“Q” is a really hard one as far as songs “beginning with Q” goes. But fortunately I had two really great songs to choose from. I have always loved “Quizas, Quizas, Quizas” or it’s English variant, “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.” I don’t know when I first heard it, although I suspect it may have been the British show, “Coupling” where it was its theme. It was also in the movie “Tortilla Soup.” The song is sexy and playful, especially as these guys in the video sing it…the video is after the story.

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps

I begged friends to go with me but no one could get time off from work or, even more likely, no one really wanted to go on my honeymoon with me afraid that I’d be bawling my eyes out while my ex-fiance bounced bed springs with my maid-of-honor and former best friend.

So I found myself alone in Cancun, walking through talc-soft sand, swimming in a bathwater warm bay, and venturing slowly into nightlife. On my excursion to Cozumel, I sat outside on a sultry night, ate rich vanilla ice cream laced with Kahlua, and felt…alone.

This wasn’t fun. Eating by myself, drinking by myself, sunning by myself, none of it was fun, not when I knew it was intended for two. I decided to take a taxi back to my hotel and then rethink whether I wanted to return to Cancun for the rest of the holiday or just call it over and go back home and face life.

That’s when I heard the music. A man singing. His voice stirred something inside of me even though I could only understand a word here and there.

I wandered into the bar, found a table near the stage and fell in love. The waitress brought me a shot. “Grapefruit and tequila. On the house,” she said.

Although not much of a drinker, I tossed it back and then ordered a white wine.

His name was Ramon. He sang passionately and then he sang the song I only knew as the theme to the British show, “Coupling.” Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps. As he sang the words, his eyes fell upon me. I could feel myself heating up, like I was slowly smoldering, an ember about to catch flame. He grinned as he then sang the words in Spanish.

His words felt like fingertips slowly moving over me, caresses on hot, needing skin. As if he knew what I was thinking, he took the microphone from its stand and drew close to me. “If you really love me, say yes.”

I was burning. There’s no love, but there’s lust. And promise. Inside I played a game of “what if” while knowing it had become:

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

end

Sascha Darlington