When in the world am I going to get caught up to now in this blasted journal?  Madrid really threw off my groove - I'm 2 1/2 weeks behind.

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18 May 2008.  6:06pm.

I come home from church to find Pervy still sacked out, whining in his sleep (as, I suppose, perverts are wont to do).  It had been one of the longest church blocks I'd ever been to.  During the first hour, I had to translate Sacrament Meeting for a group of German tourists on holiday.  Now, I've got nothing against translating, but it was not an easy meeting to just translate on the fly like that.  Then, the tourists decided to stay for Sunday School - so guess who got to translate again?  And, to top it all off, it was my week to teach Priesthood.

I am so hoarse and thirsty right now, but I'm brimming with energy because I've got plans with a girl.  I quickly change out of my shirt and tie, tossing on a t-shirt (it's got the Punisher logo on it, oddly enough) and jeans, hurrying out the door without disturbing my roommate.

I quickly make my way through my beautiful town - past the Plaça Imperial, up the Rambla Vella, and alongside the old Roman limestone walls.  Finally, I reach Carolina's building and she buzzes me in.  I bound up the steps, knock on her door, and her mother answers with a smile.  I've gotten in her good graces quite a bit more than that first visit.  She still refuses to speak to me in Spanish, but hearing her Catalan is always good practice.  (Heck, her daughter does the same thing to me often enough that I'm pretty good at getting almost all the Catalan I hear these days.)

We speak for a few moments as Carolina gathers stuff and jams it in a backpack.  She tosses me a blanket to carry, gives her mother a goodbye kiss, and we're off.

She grabs my hand as we walk down the Rambla.  The sky is blue, pocked and peppered with feathery clouds, wispy and benign.  As we stroll, I hear a beat start to play, and a saxophone comes in.  I stop dead in my tracks, remembering my dream.

She peers at me, a look of concern crossing her face.  "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.  The music fades.  Is my mind playing tricks on me?  I meet her eyes, smile, and reply, "No, I'm fine," giving her a reassuring wink.

We continue our journey down the Rambla until we reach the park.  it's full of people today; little kids dash through the trees playing hide and seek, an older gentleman throws a stick for his ugly dog.  There are families and couples and gaggles of grandmothers, all enjoying the warm sun on their faces.

We find a little corner, a patch of shade under a large sycamore, and lay out the blanket.  She opens her knapsack  and throws me a bottled water, which I drink from greedily.  She lays out our meal - sandwiches, some cold tortilla de patata, and some bananas.

We curl up together, talking as we eat.  She tells me of her morning off (the first Sunday she hasn't had to work in weeks), spent lounging around the house.  I recount my hectic bilingual morning and the ridiculous banter in Sunday School that I had to translate.

She asks a few questions about the church, and I give her the quick version about it - its origins and the like.  She explains that, while she was baptized Catholic, she rarely goes to mass.  She promises that she'll come to church with me next time that she has a Sunday off.

We start talking about summer.  She explains that she's leaving for Mexico on the 16th of June for two months.  "That gives us another month before school's done," she continues.

I respond, "Yep, and then I fly back home a month after that.  I can't believe the time has flown so fast."

She stares into my eyes, sort of crestfallen.  "I'd forgotten you were going back home.  I had gotten used to the idea of you being here."

We sit in silence for a moment, holding each other.  After an awkward few minutes, she posits, "You could always come back, couldn't you?  Your school would still have the setup with the uni here, and you could come back, right?"

"N-not really an option," I stammer.  I've only got one semester left of school to finish my bachelor's, and I need some rather specific classes only offered by my home school to graduate.  Besides, I'm not going to have any money.  I need to recharge my severely depleted savings, because when I get some, I'll be nearly broke.  Sorry, hon, but it's not in the cards.

"But we have a month until you leave," I trail off as I stare out at the bustling park.

We remain there, enveloped in quiet, as the clouds flutter through the sky.