The Politician.

IV. Anyone but him.

Mr.Sanchez was already on his way to his daughter’s wedding. He did not leave many instructions, which terrified and reassured me at the same time. Maybe he did trust me, and maybe he had a valid reason to. I needed to start believing that I brought some value to a space, nobody was giving me a gift or was scared of me. All of this had to be because I deserved it. I still felt whiplash from how quickly things worked out for me, but at this time my only option is to prove myself and stop letting this imposter syndrome consume me.

I can’t let anyone look like an i***t for putting their faith in me, not Bruno, not Paulo and certainly not Mr. Sanchez.

Tomorrow is the day, whether I like it or not, there is no running away from this one. I simply needed to be prepared.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I see someone else. I see the version of myself that lived in my head for so many years, a version that I had stopped dreaming of after ten years because the hope had become too painful. I felt exhausted by that dream. A cruel trick of the brain really, something hidden so close behind your eyes yet intangible. Or so I thought and even believed to be true for so long.

Now it is real. The fabric of my suit is soft, my heels shine and Bianca’s uncle curled my hair in a way only the salt water had ever managed to.

I knew this person standing in front of me, and she knew what needed to be done. In fact, she was confident about it. She is a public speaker who feels deserving and qualified for every stage she is hoisted onto.

A Movi car was waiting for me outside, to take me to the event. Standing in front of it and saying how complete and professional it looks makes me feel like I have a real plan backing me up. Bianca and some of our other colleagues were already seated.

This is beyond me, it is not about me. Ciudad Movimento is taking center stage tonight, and we will all work together to get the needed investments. I was not alone.

I am much too fascinated by the quality of the car and its GPS system to even think about where we are currently headed. I feel a sense of pride, knowing I added my contribution to this, from the idea of adding a shortcut feature to the program to giving the rider access to picking themselves their destination on the app and the trajectory of choice.

We did something useful and that felt nice. Of course, Bianca snaps me out of it.

“Fun also tonight okay?!” She screams over the much too loud music she is playing.

I know not to fight her on this, so I nod in agreement, knowing that I definitely will avoid any sort of fun during the night.

The car stops sooner than I anticipated. I suppose the shortcut feature is functional, or maybe i simply have never driven here. My feet certainly take longer to get me somewhere than a vehicle.

“You ready?” My other colleague, Pedro, asks, as he extends his hand through the open door from the outside of the car.

“Yes.” I respond truthfully.

I climb out, and my eyes burst from the lights and gorgeous decorations. A mint green carpet is laid out the entire length of the sidewalk all the way into the beautiful neoclassical building right in the middle of Colonia Buenavista. I am in awe; how did I get here?

I am nudged to the side by every important person needing to make their way inside quickly. The pathway in the garden at the left entrance of the building is also covered in the same carpet, and it serves the same purpose as it does on TV. Photographers are behind a meta barrier facing the garden; all sorts of stars are present, some I recognize and others not so much.

The current Mayor is giving an interview. People are smiling and posing for pictures. How grand this whole event is, stops me in my tracks; If it weren't for Bianca, Pedro and the others pushing me in the right direction, I would remain frozen.

We make it up the massive staircase and into the building, more steps await us, we climb and climb and walk through hallway after hallway until we meet the guard in front of the tall double doors at the entrance of the ballroom.

He asks for our names. Carla, one of our coworkers that I barely ever see at the office, gives our company’s name.

We are let in, and to my shock, that room looks even better than the outside. It is so vast that the click of every person's heel is echoed throughout the room. Every single person is noticeable, bright lights illuminate every non-existent speck of dust floating in the air; A stage is at the very back of the room, with a podium bearing a singular microphone; behind it, a huge screen.

THAT is where I will be standing in approximately one hour. I felt a jolt down my spine, activating my fight or flight, and boy did I want to fly out of here.

Bianca, Pedro and Carla disappear from behind me, I am awkwardly standing in the empty middle of the room. I nervously pan to find their familiar faces, and, of course, come across the bar where they are all huddled around. Bianca walks back towards me with two glasses of champagne, one in each hand. She pushes one close to my face; my hand swings in rejection.

“For nerves.” She says with her mischievous giggle.

I fought her less, there was no point. She always convinced me to go along with her antics.

I grab the drink and roll my eyes at her. Without noticing, I downed it in less than a second. Oh Gosh, how classless that must seem. These people must be wondering who let the riff raff in. Their pinkies are up, and they all speak in a whisper. How can anyone stand so incredibly straight for so long? They must have gone through some kind of training that I missed out on.

The women are wearing gowns that I am sure I have seen on the cover of Vogue; I suddenly question my choice of garment. Maybe fitting in and holding my head down would have sufficed. Instead, I attracted all sorts of looks; some of approval and some of judgment.