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I guide Tomás through Madrid traffic, and in a few minutes, we’re at a schoolhouse door. A surprised Eric gets out of the car and looks around. There appears to be no one here. I smile. I take him by the hand and pull him along. We enter the schoolhouse, and his perplexed expression grows more pronounced. I like to see him disconcerted.
A few seconds later, I open a door marked “Gymnasium,” and we’re engulfed by a tremendous buzz. In an instant, dozens of girls aged seven to twelve run screaming toward me.
“Coach! Coach!”
“Coach?”
I grin and shrug.
“I’m the soccer coach for the girls’ team at my niece’s school,” I explain before the throng of girls reaches us.
He starts to open his mouth, then just smiles. The girls are all over me, hanging on my arms and legs. I joke around with them until their mothers peel them off me.
“And who is this guy?” my sister asks.
“A friend.”
“Well, well, well, that’s some friend!” she whispers, and I’m beside myself.
The girls’ mothers all become extraordinarily attentive in Eric’s presence. It makes sense. Eric reeks of sensuality, and I know it. After she says hello to everyone, my sister pesters me until I finally give in and introduce her to Eric.
“Raquel, let me introduce you to Eric.” He stands up to greet her. “Eric, this is my sister, and the little monkey around my leg is my niece, Luz.” They trade kisses.
“Why are you so tall?” asks my niece.
“Because I ate a lot when I was little,” Eric says.
“Why do you talk so weird?” Luz asks. “Is there something wrong with your mouth?”
Eric squats down to my niece’s level.
“It’s because I’m German, and even though I speak Spanish, I can’t get rid of my accent.”
My niece looks up at me, amused too.
“Whoa, the Italians beat you guys bad the other day.”
My sister, embarrassed, pulls my niece away. Eric comes back up.
“A chip off the old block,” he whispers in my ear. We both laugh, and then the girls run toward me again. This isn’t a practice session; it’s the summer party the moms have put together to mark the end of the school year. For an hour and a half, I talk to the girls, hug them goodbye, and have my picture taken with them. Eric remains seated up in the bleachers, but from his expression, he seems to be enjoying the show.
The girls hand me a present. I open it to find a colorful candy ball. I clap just like they do. I love candy! After a few minutes, and after I kiss all the moms and the little soccer players, they leave the gym, my sister and niece among them.
Satisfied and touched by the show of appreciation they’ve given me, I turn to Eric with two cups of somewhat-lukewarm Coke.
“Surprised?” I ask, handing him a cup.
“Yes, you’re full of surprises.”
“Eric,” I say, finally finding the courage to speak frankly, “my life is what you see: utterly normal.”
“I know, and it worries me.”
“It worries you? It worries you that my life is normal?”
His gaze cuts right through me.
“Yes.”