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I sent the letter off right away, hoping to have it printed in the newspaper, or read by Sheila Roberts. She had perhaps not realized to what extent this bothered me, and I was just guessing here, but she was doing it all for the money, of course. No respect to celebrities. Some reporters are okay, others are absolutely annoying and act like we aren't people. We get offended. We make mistakes. We have feelings, too. Some people just don't get it. It's like they need to catch us doing something normal to believe we ARE normal.
I quickly put the newspaper in the paper trash, hoping that Ryan wouldn't see the news, because being so moody and strong-willed as he is, he'd probably persuade me to sue Sheila, which of course I wouldn't do. I've got enough problems in my hands to, on top of it, go to court for a stupid paragraph about me on a newspaper that perhaps 20.000 people read, because it was only a local newspaper, and it wasn't even on the headlines, anyway.
Unfortunately, Ryan came downstairs at around seven, hungry and wanting to know what was happening in the world, as I had just earlier.
I hoped he wouldn't notice my name on the paper, and tried to distract myself by making pancakes for Jamie and Michael, who would be waking up a little before eight.
A photograph caught my eye, a photograph that was attached to the refrigerator with a tiny magnet. It was a family photograph, but Michael wasn't in it. A different person was, namely Julia. Ryan, thirteen at the time, looked handsome but very different from now. Josh, eleven when the photo was taken, looked very cute but, for some reason, troubled. Jamie, at the tender age of two, was proudly standing up, her head high, showing off her beautiful, soft red hair and cute little freckles. I was looking same as usual: proud of my great family, holding my arm around Julia, who was about eight months pregnant of Michael, looking radiant and more beautiful than ever, except perhaps when we married.
Julia was one of the greatest people I'd ever known. She was from Spain, and I met her purely by mistake. I happened to be on tour in Spain, about seven months after the release of Never Gone, when we were allowed some free time before our concert in Barcelona (actually in Badalona, which is nearby). Brian, Howie, AJ and Kevin had plans of their own. They might have let me join in but for some reason I didn't want to, so I put on a disguise and went down to the Ramblas. I enjoyed the people dressed up as soldiers and flowers, as they seemed practically real, they were like statues. I liked the birds they sold, even thought of buying one, but then realized it wasn't very practical to take a bird home. Finally I came to an interesting building. My Spanish wasn't that good, but I managed to decipher a sign that read: "Museo de arte: exposición temporal de Julia García." (Museum of art: temporary exposition of Julia Garcia).
For some reason, this intrigued me, and despite myself I walked in, pleased to discover that it was free.
Many of the paintings featured the ocean, which just helped maintain my attention, until I stepped back to gaze at a particular painting, and bumped into a woman.
She was tall, almost as tall as me, and gorgeous. Her hair was long, wavy and a dark shade of red. Her eyes, gray, were big and beautiful. She was thin, but not excessively thin: just right.
You guessed it, it was Julia. I instantly fell in love with her physical appearance, and gradually I came to love her soul as well. I don't think I'll ever love any other woman as much as I loved Julia.