A book with many songs.
Adele, Elvis Presley, Depeche Mode, Michel Bublé, Bunbury, Françoise Hardy, Zaz, Switchfoot, Fangoria, Nickelback, Vetusta Morla... and and many artists more.
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read a little book now
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“Le premier bonheur du jour
C’est un ruban de soleil
Qui s’enroule sur ta main
Et caresse mon épaule.”
“The first joy of the day
Is a ribbon of sunlight
That wraps around your hand
And caresses my shoulder.”
Song: Le premier bonheur du jour (The first joy of the day)
Artist: Françoise Hardy
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Track 01. Overture
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“Good morning. Welcome to Hotel Guadiana. Do you have a reservation? Are you here for the communion celebration today?”
“No, we’re here for a wedding,” I said in all seriousness.
After responding to the receptionist, we glanced at each other knowingly and laughed.
“Are you holding a communion today? I wonder if the noise is going to keep us up later… Can you give us a room far from the party?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, you won’t hear anything at all. Everything is soundproofed. Let me know if you like the room I’ve given you. I think you’re going to want there to be a communion every day. The whole hotel is full today.”
We couldn’t imagine the reason behind the intriguing smile of the pleasant receptionist. But it didn’t take us long to find out.
(...)
She told me "no”1 was the first song of my trip. But I didn’t feel like I had “let her down,” like Enrique Bunbury says in the lyrics. At a later date, this no turned into a yes; into an eternal, generous, impassible, and passionate yes, as I was hurled into a new life in which I would lose my “virginity.”2
I’m not the only man, nor the only woman, who is able to experience this transition from the negative towards the positive, from black and white to color, through the force of an unexpected breakup. It’s a new state that you didn’t even know existed and couldn’t even have guessed, probably because you hadn’t looked into it in enough detail.
When a gaze is pure like the “clean water” of the song “Bellissima” by Adriano Celentano, because it’s not lying to you, and is selfless. When arousal bowls you over and makes you forget the world you were living in. When the graze of skin pours energy into you and takes you to unknown places. When you look into a person’s eyes, glassed over and expecting your consolation, and you offer yours in return to unfog them… only then do you feel free and happy.
Here, I tell of how my life changed. How I started to grow as a person and to believe that much more was possible. My arbitrary wanderings, successful encounters and missed meetings, goings and comings, the most intimate and entertaining aspects along with some of the most incredible adventures. I share all of them in this emotional, spontaneous, and at times, pensive diary.
(...)
I absolutely believe that each love, with its singular recipe, is unique and unrepeatable.
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Track 02. Let’s Play
I’ll never sign up for dance lessons like all the newly single people, I thought, my lips hinting at a smile. Well, maybe sometime in the future… You never know. But what is it that makes it so that we all have to do the same things and go through the same phases following a failed relationship? It might seem strange, but in the end, it’s true… we do, more or less. But I’m going to skip them, or at least try to. Of course, you can always avoid stages or choose to not go through them. You look for the opportunity, accept it or reject it, and it either frustrates you or makes you happy.
The truth is that in the beginning, the alternatives seemed relatively complicated. Seeing yourself suddenly alone again, at 36, while accustomed to a calm and peaceful couple’s life… Becoming, almost as if through magic and without having tried, a teenager once again, is unpleasant at first. But being a young “virgin” comes with some surprising benefits, due to the innocent way of looking at things, the innate desire to explore, and the unexpected events that you end up experiencing.
What do I do? What should I do? I’ll have to sign up for a gym. I need to take care of myself. I can’t go on looking like a mess. So I joined a good one, with a pool and spa. I really loved the jets and relaxing in the hot water! As the days went by, I felt better and more motivated to do stuff. But one thing surprised me: I didn’t feel much like having sex. Why? Was it a result of the period of mourning that the psychologists talk about? How long would it last? But even so, after a while, I became interested in meeting people, organizing new activities, chatting, and the lot. Considering my situation and that I didn’t want to dance… In the end, I ended up creating a profile on a website for looking for partners and new friends.
I didn’t feel any reservations at all. Every day, I met more people who were using those types of platforms, and things were going reasonably well for them. Even still, most of all, I didn’t want to feel like I was conforming to what was around me. To top it off, there were no opportunities around me. I thought it was funny when I found out that all of my friends’ sisters, as well as the friends of my friends, were already taken; or at least they were back then…
God it’s hard to describe yourself. I don’t even have photos alone, and in the ones I do have, I look terrible, I told myself. And on top of that, I needed to make a profile write-up that sounded appealing… What would my success with women be based on? The whole process can end up being a bit upsetting. I was completely rusty. Absolutely lost.
I made myself a “shopping list,” like we all do, whether consciously or unconsciously. At first, I wanted a woman who was maybe a little too like my ex. That’s what we all do normally. Hypothetically, she needed to be a university graduate, committed, relatively traditional, very open to culture… I wasn’t too concerned with physical appearance. I didn’t want a superficial relationship, and I wasn’t looking for casual sex either. I was sure of what I was looking for, and to get it, I started to play the game. And yet, I never would have guessed what the game had in store for me.
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“And I… I lose my virginity every time I look at you.”
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Track 03. Success So Soon!
There she was. Her expression was very friendly. She had the face of a good person, and met all of my desired requirements. She was one year older than me, and was a school teacher. For the first time, fate was starting to give me signs. There she is! She’s the woman of your life! Don’t you see her?
Carmen was what I was looking for at the time. Her words were comforting. The clarity of her ideas was the power and resolution I needed. We had calm conversations about a bunch of different topics, and it seemed like there was more or less of a clear resemblance. An interesting feeling. Although I still didn’t quite trust her. Because this whole meeting people online thing was more than new to me.
After a few emails, all of a sudden she stops writing and I’m left in dismay. Too bad, I’ve let an opportunity slip by me. What could I have done wrong? I started to torture myself, but there was no point. A few days later, there she was again, telling me:
“I think that I might not be what you’re looking for. I have to tell you something. I’m a very traditional and religious person, the type that goes to mass every Sunday.”
That was relatively surprising. Now I understood the reason behind her certainty, the reason behind some of her opinions… But what was she trying to tell me? Why had she stopped writing me?
“It doesn’t matter,” I told her. “Let’s put our preconceived notions aside and give each other the chance.”
Virtual relationships really aren’t my thing. The fact that I’d taken the leap to put myself online was enough in itself. But the whole idea of spending months and months talking to a person who I don’t even know really exists… And what if it turns out that she’s lying about everything in the end? I find it easier to sense what a person’s like with just one look at them. Because of these preconceived notions that I had at the time, as well as my complete lack of experience, I invited her out on a date during our first conversations. Be brave. What difference did it make if I didn’t have anything better to do on the weekend? At least my doubts would be assuaged. And after all, who knows if she’d really be the woman of my life.
Her answer was clear cut: no.
“What do you mean, no? Why?” I asked her.
“While it might seem like no, in reality I’m really shy and I feel ashamed to meet up without getting to know you better,” she claimed. To me, it didn’t seem like we’d be able to get to know each other much better by email, but if she didn’t want to, well then she didn’t want to. I insisted. No and no again.
“Why don’t we talk on the phone?” she suggested. It seemed like a good idea to me, but why did it have to be so complicated before our first date? She wanted me to call her. “I’m going to give you my number, because it would be nice if you could call me. Sound good?”
She insisted that she was “very traditional,” and that she liked to be treated “like a little princess.” The image of a somewhat childish, demure, timid, any possibly… enchanting woman started to take on form in my mind.
“There’s a fire starting in my heart.”
Song: Rolling in the Deep
Artist: Adele
We finally talked to one another. First impression: her voice.
“You have a nice voice,” she told me.
“Thanks.”
You don’t sound like a shy young girl, I thought. She had a musical Galician accent mixed with a somewhat rough voice. Her use of somewhat antiquated expressions, like an elderly person would, caught my attention. The conversation was pleasant. It really was. Because of that, we spent a good amount of time on the line. We even talked about a few awkward subjects, like if she was thinking about going back to Galicia.
“No way! Once you’re set up here in Madrid, you don’t think about going back. At least that’s how I feel.”
Days and weeks went by. We kept on talking by email and WhatsApp. I was bowled over when I saw her profile picture on the smartphone app! She was just like I’d imagined. She looked great. With a clean, simple, and sincere expression, inviting you to care for and be cared for. And to top it off, I recognized the background of the shot: it was one of my favorite places in Madrid, Buddy Holly’s bar, a place that has the feel of a 50s-style North American diner. Maybe I’m a bit retro. I’ve always been interested in those times, marked by Elvis Presley, Brenda Lee, the Platters, Little Richard, and the lot. And also because of the Italian and most important of all, French music from the sixties. Would Carmen be anything like the young women who frequented diners in the fifties? I tried again. I once again received a negative answer to my date proposal. She’s shy, of course, I laugh to myself as I look at her photo.
I really did believe that she was traditional. One of those women who thinks that the more difficult they make it for the man, the more interest he’ll have. In the end, days later, she reappears:
“I’d like to go to Fitur (Madrid’s international tourism exhibition) this weekend. I love to go because I like to travel. And I’m not going with anyone...”
Interesting. I’d never gone. It seemed like a good excuse. Obviously, I said yes. How could I not? I liked the plan. We set the time and place. And I planned with her that I was going to wear a red violet on my jacket so that she could recognize me, although that was a joke in reality.
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“Cuando pase el tiempo
seremos la mezcla
de sabores opuestos,
de virtudes y vicio,
de sonrisa y suspiro,
de lágrima y beso.”
“With the passing of time,
We will be the mixture,
of opposite flavors,
of virtues and vices,
of smiles and sighs,
of tears and kisses.”
Song: Cuando pase el tiempo (When time has gone by)
Artist: Marc Parrot.
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Track 22. But It Doesn’t Hurt Anymore
Still feeling the commotion and without really having digested what had happened and what it meant, I’m heading to Hoyocasero, in the Sierra de Gredos. We’d organized an all-male gathering for a bachelor’s party. Dominique and our “love marathons,” as she would later come to call our hotel meet-ups, are still very present on my mind. That house was way too full of testosterone, beer, and soccer…
We didn’t see each other until two weeks later. Various reasons had gotten in the way of Dominique and I meeting up again. My rural excursion, family commitments, or work.
“Loin de toi que je m’ennuie.”
“Far from you, I’m bored.”
Song: La nuit est sur la ville (Night has fallen in the city)
Artist: Françoise Hardy
A few days earlier, Dominique had hurt her hand by falling down after stumbling over something clumsily. It didn’t look serious, but you never know, I thought. She’d gone to the doctor, but according to her, they hadn’t really paid any attention to her. She insisted that it didn’t hurt… so often that I started to suspect that she was actually worried about it. So, my paternalist instincts started to come out and I offered to go to the doctor with her.
“But it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she insisted.
But I was just as insistent. “Look, it’s better for you to get it checked out thoroughly. And it’s a pain, because you play guitar.”
And I kept on insisting stubbornly. I’m not sure why; I guess I was worried. Even though we barely knew each other, I’d already connected with her, and like I told her, “I take care of everybody around me and the people important to me, and you’re now a part of my life.”
Hours and days went by. The subject came up again during a phone call.
“Look,” I tell her. “I asked a friend of mine who’s a physiotherapist… She recommended that you get it checked out, because sometimes when you hurt your wrist, it doesn’t heal well, and can be a problem. How about this: I’ll come pick you up this afternoon in Loeches and we’ll head to her office in Torrejón. I already made an appointment.”
“But it doesn’t hurt anymore,” she insists. “OK then. It’s a plan.”
It was a weekday afternoon and was pouring rain. It took me a bit longer to get to her hometown, as I had to deal with a few work matters and the traffic was bad, but even still I made it on time.
The two of us were seated in the car.
“Let’s see your hand. Does it hurt here?” I asked, trying to look like I knew something about it.
“I’ve got the hands of a ten-year-old girl,” she said, laughing. It was true. She had tiny hands with very thin fingers. They were delicate, white-skinned, and very soft. They communicated both fragility and caresses at the same time. They were cold, but filled me with warmth nonetheless.
We found a parking spot the first time around. It was good luck. Right at that instant, it started to really pour, making the both of us arrive at the office a little wet, despite the fact that we had umbrellas.
In reality, the physiotherapist wasn’t my friend. In fact, I didn’t even know her. I’d found her online through a random search. To justify the fact that I wasn’t at all familiar with her, I told Dominique that in the end, we were going to see one of her colleagues, as my “friend” had had to leave suddenly. She didn’t ask. I think she knew, but deep down, she found it amusing that someone she barely knew was so worried about her. As for me, I don’t know; it was interesting, as it made me really happy to feel like I was taking care of her or helping her.
We only waited five minutes. That didn’t give us much time to talk, neither in the car nor in the waiting room. So the conversation would come later. The physiotherapist was named Ruth and was charming. We both really liked her, and even more so when she told Dominique that it was nothing to worry about. Then she showed her some special exercises for guitar players.
“Don’t forget to do them. They’re really good for people who play the guitar. Do them to prevent other injuries,” Ruth suggested.
Dominique spent a good amount of time with her, while she studied the anatomy of her hand, wrist, and arm, all the while doing manual physical therapy. Meanwhile, I remained seated and observed attentively.
We left the office together and I gave her a kiss. The two of us headed towards the door.
“It looks like you’re right as rain.”
“But I already knew that,” she responded with a smile, while looking at the splendid sun that had come out for us and was now blinding us.
“I’m going to take you to a cool place nearby here, considering it’s not raining. Sound good to you?”
She didn’t spend much time thinking about it. She looked at me and agreed with a nod. We went for a walk in Parque Europa, still in Torrejón de Ardoz. She hadn’t been there before – at least so she said – and didn’t know that the park was home to reproductions of some of the best known monuments in Europe, albeit on a bit smaller scale. Because of that, she was surprised when we went in and asked what was there.
It was an ideal place for the time being, as because it was new, there was no shade. We spent time under the sun… And on top of that, the place itself gave us plenty to talk about.
“There’s the Eiffel Tower back there!” she yelled.
“Of course. That’s why I brought you here, ma chérie… ma Dominique…”
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Track 23: At the Office
The day didn’t end at the imitation Eiffel Tower. I received an inconvenient call at the park, and had to go back to work to fix a few things. It was really a silly little thing, but I couldn’t wait. I asked Dominique if she wouldn’t mind going with me, so that I could show her my office. As it would be late, I mentioned that there wouldn’t be anybody there. I think she was curious, and accepted gladly.
Luckily, the traffic wasn’t bad and nothing unexpected came up, so we arrived in the blink of an eye… It was already getting dark. The sky was starting to turn orange. It no longer looked like it would rain.
“You won’t be long, will you?” she asks. “Because if you are, I’ll get bored.”
“Only a second,” I say while opening the door to the large, shared office.
“So this is where you work.”
“Yeah. Sit down for a moment at the computer, and put a song on if you like, so that you don’t get bored, OK?”
She sits down and in no time at all, I can hear familiar tunes in the background. I don’t take long at all, and in a few minutes, am already sitting at her side.
“When I’m grown up, I want to be like Françoise Hardy,” Dominique says.
“She has a beautiful and very sensual voice… I guess she’s just really sensual,” I respond.
Dominique has control of the mouse, and starts to show me French and Italian songs from the 60s, as well as some of the films in which the appear. All of them are very romantic, in the style of back then.
“Check it out. This one’s about the good kind of love,” she says.
From song to song and scene to scene, her face begins to take on a distinctive expression. She’s getting excited. Whether for better or for worse, she’s one of those people who can feel, be moved by, and intensely experience a song. We are united by that.
The music doesn’t stop. It reverberates off of the walls of the empty office, which is almost the color of twilight, decorated with reddish streaks of sun filtering in through the window. I get up to turn on the lights, but don’t make it. Beside the switch, I turn around. From afar, I can make out Dominique’s eyes shining against the reflection of the screen.
“Come here for a moment. I want to show you something,” I say.
Dominique consents and comes closer.
While I explain some of the work that’s hanging on the big wall that dominates the room, I’m delicately moving her towards one of the tables, against which she collides from behind. Her pressure against the table increases as I place myself in front of her. Now I stare into her eyes. Dominique is beautiful, as attractive as her emotional state… which makes me continue to push her backwards, until managing to get her seated on the desk. Now in a comfortable position, she opens her legs so that I can move closer to her heart. The both of us. In contact. Facing one another.
I have to turn on a lamp on the desk. When she looks up, Dominique is glowing.
“Did you like it that I went to the doctor with you this afternoon?” I ask.
“Kind of,” she says, using her good girl face.
I move my mouth closer to hers, but don’t kiss it. My hands place themselves on her waist, and start to move across her back.
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“Siempre hay una canción para poder cantar
y fabricar mil sueños.”
“There’s always a song to be able to sing
and create a thousand dreams.”
Song: Galletas (Cookies)
Artist: La casa azul
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buy now and discover a different book ...
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