It's a monster, Aurora, it's a monster. Why didn't you tell me? You did right, I suppose. I wouldn't have understood it, I wouldn't have believed it either. That's why you didn't want me to come see you, that's why you brushed me off when between the lines I told you I wanted to meet you in person.
Wicked ones, neither Fernando nor Laura mentioned it to me. -We want to introduce you to a friend-, they told me; she's a super cool Spanish girl, white skin, blonde hair, green eyes. What is it with many Mexicans that we like blonde girls so much. Anyway, they didn't say anything about your squeaky squirrel voice. I thought they were my allies and accomplices; now I see they were your allies and accomplices, and I'm glad, anyway I wouldn't have believed them. I sensed something from the beginning, something was wrong, but I ignored it. No wonder sometimes, when I called you, your window would vibrate and noises could be heard; it seemed like the floor was shaking and it sounded as if things were falling from your pantry and your bookshelf.
It's not that I felt you were hiding something from me, I always felt you were honest; it was just something you didn't tell me and didn't tell me, but wanted to, I know. You took it for granted that I wouldn't believe you and you were probably right.
I don't know, would it have been better if what you were hiding was a child? A child of yours? About four or five years old, with huge eyes like yours, with bangs down to his eyebrows. You well know how much I like children. What does it matter, anyway I would have been a terrible foster father, in time you would have had to take care of two kids. I would have become too much of an accomplice to that child of yours that you don't have, that I now know you don't have, and you would have had to scold both of us for drawing dinosaurs on the walls. But no, it's not a child of yours that would keep anything from happening between us.
I only came, Aurora, I came to see you. I don't know what you expected me to do after you told me that you were falling in love with me and that's why we shouldn't keep talking, for my own good. You don't say that to a guy curious to the bone. You told me you couldn't explain why, but that simply nothing could happen between us, that what we had couldn't be born and that I would never understand it.
At what point did you realize that a "we" was emerging between the two of us? At what point did that "we" begin to mutate?
I always thought what I felt, I felt only on my side. That's why I liked what was happening, that micro-evolution in the tone of our chats. Those brief suspended silences, almost awkward, almost cute, when we discovered something that brought us closer.
I always liked you, Aurora, always, and that has never been a secret. Your almost ridiculous humor, your old soul, almost nostalgic, your skin color, your green eyes, your squeaky squirrel voice, your Madrid accent. -Too pretty for me-, I always told myself, but I didn't care.
Now many of our chats make sense. Now I understand your bad moods and your frustrated, sleep-deprived face. It was a monster, Aurora, what was messing up your room and your life. What made you late for work, what scratched you. Of course, it wasn't a cat, no, those scratches weren't from a cat, nor the tears in your sweaters and pillows.
I came to see you and without warning, Aurora. Just like that, like men do, I took a taxi to the Mexico City airport, two hours in the waiting room, eight hours of flight, another taxi, and here I am, in a tiny café in front of your house. It's exactly as you described it to me. The most hipster vintage micro-café in the world, simply tiny, with yellow walls and a small wall in the back, chalkboard black, yellow-chalk letters, and twirling flowers. What does it matter, Aurora, the thing is I still don't believe it, I still can't believe what I saw.
There, finally, in front of your door, I rang the doorbell and you weren't there, of course, you didn't know I was coming. The truth is I don't know what I expected. What do I know, maybe a scene straight out of a movie: your green eyes surprised, a hug, a kiss, a thousand questions in your eyebrows, another hug, a:

• You're crazy! What have you come for? Why don't you come in, you're crazy, why didn't you tell me you were coming.

Another hug, a:

• Why don't you come in.

But no, you weren't there. So I came over to the micro-café across the street. This little place looks like it was pulled from one of Mathias Malzieu's novels. There is a bakery about three doors down, how convenient. The aroma coming from that place is intoxicating. Some violet bougainvilleas, a round small table with two metal chairs —one is empty, obviously— and this yellow umbrella that barely gives shade. From here I saw you, with a second espresso half-finished; I wish it had been a mezcal.
From here your door can be seen, from here I saw you arrive, Aurora, and no, you weren't coming alone, woman. Would it have been better to see you walking with a guy, holding his arm and laughing out loud? How strange, but the idea of someone else enjoying your squirrel voice so closely displeases me, stuns me, turns my stomach... but I don't know if it shocks me as much as what I saw. A monster, Aurora, that's what I saw.
Now I feel like I'm in a Guillermo del Toro movie, like in a surreal world. No, it's neither the jet lag nor the cocktail of emotions and sleep deprivation I'm carrying. I saw you arrive and at first it seemed like you were floating. You walk in an elegant and fun way. You looked gorgeous in your white pants, ripped at the knees, and your mustard-colored trench coat. I watched you happy and I don't understand it. Walking right behind you was an enormous monster, Aurora! Blue and furry! An absurd mix between a koala and a gorilla, it walked on all fours, but it had huge arms longer than its legs and I think three huge fingers on each hand.
I can't believe it, Aurora, but everyone on the street saw it too, yet they did nothing, they simply went on with what they were doing. As if that sight were already part of their routine. Everyone said hello to you and you as cute as ever, and the furry blue beast behind you barely grunted, grumbled, it just followed you; it even looked in a good mood. It knocked over some flowers from the flower stand on the corner, unintentionally, with a brush of its back paw, but Mrs. Flowers just smiled and picked up the flowers without grief, simply telling you with a chubby smile: -Have a nice afternoon, my girl-, and you just blew her a kiss. And the blue thing, as if nothing happened. As you walked, the windows vibrated behind you, you could feel the weight of that gigantic beast walking on two legs and its two huge hands.
I don't know how that furry, blue thing managed to get through your door without bursting the wooden frame. And the world went on as if nothing. So it was a monster, Aurora, the reason why we couldn't keep talking. Why nothing could happen between us. But I came, I came over without warning.
Where do you hide your monster when you go to your store where, according to you, you sell clothes? Do you disguise it as an enormous bolt of blue, furry fabric? Does it tangle in its arms pretending to be a rug? Don't the customers get scared? How do you do it when you go to a restaurant or a café, or when you get on the train or bus? Now everything makes sense, woman, that's why you don't have a car, that's why you told me you prefer to walk, it wasn't to keep in shape.
How did that huge ball of fur come into your life? Did you adopt it when it was a puppy? Was it left on your doorstep hidden in a washing machine box? Could it have hatched from a giant egg and fallen from a tree? The reality is that somehow it reached you.
A monster, Aurora, a monster. Who has a monster in their life? I suppose you haven't been able to get rid of it, or you haven't wanted to, or I don't know. I have thousands of questions.
And now I'm here, in the tiny café, in front of your house; I just ordered my third espresso and I'm shaking. I'm already here, I came all the way to Madrid to see you, Aurora, and I don't care about being a tourist.
I wasn't ready for this crossroads, güerita, and instinctively I feel like calling you to ask for advice, for you to tell me what to do, because I don't know at what point you became above all my best friend.
If I called you I would say something like this:

• Aurora, I came for her, woman, for the girl of my dreams. The crazy one, the hipster with the squirrel voice.

• You're crazy, tío!, you would have told me. Damn it! You've lost a screw, tío!

• I think I love her for real, Aurora, that's why I came and yes I'm crazy, I know it, but this girl has a monster, she has a monster, Aurora, a gigantic blue and furry thing. It's huge, I tell you! How do you live with a girl who has a monster...

What would you have told me, güera? What advice would you give me?
But the girl with the monster is you, the woman of my dreams and my best friend.
I have two options, Aurora, two.
Play the brave one and pretend what I saw doesn't matter. Go back to your door, ring the doorbell, and hit play on the Guillermo del Toro movie. Your green eyes surprised, a hug, a kiss, a thousand questions in your eyebrows, a:

• You're crazy! What have you come for? You're crazy! Why didn't you tell me you were coming.

Another hug, a:

• You can't come in because I have a monster.

And me:

• I already know and aun así quiero estar contigo... (I already know and even so I want to be with you...)

And you:

• But boy are you crazy, my son.

And me:

• I know, let me in, let me stay with you, with that... with you guys.

What would happen then? Another hug? A long kiss and your left foot raised? Or you trying to protect me from the giant blue furry thing while it gruñe? (while it growls at me?)

• No, no, calm down, you'd tell him. It's the guy I've been talking to, he's my friend.

• Friend?!, I would ask... Oh no, that's where I draw the line... Look, I didn't come all this way from so far just to face your monster —the monster growls—, I mean, to adopt it... just for you to call me friend...

Would the long kiss finally arrive then?
You told me you were falling in love with me... and I'll stick with that, to me that's what matters... Love conquers all, right?
There's the other option, of course, the logical, the sensible one. The taxi, the airport, the waiting room, the eight hours of flight, once again the Mexico City airport, another taxi, and back to my room... finally with my longed-for mezcal in hand, the whole bottle... without the blue and furry monster, and without you, above all without you... sitting on my couch trying to write this story, which I would call "Aurora's Monster".
Horrible, right?
No. No. I prefer you... a thousand times you, with your monster and its scratches.
I rub my hands, pay the bill, forget my backpack, and tell myself:

• Here I go, here you go. Be brave... You love her no matter what, and that's what matters...

Wait, before ringing the doorbell to your door I'll go buy, not flowers, but rather pet food, I'm going to need a sack.
Aurora, it was a monster, the reason why, according to you, nothing could happen between us... It was a monster and I don't care...
...
Ding dong