It’s Been Comin’ for Some Time
In the weeks since Barcelona’s Elvis told us to never lose our brightness, La Ballerine and I did just that—shined without restraint. We chased wild horses through the Catalan countryside, canoed across lakes, rooftop’d with strangers-turned-friends, Brazilian partied, country line danced, and gave ourselves fully to every single moment.
And somehow, through all of it, “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” kept following us—on every speaker, in every scene, even echoing through a rustic country barn.
The first time it played—on the night where Barcelona’s Elvis appeared—we realized it was our shared spirit song. Strangers jumped onstage to perform like their lives depended on it, and we never forgot the magic.
So for our final night in the city, we met at Sagrada Familia. Normally, we arrive in sync without even trying. But this time, we were on opposite sides of the basilica, texting to find each other. I joked, “Why now, of all times?” and she replied, “We’re never imperfect.”
She was right. Because when I finally made it to her side—ten minutes “too late”—she was standing in front of the violinist who played alongside Elvis.
We debated pulling a “remember me”—the signature line from the Brazilian party—but life beat us to it. A frantic woman shoved her dog into my arms, catching the violinist’s attention. And despite all my efforts not to, I blurted out, “Remember me?”
He did. It was him. And yes—he was Brazilian too. Mr. International would be proud, especially since he once warned me about the intentions of random Brazilian men on the street—a lesson we learned firsthand at the parties. However, breaking that rule is exactly how he happened.
Our goodbye mirrored our beginning—serendipitous, absurd, and soundtracked by a violinist in a rock band.
And now, I’ve boarded my flight back to America. Yes, that is—unfortunately—a real sentence. And just like when Barcelona tried to keep me from leaving for Lyon with a perfectly timed air traffic control strike, today almost stopped me too.
Right as I texted Mr. International that I was praying for a reason to run back to him, a voice called over the loudspeaker: “Can Hudson Serletic please come to the front of the gate?”
For twenty surreal minutes, I was swabbed, scanned, and interrogated—my baggage, both literal and emotional, held up for review.
But sadly, I came back drug-free—with nothing but a case of longing for the world I was leaving behind.
Now I’m somewhere in the sky, rereading the last thing I wrote before this whole adventure began—naturally, a piece about “Have You Ever Seen the Rain.”
Eventually, I’ll write about the heartbreak creeping in. About leaving the home I built with Mr. International. About how he had to hold me when La Ballerine finally let go of my hand. About when I asked if he was sad about long distance, and he said, “How can I be anything but happy? I waited my whole life for you.”
But not yet.
Right now, I just want to marvel at how perfectly life wove this story—and the perfectly woven life I got to live.
The last line of that old “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” piece?
The world doesn’t give you what you want; it gives you who you are.
I loved who I was there. I loved being the light.
Barcelona’s Elvis—I’m doing my best to bring it home with me.