Page 74 of One Year Ago in Spain
Onstage, the dead did not chase but instead danced with the dead, and the living danced with the living, each with their own impassioned style, but to the same song. They were like a black ocean on one side and a white one on the other, the bodies bending and curving into each other like waves. In a strange way, it reminded Claire of how, late at night in New York, Matías would sometimes pull her into the empty streets to dance, as fluid and carefree as the performers onstage.
But then Claire shoved the memory out of her mind. Because she couldnotthink about the obvious analogy that followed—her, living, dancing with Matías, dead.
As if picking up on her exiled thought, though, some of the shadows began to dance slowly through the fog and took living people as their partners. The border between the black and white onstage started to blend into gray.
But even though those metaphorical souls were being coaxed into the afterlife, it was with an enthusiastic splendor as only flamenco could demonstrate, a new kind of duet that celebrated both the living and the departed.
The man next to Claire sniffled. But he wasn’t grieving; he was smiling as he wiped away a tear.
More and more dancers crossed the line from life to death, and as the souls crossed over into the land of shadows, the dancers dramatically ripped off their white costumes, revealing sleeker black ones underneath.
And still, they danced, and still, their movements were beautiful, possibly even more beautiful than when they were alive.
As the melody faded to only a single guitar, and then to nothing, the souls also danced as one, united in a final, coordinated stomp. The peace of death.
The dancers bowed together, and then the fog of the stage swallowed them whole.
The audience burst into raucous applause. Furious clapping. Whistling. Plenty of tears of awe.
Except for Claire. Claire, who had lost her parents in a car accident on a day that was supposed to be a celebration. Claire, who had a comatose boyfriend in the hospital, and his wandering soul beside her.
She understood the message the dancers were trying to convey—that death didn’t have to be sad. That Lady Time would come for everyone in the end, but you could make your life before that worth it, so that when your time was up, it felt less like you were being stolen from the world and more like you weredancinginto the afterlife.
That probably was how Matías’s soul would do it. Matías certainly lived every minute to its exuberant fullest potential.
But what about the people who were left behind after their loved ones died? There was no waltzing to the funeral home, no flamenco dance of happiness on their graves. When Jim and Sarah had died, it had been a tragedy, plain and simple.
If Matías died…
“Can we get out of here?” Claire asked.
“Of course,” Matías said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect the show to be so philosophical. And with your friend in the hospital…I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. The show was incredible, really. I just—”
“Yeah.”
When they got outside, Claire gulped air like it could cleanse the grief and fear away. It didn’t; it wasn’t that simple. But after a few minutes of walking, she did feel a little better.
“How are you feeling?” Matías asked.
“I’m…okay,” she said. “Steadier now.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Maybe someday,” Claire said. “But not tonight.”
He nodded. “All right, then. Do you want to keep exploring Madrid? Or if that’s too much and you want to go back to the hotel, I understand.”
“No, let’s keep going.” She wasn’t ready to be alone again. And she also didn’t want to let go of Matías, especially with the imagery of souls dancing into the afterlife.
Claire
Madrid was beautifulin the dark, its landmarks illuminated like glowing beacons, and Claire and Matías walked and talked all the way until dawn. He never touched her, although she could tell he wanted to—a reach here, a lean there, before he remembered her request to be old-fashioned, and then he’d pull back with a sheepish, lopsided smile on his face.
As the sun rose, Matías sighed happily as he watched the sky shift slowly from purple to pink. “I love this time of morning. It’s like you can feel the world turning.”
Claire smiled to herself. She knew exactly what he meant, but in a different way. She was closer to his soul than she’d ever been before—even in New York—and it felt like something in their universe was shifting. Slowly, but in a good way.
