Alejandro Interpretation

She does not look at men.

There is fear of the supernatural, fear of ghosts and spiders and a snake's cold touch. There is the fear of falling, of climbing, of closed spaces. There is the fear of loneliness, fear of rejection, fear of taboos that raise one's adrenaline. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex.

Have you ever heard, a fear of men?

She is afraid. Afraid of their long legs and hands, afraid of their strong, able bodies, afraid of their big horse-like eyes. Afraid of every inch, every fibre, every hair that belongs to one. She is afraid of their whistles, the eerie wolf whistles that only men can make. She does not look at them. When one of them glances her way, she lowers her gaze and hurry on, her hands burning in her pockets. She is afraid of that hand, the same hand that can reach out to touch her gently and strike down on her the next.

She hurries on, clutching her purple Gucci purse tightly against herself, staring at the pavement ahead of her. Her legs are cold, but she loves her black lace tights. She loves her skirt and black petticoat. She walks quickly down the train station, her white chandelier earrings sparkling under the reflection of the street lights. And so, with both hands tucked in her pockets, she hurries on, head hung low.

She hurries down the street, avoiding anybody in sight.

"Hey, you little bitch," one of them calls out, hoots with his friend, and a cigarette butt hits her on the arm.

She hurries down the street, her little heart pounding. The men sprawled out on the bench behind her hoots and shouts. "Come on, you wear so less because you want the attention!"

She breathes shakily, exhaling fog into the
air. She begins to run,
run from the men
and their deceiving stares. Past the three tall, sinewy figures sprawled against the hood of the car, leaned against the wall – past the forlorn, rhapsodic jazz playing from the edge of the town, and she stumbled around the corner. She usually took this shortcut, which saved ten minutes of walking, but she would have to walk past the back of the buildings and go through the back gardens. The wind breezes against her legs, and she walks a little bit faster to get past the shadowy part of the streets.

At the end she swore she could see something, such a tall and handsome shadow, and it flickered away before she could see past the dimly lit lights from the homes above. She knew she should have backed out and took the long way, hailed a cab, even – but she didn't. She kept walking, engulfed in the November night, and she knew she wasn't the only one breathing there.

She walked on forward, towards the shadow that was leaning oh-so-casually against the cold, gloomy walls, and she make out his face – the lights from the buildings above shone on it like an altar.

She sighed, her hands digging deeper into her tiny waist coat, head raising slowly to face him.


"Alejandro."