to prepare for a little rain. I was so sick of all the rocking that for the last two days I would only eat crackers.  Imagine if we’d hit the storm earlier! The thought makes me want to vomit in my mouth. Crackers for any more than two days and I’m jumping overboard. Ah, thank you, Señor.”

Holly gulped her drink greedily and smacked her lips.  “Tastes nothing like crackers. Much appreciated.”  

“Why were you running?” the bartender asked.

She looked out the window and twitched her nose.  “I’ve decided the sea life isn’t for me. Have you ever been on a ship?”

“I’ve never been out of the city,” he admitted.

“Well it’s not great.  It’s a watery hell, I think.  They tell you sailing on a ship is just like being an adventurer or a world-class traveler.  Well I’ve decided that it’s not. It’s just being suspended in time until you get dropped off and realize that the whole world was going on without you.  I do feel bad, though. I left my partner over at the docks without saying goodbye. I hope he found my letter, he might misunderstand my intentions. I really didn’t want to leave him. You’ve got to have a certain type of love to battle an ocean.  Something desperate. Something beyond one person. He loves his wife and his seven kids and his country. He loves me, I’m sure. Hell, I think he even loves the ocean, for all that money he has and the travelling he does, you’d think he’d prefer a plane!  I’d have to be a fish before I loved the ocean. I do love him, but the sea life isn’t for me. Gosh, you must think I’m some crazy gold-digger.”

The bartender said, “No, miss.”

She put her face in her palm while she twirled the olive in her empty glass.

“It’s okay if you do, I certainly would.  I haven’t felt sane in over a month. You ever heard of the mean reds?”

“Mean reds?  I do not think so.”

“The mean reds are worse than being depressed.  You always think something bad is going to happen soon but you don’t know how soon or how bad the thing will be.  My old friend in the States called it Angst.  I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I think you remind me of him a little bit.”

“Not at all, miss.”

“I got it real bad on the water.  My partner, Mr. Thompson, was a perfect angel about it the whole time.   He was so sweet to me while I was barfing all over the place.  Now that I’ve left him, I really don’t know what I’m going to do next.  I’d like to go back to Buenos Aires with him but his family lives in America so he’d have to go there eventually, and I just don’t think I can ever go back to the States.  Well, who knows. My other friend was a bartender, too. You’ve just reminded me of him as well for some reason. I’ve been so horribly forgetful lately. Time goes too fast when I want it to slow down and too slow when I want it to go fast.  What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

She groaned.  “Oh, that’s cruel.” 

“You do not like Thursday?”

“It’s not that,” she said.  “I’ve just forgotten all about Thursdays.  They used to be the day when-”

A deep, raspy voice from outside interrupted her.

“Hollyyyyy!”

Her head jolted around over her shoulder.  The voice was getting closer. As she jumped out of her seat and around the counter she whispered “Act natural!” and crouched out of sight by the bartender’s feet.  The young man was surprised at first but complied regardless, quickly going back to the glass he was cleaning.

A few seconds later a well-dressed, middle-aged man walked past the door in an all-white suit, flanked by two men holding briefcases.  He was tall and portly with leathery tan skin, and the top of his sunburnt bald head was silvery with sweat. The sides of his face were crusted with dead skin and precipitated salt which stuck to his white head-fuzz like dandruff, but other than that and a bit of a wind-blown look, he looked well-groomed and clean.  He briefly looked into the window of the dimly lit bar before tripping over a loose cobblestone.

“Dammit,” he said to himself, shooing away his assistants.  “Damn it all.”

He walked away leaving behind a trail of calls that wouldn’t be answered.

“They’re gone, miss,” the bartender said looking down on her.

Holly waited a few more seconds before crawling back out from behind the counter.

“You really are a dear.”  She stuck her feet back into her heels.

“That is your Mr. Thompson?”

“The one and only,” she said dryly.

“He will never find you?” he inquired, putting the glass back down.

“I’ll find my way on my own.” 

 She fished out a pouch from the black purse she was wearing and carefully put a pile of Euros on the counter.  

“I would stay a little longer but I think I’m going to take a look at some of the shops, they’re simply adorable.  Thank you for the drink, Señor.” 

The bell on the door jingled as she exited and walked the opposite way of the man in the white suit.  The bartender watched her until she was out of sight, and as he looked down at the gray woolen shawl she’d left on the old wooden floor of that quiet bar, he couldn’t help but hope that someone would find her.