A Hunt Without Flight

Victoria opened one eye in the room, engulfed in total darkness. She had no idea what time it was. Only the faint glow of her natural light alarm clock hinted that it was already far too late, and she would probably walk into the office after 10 a.m. She stretched out her right arm without looking; her intuition didn’t fail her. Her partner, Sandro, had already been gone for quite some time, judging by the coldness of the sheets. She slid to the side of the bed and placed her right foot on the cold tile. Standing up reminded her that she had drunk way too much the previous night, and her stomach clenched, reminding her that only glasses of Chardonnay had served as dinner. She gathered her courage and got up, dragging herself like a zombie to the kitchen of their penthouse on the outskirts of Luxembourg. Passing through the bright-colored hallway, she grabbed her phone, abandoned on the corner of a piece of furniture, much like her principles the night before.

While pressing the button on the coffee machine, she turned on her phone and saw nothing but hollow notifications and increasingly frightening world news. Today, she was celebrating her 29 years and 2 months. It was September 11, 2018.

Her career had taken a decisive turn since her promotion just before her 29th birthday. She had promised herself to slow down and spend more time with Sandro, only to realize she hadn't spent a single evening at the penthouse this week. As usual, the days flew by like hours. Countless cocktails and networking events had filled her evenings, but she couldn't complain. Yet yesterday, no particular event was on the agenda, and she certainly hadn’t planned to end up in a dingy bar, downing shots of sambuca at the counter. These kinds of unpredictable events, however, were part of her daily life, illustrating her irrepressible need for chaos and improvisation.

A beautiful summer day, more than 20 years ago, was when she first let the flames of passion consume her. Back then, children often played alone in groups until sunset. That afternoon, she and her girlfriends had wandered near a banquet hall where a wedding was taking place. The music was loud, and dozens of kids were playing tag and other games. Her gaze stopped on a young boy, barely older than her—maybe 8 or 9 years old. His eyes were deep, and his dark hair was neatly styled for the occasion. He was reserved, with an air of perfection, like something straight out of an American movie, the kind that European girls dreamed about. She wanted to approach him but couldn’t find the courage. She wasn’t shy by nature—her friends often saw her more as the clown of the group than the little girl in a pristine dress with clean knees. Time flew by, and her friends signaled it was time to go. Victoria felt as though she had only spent a few minutes near the mysterious boy. As she left, a sharp pain ran through her body, a sense of unfinished business, and the firm sensation that she had missed a unique opportunity.

The group of girls returned to the family home, not far from the ongoing wedding. Victoria's two friends crossed the threshold and headed straight to the kitchen, searching for snacks. But Victoria hesitated at the door, fearing that crossing it would mean saying goodbye to the dark-haired boy forever. A light breeze rustled the branches of the trees in the neighborhood, giving her an impulse she had never felt before. She ran. Her feet pounded the ground in a frantic race back to the wedding. The breeze hit her face, which was now lit up with a huge smile. Her heart pounded, and she could feel every pulse coursing through her veins. Victoria was a well-behaved little girl, and breaking the rules wasn’t something she did often. She had no idea that this romantic act would later be seen as a runaway attempt.

Arriving back at the wedding, where adults were now dancing to "The Chicken Dance," she hid behind a house close to the celebration and pressed her hands against the rough stucco wall until it hurt, just to prove to herself she was still alive. A group of kids noticed her and, with curious looks, approached.

“What are you doing here?” one of them asked.

“Don’t say a word to the grown-ups. I need to talk to the boy with you. He’s dark-haired, a little taller than me, playing over there—see? Can you bring him here?”

The group of kids, slightly baffled, took on the task. At that moment, Victoria heard her friends calling her name in panicked voices. As the voices drew closer, she felt her dream slipping away. She couldn’t leave without seeing him again; it was stronger than her. But she had to come out of hiding. Her torment finally approached, surrounded by the group of children like a royal entourage. He stopped a few meters from her, as if to keep a safe distance. They locked eyes, and for a brief moment, time stood still.

“Hi, I just wanted to say hi,” she told him, not giving him time to respond. She ran off to find her friends and reassure them, but they were no longer alone. Victoria’s mother, worried sick, had joined them.

Victoria ran toward her with the firm intention of giving her a big hug and asking for forgiveness. As she approached, arms wide open, her mother raised her right arm as if to gain momentum and delivered a slap that would make Roland Garros champions envious. Victoria felt her whole body twist, and her head seemed to spin. She saw the gravel as if her face was about to crash into it. She burst into tears, though the pain wasn’t physical but still intense.

It was the first time Victoria had fallen in love, and she understood that the feeling of love always comes with a harsh slap back to reality.