36
For six days, mine is a rose-colored world.
Eric and my father get along wonderfully, although at first, my father is very angry with Eric because he has rented a villa. In the end, my father understands we’re adults and need privacy.
My father’s friends and neighbors quickly nickname Eric “the Frankfurter,” because he’s German, and he finds that amusing. Our way of life in Spain, especially in Andalusia, is so different from the German way of life, and I see constant surprise in his eyes.
As the days go by, my father is more and more taken with Eric. He likes him, respects him, and listens to him, which says a lot. In fact, they go fishing together on several afternoons and come back in high spirits. When they’re gone, I escape and go running or riding on my motorcycle.
On one of those afternoons, Fernando shows up on his motorcycle. He cuts in front of me.
“Are you crazy? What is that guy doing here?” he asks.
Irritated, I lift up the protective shield on my helmet.
“You’re crossing a line. Whatever he’s doing here is none of your business.”
Fernando gets off his motorcycle and walks over to me.
“For the love of God, Judith, does your father know he’s your boss?”
“No.”
“And when are you going to tell him?”
I’m getting angrier with each passing moment.
“Whenever I feel like it.”
Fernando moves quickly. He puts his hands on my neck and presses his forehead to mine.
“Judith . . . ,” he whispers, “I love you.”
“Fernando, no . . .”
“I want you only for me,” he says without separating his forehead from mine. “That guy doesn’t love you like I love you. Think about it, please, and . . .”
I shove him off me.
“I want to go, Fernando. Get out of the way, OK?”
“Are you saying you prefer that guy’s company to mine?” he whispers, not moving one inch and now sounding intimidating. “That guy is using you, and when he’s tired of you, he’s going to toss you aside like he’s done to hundreds of women. To him, you’re just one more. For me, you’re special. Don’t you see? I thought you were smarter than that, Judith.”
I don’t want to be cruel to him, as he’s being with me. I love Fernando. He’s a good friend. But I feel something for Eric that is so strong, I can’t ignore it. When Fernando sees my silence, he turns around and gets on his motorcycle.
“Fine. Smash your head against the wall—see if I care.”
He takes off and leaves me, taken aback and with a sour taste in my mouth.
On the seventh day, my father reminds me about the motocross tournament we go to every year in Puerto Real, a nearby town. But this year, I’d prefer to enjoy Eric’s company. Still, when I see how enthusiastic my dad and his friends are about our going and my participating, I give in and talk Eric into going with us.
Eric isn’t so sure at first about where we’re going. He lets me know he doesn’t really like extreme sports. And then he sees my motorcycle in the trailer, and my father and his two soul mates, Lucena and Bicharrón. They’re talking about jumps, scrambles, and the rest, and then he understands exactly what I’m going to do. His expression lets me know he’s uncomfortable with all this.
“I don’t want you to do what they say you’re going to do,” he whispers. We’re standing just a few feet away from them.
“Listen, Eric, I’ve been doing motocross since I was six. And look, I’m twenty-five, and I’m still whole.”
But his face and mouth betray the tension he feels.
“I promise you’ll have a good time,” I insist. “Just come and you’ll see, all right?”
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I hear behind me. “My beautiful Jerez racing girl.”
I turn around and see Fernando. My stomach tightens, but I try not to give myself away. Bicharrón looks at his son and then at Eric. I feel as if he’s as tense as I am, but I try my best and smile.
“Fernando, this is Eric. Eric, this is Fernando.”
They shake hands. I’m right between them, and I see how uncomfortable they both are. Luckily, my father claps and says we have to go. Fernando says he’ll join us, and Eric immediately lets me know he’ll follow on his motorcycle. I decide to go with him.
When my father, Lucena, Bicharrón, and Fernando get into the car and take off, Eric gives me a helmet.
“I don’t like that Fernando guy.”
“Jealous?”
“Should I be?”
“Not at all, love.”
When we get to where the race is going to take place, my father, his friends, and I greet everybody. At ten thirty, Cristina, the organizer of the women’s motocross, gives me my number—fifty-one—and tells me the first elimination round is at noon.
Eric doesn’t say a word. He just watches. With every passing second, I see the increasing worry in his eyes, and I try to help him relax. But when I put on my red leather coverall, my body armor, boots, gloves, and helmet, he blanches.
“Jude, I don’t want you to do this. This is too risky.”
“Come on . . . ! Don’t be silly.” I try not to let this get to me.
Fernando watches. He can hear us.
“Come on, beautiful . . . ,” he says, coming up to us and wearing a fake smile. “Just gun it and you’ll leave us all in the dust.”
“That’s what I’m going to do,” I respond.
Fernando is carrying two beers. “Want one?” he says to Eric. “This beer is for you. This other one is for me. I don’t like to share.”
What is he doing?
Eric doesn’t say anything, but I can sense his misery.
“Did you know ‘our girl’ is an expert on jumps and scrambles?” asks Fernando.
“No.”
“Well, get ready.”
With that, Fernando turns to me and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Now, beautiful, go get ’em!”
As soon as we’re alone, Eric just looks at me, irritated.
“What is he getting at with that ‘our girl’ and ‘I don’t like to share’ BS?”
“I don’t know,” I respond.
But Eric is no fool. He snorts, curses, and looks away. “You’re going to hurt yourself, Jude. I don’t see how your father can let you do this.”
This makes me laugh. I look over at my father and his friends, who are taking care of last-minute adjustments on my motorcycle.
“You really think my father’s worried?”
Eric studies him for a second or so and can’t deny the happiness in his face.
“Fine . . . But the fact that he’s not worried doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be.”
Without caring whether Fernando sees us or not, I step up on a box so that I’m at Eric’s height and can bring my mouth close to his.
“You, relax . . . little boy. I know what I’m doing.”
I almost get Eric to smile. I give him a kiss, and it tastes like glory.
“For your own good,” he says very seriously, “you’d better know what you’re doing, or I swear I’m going to make you pay for it later.”
“Mmm . . . I’d love that!”
“Jude . . . I’m serious,” he insists.
“Come on, this is a walk in the park.”
He doesn’t smile.
My father is calling. I have to go out on the track. I give Eric another quick kiss, step down from the box, and let go of his hand so I can get on my bike. My father revs the engine. I shout with joy while Eric’s face is increasingly lined with worry.
Ten minutes later, I’m out on the track with the other participants, adrenaline pumping. Motocross is a combination of speed and expertise. I like it when both those things come together.
I’ve always been a daredevil, the boy my father never had. I lean into the curves and scramble over potholes as my coveralls get splattered. I’m well aware that I’m in a very good position in this race. I finish among the top four and go on to the next round.
Eric is as white as a sheet. What the other racers and I have just done leaves him breathless. But we have no time to talk because I’m in the next leg of the race. It will be that way until there are only six participants left.
My father, along with Lucena and Bicharrón, screams and shouts while making adjustments to my bike. Fernando, a motocross expert, gives me tips about the other racers, and I listen. They know that I’m good at this and I could very easily win something today. But I can’t help but look for Eric. Where is he?
“Little girl,” says my father, “Eric has gone back to Jerez.”
“What?” I ask, stunned.
“What I just said. He said he’d rather wait for you at the villa.” And then, coming up close, he whispers, “That man was not having a very good time. Although, now that I think about it, I don’t know if it was because of the jumps you were doing out on the track or because of Fernando.”
We can’t keep talking. The next elimination round is starting, and I need to get into position. My concentration flags a bit, but my anger is on high. Eric left, and that pisses me off. When the race begins, I take off like a rocket. I jump once, twice, three times, scramble, accelerate, then run over several potholes before I scramble again. I come in second.
My father, Lucena, and Bicharrón run to hug me. I’m totally covered in mud, but I have managed to thrill them once again. When they let go, a too-effusive Fernando takes me in his arms.
“Congratulations, beautiful. You’re the best!”
“Thanks, but let go of me.”
“Why? Does your Eric not like to share his woman?”
“Let go of me, asshole, or I swear I’m going to deck you right here,” I snarl.
Five minutes later, on the awards podium, I enjoy seeing my father, Lucena, and Bicharrón clapping next to Fernando, all proud of me. I raise the trophy high and realize I would have liked for Eric to be here too.