27- Deep breath

Do you listen to Kings of Leon? I asked, recognizing the American band.
Yes, do you like them?
Yes… - I admitted shyly upon discovering that we had things in common - Have you listened to British music?
Actually, yes… Adele? And others… umm Celine Dion… and the ones who won a Grammy… what are they called? Snow Patrol!
Oh well. Adele is British - I clarified - and Snow Patrol is British… and I don't like them. I was referring more to artists like Franco de Vita.
I like… ummm… Amy Winehouse - Meb admitted. And TBS- she added - You look like Corina Smith. I rolled my eyes. She smiled, both hands on the steering wheel and her gaze fixed on the city awakening. Then she looked back at me, our eyes met defenseless, without any tricks of me acting tough or any hint of animosity to keep her away from me, and I searched her eyes for something I had lost long ago and would never find again in anyone else: Patrick's eyes. She smiled at me and turned her gaze back to the clear channel.
I like Vetusta Morla - I said after a long silence, tying my hair up in a bun.
They're the best - Meb agreed - "Playing randomly… never knowing where you might end up!" - she sang - "End up… or start" You can search on the iPhone and play whatever you want - she said sweetly. I looked at her iPhone in front of the gear lever but didn't take it. I was too polite to do so. Whenever I took Patrick's phone, my heart skipped a beat and I had a deep fear that at that precise moment another woman would call him or he would receive a message I didn't want to read. Meb seemed to notice that I was hesitant to take her phone, so she took it herself with her perfectly cut black nails and placed it on my lap.
You check my glove box but not my phone?
Don't feel so confident - I said slyly. I glanced at the iPhone screen, another song by Vetusta Morla was playing and the cover of their album filled the entire screen. I searched for the list of artists and started exploring her musical tastes. I saw Coldplay's album and felt a small pang with a thought of Patrick in my gut. One of Patrick's favorite things to do was to listen to Coldplay while he drove. I blinked, ignored the thought, and continued searching.
Are you okay? - Meb asked me.
Yes - I admitted, my mind on the blurry smile, the senses and sensations that Patrick had once caused me - Yes - I repeated, staring straight ahead. Without thinking too much, I decided on the next one I liked and "A Cualquier Otra Parte" by Dorian started playing - I'm fine - I repeated and looked at Meb, giving her a smile. Seeing that you don't think of me anymore… That you no longer believe in people… Meb turned up the volume of the music and the vibration of the speakers began to massage my back. I looked at her pleased, the act of choosing the music was as fun as a child who has burst a balloon for the first time and discovers that all the charm lies in those exact seconds before hearing it explode. The excitement resides when the tension of it possibly bursting near your face ends, when you don't know if you'll choose the right song, and then the music starts playing and she turns up the volume in approval. That you take pink pills… And you've become a nihilist… Meb drove the whole way to my house in silence, and honestly, it seemed great to me because I didn't want to talk to her either. I love silence, I am only myself in silence, when I speak I wear a mask, an extension of what the other person wants to see in me. Maybe life stops weighing on you and problems disappear when you listen to the right song before dawn, with the city waking up and the wrong person taking you to the only certain place you can have: your home. And I want you to come with me… To any other place… To any other place… Over time, I would discover that Meb and I had very similar musical tastes. We both liked rock bands in Spanish and indie music in English. Just a good electric guitar and a lot of emotion in the lyrics. That day, after waiting for me on the floor while I took a quick shower, she confessed that she also liked playing the guitar, she wasn't very good… but she liked it. That pleased me greatly, I could find traces of Patrick in my potential hookup and prospective girlfriend. After that morning, I would let Meb drive me to work whenever I stayed at the hospital. Simply because that car could have been Patrick's car, and I could have listened to those songs with Patrick, envying the wind that tousled his hair that morning. That's how I imagine Patrick driving through life, without torn pages from books, without stuffed animal pets, or post-its covering his windshield with poetic news he used to write to him. Meb was my lifeline, my emergency exit from my emotional crisis. And that's all, assumptions, substitute people, simple and straightforward, that's me.

My stay in the hospital was going smoothly. During the week, we would take turns to take care of Dad. If I spent the whole day with him, another family member would come in the afternoon to look after him. Whenever I had to stay overnight, Leslie was always my companion. Sometimes she would come from the veterinary office in the afternoon and I had to catch up with the medications and new tests that needed to be done. When I spent the whole afternoon in the hospital, I felt great. I would talk with Meb during shift changes and was attentive to any care my grandfather needed. Then the night would come and I had to leave him for my mother and an uncle to take care of, saying goodbye to him with sadness as I left the hospital. This went on for two weeks, with shift changes and sleepless nights in the hospital.

To be honest, Meb seduced me with her courtship and attentions, and the way she listened to me and put up with my impulsive moments and being a stubborn woman who hated hospitals. It was very easy for her, I was suffering and needed attention and she gave me what I needed at that moment. I enjoyed crossing New York in the middle of spring with Travis's music blasting and Bono's screams singing "Vertigo", making our seats vibrate while the first rays of sunshine reminded me that I was still alive and that my grandfather was too. I got used to the comfort of stretching my legs on the glove compartment and her hand discreetly gripping my thin thighs during a change of lights.