Page 13 of The Night We Became Strangers

Valeria

I hadn’t expected to see Matías again so soon. But how could I not? This was an unprecedented event that required all media sources to come together. Somehow, I thought that as proprietor, editor, or whatever function he had at the newspaper, he wouldn’t be here.

And yet, he was. Standing just a few steps ahead of me.

We had all gathered in the Quito airport, where two Mexican stars were arriving to film a movie with our one and only Ernesto Albán.

The minute Tío Bolívar had mentioned—in passing—that the two celebrities, Juliana Isabel and Alejandro Toledo, were coming today and he was going to do his best to get them to come to the station and sing at our evening show, Graciela and I had begged him to let us come along.

He’d grudgingly agreed, but it seemed like all the other radio stations in the city had the same idea, not to mention that all the newspapers were eager to report the extraordinary visit.

Obviously, I’d brought my camera along. I was determined to get spectacular photos of the teen idols, but was frankly, a bit intimidated when I saw the slick cameras the professional photographers were carrying.

What I needed was an exclusive, a photo like no other, and I wasn’t going to get something unique standing in the same spot as all of these photographers.

At least that was the plan when I squeezed through men carrying cameras and microphones all the way to the front, where I spotted Matías by the railing, looking at the runway through a floor-to-ceiling window.

Correction, Matías with his hand on the small of some woman’s back. She turned to him, giggling, and he whispered something into her ear. Something that got her laughing even more.

I forgot my strategy. I no longer cared about the picture.

I could only stare at his profile with a mixture of eagerness for him to see me and fear that he might.

I hadn’t even looked at myself in the mirror before rushing behind my uncle after lunch, and who knew what my hair was doing by this point of the afternoon?

But I hadn’t wanted my uncle to leave without me.

I’d barely had a chance to grab my purse, my camera, and Graciela’s hand.

How people changed! I could already see it.

Mati had been a melancholic, introverted kid, but the way he was flirting with this …

woman! And laughing. He would never have done that when I’d known him.

He had been quietly observant, with a wisdom, if you will, that I loved.

He had been so kind to me even though I was three years younger and some people claimed I was annoying .

I liked to think of myself as spirited, instead.

There was a brawl of some sort behind me. “Hey, what’s wrong with you?” a man with a camera said.

“I was here first,” said another. “You took my spot.”

He shoved the other. The one with the camera lost his balance and landed on top of a few fellow reporters, who complained loudly. As I faced the front again, my eyes met Matías’s for just a second, but then he looked away and focused on the brawl behindus.

What had I ever done to him to deserve such indifference?

I’d written him a letter after I arrived at the boarding school telling him how sorry I was about his father’s passing—he’d also been at the building during the fire—but Matías had never answered or given me any condolences over my parents’ deaths.

He hadn’t been the only one who’d lost someone! I had lost both parents, not just one . I hadn’t even been able to attend their funeral, as my uncle had said it would be “traumatic” at my age. I knew one day I had to gather the courage to visit their graves. I just wasn’t ready yet.

Since everyone was so immersed in the fight between photographers, nobody seemed to notice when the Aerovías Panamá plane landed on Ecuadorian soil.

It must be some kind of sign that only I would have this exclusive.

I took a shot at the plane and then noticed a door to the side being opened and an airport employee stepping out.

I pushed through the bodies, briefly spotting my uncle and cousin absorbed in the enfolding drama and headed to the ajar door. Before I stepped outside, I glanced back at the crowd of reporters. Matías was staring at me. I held his gaze for an instant, then darted outside.

I welcomed the cool breeze on my face as it had been so stuffy inside the terminal. My relief, however, was short lived as a few raindrops hit my nose. I had failed to bring my umbrella, and I could also feel my bun, or what was left of it, coming undone.

As the plane taxied closer to the building and stopped in front of the picture window, the loud cries and cheers of women above me became deafening.

I looked up and noticed for the first time a rooftop balcony on the second floor filled with girls.

It was jam-packed, and the eager fans were screaming at the top of their lungs.

The shrieks became louder—if such thing were possible—as the boarding stairs were set in place and the plane’s door was lifted.

Following the flight attendant, Alejandro Toledo and his characteristic strawberry blond hair appeared on top of the escalator.

As he waved at the girls, I feared a hysterical teenager might jump from the rooftop.

Alejandro Toledo was one of the biggest stars in Latin America at the moment.

He had achieved fame singing rock ’n’ roll in Spanish and had recently started an acting career as well.

Some of the girls at the boarding school had plastered walls and armoires with newspaper clippings of him.

Not I—I wasn’t easily starstruck.

Hiding behind a baggage cart, I approached the escalator.

From the side, I took a photo of him. It may not have been the best one, but it was an exclusive photo.

Following Alejandro Toledo were two large men in suits.

As the singer descended the escalator, the crowd chanted “Alejandro! Alejandro!” while others kept screaming. I resisted the urge to cover my ears.

Close behind them, the beautiful Juliana Isabel emerged from the plane in a bouquet-print dress with a wide skirt that enhanced her minimal waist. She looked so glamorous with her hair wrapped in a lavender satin scarf, with gloves and sunglasses on.

Someone behind her had already opened a striped umbrella and was preparing to protect the young actress from the rain.

I moved a little and squatted until I could capture her full body through my lens. I snapped another photo.

“Excuse me, senorita .”

Before I got a chance to turn toward the male voice behind me, someone snatched the camera from my hands.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

It was one of Alejandro’s guards, who’d already reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Give me that! It’s mine!” I said.

“I’m sorry, senorita , but you’re not allowed in here, and Mr. Toledo doesn’t want to be photographed before the press conference, especially from that angle.”

I struggled to recover my property, but the man was so tall, and he held the camera so high, I couldn’t reach it. I snatched his other arm, but he pulled away from me with ease and walked behind his boss, who hadn’t even bothered looking at me.

Juliana Isabel descended the staircase with her assistant holding the umbrella close behind me.

I was too shocked to utter another word.

Even worse, I was mortified by the possibility that someone—more specifically, Matías—might have witnessed the embarrassing scene from the window.

I didn’t even want to think about how ridiculous I must look with my hair and clothes drenched.

At least the rain freshened my blushing cheeks—one small mercy.

As the celebrities and their entourage entered the terminal, I stomped back to the door where I’d come from. Who the hell did that man think he was to steal my camera? If I didn’t know the entire world—more or less—was watching, I would’ve chased him down until he returned what was rightfully mine.

On top of all that, I didn’t have a single photo to show. Stupidly, I’d thought the Monteros would be so impressed with the photo of Alejandro Toledo, they would offer me a job on the spot. How could I be so dumb to let that gorilla take my camera?

I tried to pull the door open, but it was locked!

The rain had gotten so hard I could barely see where to go or what to do.

There was movement on the taxiway as luggage was transported from one place to another and technicians would come and go, not to mention airplanes, like giant birds, in close proximity.

I was livid, but more at my own stupidity.

As I briefly contemplated my possibilities, covering my head with my purse, the door opened abruptly. Thank you, Diosito . Matías pulled me inside before I could get a word out.

The crowd of reporters and photographers had spread somewhat and in their place were passengers headed in different directions.

“Thanks,” I said, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Had he seen my entire, humiliating ordeal?

“Your uncle is looking for you,” he said, curtly.

So, he knew who I was!

“What about the press conference?” I said.

“They moved it to the hotel.” He wouldn’t even look at me. As if I were some disgusting rodent. Instead, he searched for someone among the faces around us. His little girlfriend?

“Valeria!” Graciela called out, surprisingly pushing passengers out of her way as she approached me. My uncle followed behind.

“Well, I’ll see you later,” Matías said and left before I had a chance to say goodbye.

I couldn’t believe how arrogant he’d become!

“Where were you?” my cousin said. “We’ve been looking for you all over.”

Tío Bolívar was furious. Apparently, they had wasted time looking for me instead of rushing to the hotel where Alejandro Toledo and Juliana Isabel were staying to speak to them first. I didn’t even bother giving them any explanation, and when my cousin asked where my camera was, I simply said an evil man stole it from me.