Short stories: Strangers in Segovia

She was drunk. Very drunk. Dancing in the narrow hall between bar stools and dining tables at the tune of Spanish songs that she didn’t understand and with puzzled servers zigzagging all around under enormous trays. 

She didn’t care. She didn’t care until hunger hit her belly. And that was when I came to the rescue.

Food order translated, and the blond girl from Midwest America with a plastic crown of Feliz Año Nuevo said, “Can I join your table?” 

“Why not?” I replied. 

And we ate and drank and talked and danced until 12 when we kissed each other for a lot longer than what a normal friendship advice for a new year celebration. 

When did we leave? 

Nobody knows. 

I grabbed a bottle of wine and she took her cheap plastic crown, and also a high-pitched whistle that screamed all around that she was the happiest girl in the town. 

Laughing and drinking, we walked the cold streets of the old Segovia. The one of the Roman aqueduct and the mighty Alcázar where she became queen for a night. 

The first dawn of the year found us in bed. 

By the afternoon, dirty sheets were the only trail of a perfect couple. And me, looking to the white mountains through the foggy windows, once again alone in an alien country. 

Yet, I never asked her name.