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Barcelona

Prologue

I had just settled myself in front of my laptop to take a look at the latest batch of photos I had taken the day before, when I heard my phone alert me to a text message. I ignored it for the time being and got down to my second passion after architecture, photography. The four-gig memory card was bursting at the seams with the pictures I had snapped recently and I knew I was rapidly running out of space. It was time to drop the good ones onto my hard drive. By the time I had discarded several hundred as being sub-standard, mostly because I shoot too many in the first place and then any shake in the manual settings on my Canon DSLR results in a bit of blur, my phone was going off again.

I turned and lifted it from the charger where it had been sat and looked at the display. It was a message from a friend about meeting later that day for supper, I was expecting her message so checked it out, confirmed what I suspected, we were still on. I replied to the text and then dropped the phone back on the charger and carried on with my task at hand.

My friend Annabelle must have replied back again, as my phone sang out another message had come through but I was certain there was nothing urgent about it, I just ignored it and found myself engrossed in what I was doing.

I don’t know how much time passed, but the doorbell rang unexpectedly, bringing me back to the present. I had been so engrossed in what I was doing that I hadn’t noticed the time fly by. I guessed that it was either my folks or my sister at the door on a Sunday, so I popped out from behind the desk and went through to the hallway from my home office. I could see through the glass door that it wasn’t who I thought it was, definitely male and much too tall for my Dad’s average height.

I was at least alert enough to pop the security chain on the door before I opened it to a stranger. “Hello?” I peered through the gap and then gawped at the unexpected visitor on the other side.

On autopilot I slid the chain off and opened the door wider as if I hadn’t quite been able to believe who it was. I was so shocked, words failed me and I just sat there looking up at a face that I knew so well and yet thought of as a stranger now.

“Hi MJ,” he looked at me with equal surprise, though as he was the one standing at my door, I don’t know why he looks surprised at all. I look down at myself and wonder if something is amiss but nothing seems out of place. “I wasn’t sure you’d be home. I sent you a message but didn’t get a reply. I didn’t even know if you’d changed your number or if you were just ignoring me, which I could hardly blame you for.”

He’s looking at me expectedly, as though he is worried I am going to slam the door in his face, but I have too many questions to ask him before I send him away.

“What are you doing here?” I want to know if he just came back for a T-shirt or something similar he left behind.

“I needed to see you, can I come in?”

I pull the door further still so he can get by. He looks around as though he’s never been in the place before.

“You had some work done I see.”

“I thought it needed it after the builders had done tearing it apart.” He looks down, shoulders hunched as though he is reliving the memory of that time.

“Yeah, I suppose it did. You look really good.”

A small smile escapes me even though I was trying to avoid being nice to him. At least he can acknowledge I don’t look like a loser any more.

“You look different,” I don’t know how he will respond to that. Not older, or less handsome, but definitely something. “You’ve lost weight.”

“You have too, I’m surprised.”

“You expect me to sit around and get fat even though I can’t run it off any more?”

“No, I didn’t mean that, I …. It wouldn’t be your fault if you did. I’m not really doing a good job here am I?”

“Not really, but then I suppose it’s not easy to come back and face someone you walked out on nine months ago.”

“Is it that long?”

“You don’t deny it then? No excuses like you were kidnapped by aliens or got knocked out and lost your memory all this time?”

He shakes his head and raises his eyes at me. “I don’t have any excuses; I went because I didn’t think I could stay here any longer and look at you every day for the rest of my life without feeling guilty and ashamed.”

I was trying to remember all the things I wanted to ask him, things that had built up over his absence, but he had just answered the question that had been in my head more than any other, why? Why had he left? But I knew, or at least I thought I knew until now. He had gone because he couldn’t love me any more, because I couldn’t do the things we used to do together, because everything had changed so quickly that neither of us had been able to cope with the consequences. So he had left after seven months of torture, without leaving any way to contact him and without even saying goodbye. It was unforgivable, wasn’t it?

Chapter One - Barcelona

MJ
I am stood in line at Casa Battlo waiting for a chance to witness Antoni Gaudi’s famous building first hand. I’d seen pictures of it before but it was nothing like seeing it for oneself.

Four years ago I qualified as an architect and jumped at the chance to go to Barcelona for six months as part of a sponsorship from my employers. Free of responsibilities, I flew out with such high expectations of the work I would see and do whilst there.
Barcelona is such a wonderful architectural masterpiece of a city that I couldn’t contain my excitement over the first few weeks. I took literally hundreds of photos at each of the major architectural sights the city offered, but my interest was captured most of all in the natural forms of Gaudi’s buildings. I had tears in my eyes at the Sagrada Familia, staring up at the giant columns and stained glass windows inside what was still a building site. I stood looking up for so long, I went dizzy. It wasn’t just there though, around the city I found interesting modernista buildings in every quarter. I was inspired by the place, the people and most of all, by Gaudi’s work of genius.
That it was beautiful was unquestionable, but it was modern and vibrant; not a city living in the past. On the contrary, wherever I went I found equally impressive new structures, particularly those built for the Olympic Games. Frank Ghery’s aquatic centre looked like a giant bronze fish glittering in the sun and symbolised the ever evolving nature of the city.
Wandering through the gothic quarter one evening, I felt hot and thirsty so I found a tiny bar, sat on a stool inside and ordered a beer. I had been amongst the crowds in Park Guell for most of the day and heading back into the city, I had been desperate to escape the major tourist traps. That was the only problem with Barcelona, tourists. They were everywhere and as I only got a couple of days a week away from work to explore the city, I had no choice but rub shoulders with them most of the time.
The waiter placed the bottle of San Miguel down alongside a glass and poured some of the beer, his fingers causing tiny rivulets of condensation running down the bottle. I thanked him in my somewhat agricultural Catalan. I was pretty good at Spanish, but the locals spoke a dialect that was often more French than Spanish.
Most of the employees at the office are good enough to use English in conversation with me, which is helpful, but I was getting the hang of common phrases in Catalan even if conversation is still a little tricky.
It must have been my dodgy accent that drew me into a conversation with the only other person in the bar.
“Hey, nice to hear a familiar accent, where are you from?” The guy moved a couple of stools closer to me and I recognised his American accent. It distracted me from my ice cold beer.
“I live near Vegas, what about you?”
“I’m from Colorado, Steamboat actually, but I live here now.”
“My name’s Mike by the way.” He offered his hand for me to shake.
“I’m MJ, Mary-Jane actually, but only my mom calls me that, MJ to everyone else.” We shook hands. They guy was cute and as I soon discovered, single, living in Barcelona and working for a bike tour company, riding round the city’s main sites accompanying tourists.
“Do you like riding a bike?”
“I can ride,” I grinned, “but I’m more of a runner.”
“Really, well how would you like your own personalised tour of the city some time?”
I liked the sound of that a lot bearing in mind how cute he was. As we continued to chat the evening wore on and we fell into an easy friendly banter.

The weeks passed by a little more slowly than when I had first arrived as settled into an easy pace. I filled my spare time with a number of visits to interesting parts of the city, whilst work days became routine, working on a new development in the Diagonal Mar area, by the beach. My apartment was nearby and I would often run along the five miles of beach front and back, marvelling at the number of others who did likewise (or similar on bikes, skates, scooters and any other form of transport.) The lifestyle suited me immensely and my work was appreciated by the company. I was also gathering knowledge and experience that I wouldn’t otherwise have access to back home in Vegas, which I hoped would go down well with my boss.
My relationship with Mike deepened as we spent time exploring the city together. He showed me places I would never have been to otherwise. We went most places by bike and I found myself really enjoying the experience, not just the relationship, but the freedom as well. That Mike and I got along so well, was both comforting and worrying as I knew my time in Barcelona was limited. I had just six weeks left before returning home.
We lay in bed together one Sunday morning; I was wrapped in Mike’s long, tanned arms and we kissed. Mike asked me about my plans, just straight out asked me what I was going to do whilst I was half asleep, nestled in his arms; it was so tempting to just want to stay in the city for longer.
“I have to go back, I don’t want to but I can’t see any way to avoid it.”
“Why can’t you just stay longer at least?”
It’s a condition of my sponsorship,” I tried to explain that my company were still paying me in the understanding that I would go back and share what I had learned with my colleagues in Vegas.
“I don’t want to go back either,” Mike replied, somewhat hesitantly, “but I would be willing to go back with you if it’s unavoidable… and you’ll let me.”
For the first time in my life, I was head over heels and had a man who seemed to feel the same way about me. Knowing I had no choice but to go back home to the US, I felt our relationship was strong enough to survive the journey and starting life over in another city.

Six months later, Mike and I were happy together living in my house in Henderson. I enjoyed having my own things around me again, and our relationship had built into something worthwhile, though Mike clearly missed Barcelona more than I did, he seemed unfazed by the move. He had a need for open space that Vegas seemed to stifle, so he had taken a job with another bike tour company out near Red Rock Canyon, which allowed him the open spaces he needed. Despite the craziness of the city, he didn’t have far to go to satisfy his need for the outdoors.

The easy pattern of life we established together in Barcelona soon returned, it was seamless and probably why our relationship worked so well. At work, I continued to impress colleagues with ideas developed in Barcelona. Being in an ever-changing city like Vegas left me with plenty of work and as I consulted on projects, my inspiring trip began to pay dividends in intuitive and imaginative designs. My time in Spain had been well spent as far as my firm were concerned and I was loving my job.

Mike applied for a job as a ranger with the State Park Service and was offered a spot at the Valley of Fire. This meant a long drive up the I-15 every morning or take the long scenic route round Lake Mead, either way it wasn’t a drive he looked forward to and suggested that we consider moving closer to his work, so at least he wouldn’t have to drive through Vegas every day. I thought about it and decided it wasn’t a bad suggestion. I would still be relatively close to my family and friends but I had an idea and didn’t want to make any hasty decisions.
“Why wait, we can always let this place for the time being?”
I had been thinking about the future too and the thought of the perfect home was appealing, but I had had a little idea growing inside me for a while. I wanted to design my own home and have it built from the ground up. I already had ideas and hoped Mike would like the idea.
“I think I want to build a place rather than rent or buy somewhere. If it’s going to be our home, I want it to be something special and it will take time to find the right spot of land and draw up the plans, how long can you wait?”
Mike was thoughtful for a while. “I guess if you get things started with plans then let me know how long. I wouldn’t know where to get started on this sort of thing, but I like the idea of having a place designed by you.”
It was what I wanted to hear, a compromise of sorts. I put a few thoughts on paper and rough sketched outline drawings. Mike watched over my shoulder as I worked my ideas out, occasionally rubbing out pencil marks.
“I had no idea how good you are at that.” He kissed the top of my head, so I gave his arm a squeeze. “We will have a garage, right?”

I laughed at him. “Somewhere to keep the bikes?” He nodded a reply and I laughed again. “Of course it will.”