metrose.jpgBesides Mama Nell (read Did Ya Pretzel?) I had one other older, guru-type gal I idolized throughout my college quandaries over boys: Maxine.

Even though Maxine and Mama Nell were best friends, occasionally wearing matching pink tube tops on Saturday nights, Maxine had more of a grounded, accessible personality. She was passionate about achieving her master’s in education, supervised all the R.A.’s, and had quite possibly the most ideal and creative views on relationships I have come to know.

Though her “real apartment” was still technically inside the dorm, I loved going to her grown up place as a measly undergrad RA in search of wisdom. On the lucky evenings I’d find her around, she’d usually answer the door and usher me in with her defining, raspy voice, “One sec I’m on the phone.” I’d sit on her couch, wait patiently, and survey all her seemingly exotic travels pictures on the wall. The snapshot of her in a tube top, riding a camel, and whirling an imaginary lasso especially captivated me.

Maxine was outspokenly sassy, in love with life, and beautiful. Her trademark long, thick, and swishing blonde hair could be invariably noticed as she swiveled through the dorm halls. All the horny undergrad guys were enamored with her husky voice, cougar-like mental sharpness, and curvy mystique.

“Ok, done. What’s up?” she’d say.

“Oh nothing…it’s just Brian and our pretzeling. He’s so complex…”

“N.K. You just need to ask yourself one question: is this guy the Gran Pasion?”

“The wha?” I was immediately intrigued.

Maxine took a long, deep breath and closed her eyes.

“N.K. you cannot settle for anything less than the Gran Pasion.” She opened her eyes as if a divine revelation had just been made.

Maxine proceeded to tell me about her study abroad adventures in Spain with her other tube top wearing friend, Emily. They stayed with a Spanish woman in her late sixties, Pilar. Pilar had burning red hair, further accented by black roots, donned bright blue eye shadow, and frequently wore past-the-knee polyester skirts. She never wanted to hear about Maxine or Emily’s classes or what they were learning. She cared about three things: boys, tanning and blonde hair.

I’m not sure what fascinated me more: the fact that Maxine could have such experiences or Pilar herself.

When Maxine and Emily came home from weekend adventures Pilar would want to hear about all their escapades–especially with boys. Most of all, she loved the girls’ matching pink tube tops. When the girls spoke about their horrible, dramatic breakups all Pilar would talk about was her husband. During the Spanish Civil war, she and her young beau would flee Spain to live South America for many years before returning home. Though her husband had passed away many years ago, Pilar wept and pleaded saying, “mi marido” the “gran pasion…hay solamente uno.” To the girls, she insisted that when you know you just know you’ve found The One. Though Maxine regrets not knowing Spanish better to get more details, she has never forgotten the way Pilar would kind of glance off to the side with this faraway look in her eyes and repeat, “hay solamente uno…”

Pilar’s revelation just turned my world upside down. I knew I had to find the Gran Pasion. I knew when I was old I wanted tears to stream down my face when I thought of him. I knew I could never settle for anything else.

I come from a long line of crazed lovers. My great-great uncle was said to be an eccentric, failed farm machinery inventor, and glass eye wearing recluse who lived in a dirt floor shack. Even he was desperate for an ideal love as he would send ads to Asian newspapers hoping to find someone special. My father had many chances to marry stable, well-put-together women, but for some reason, only the loony-ness of my mother made him swoon. Though my parents’ relationship would fluctuate from tumultuous and damaging to a peaceful repair over 30 years, my dad would remain stubborn and faithful to his initial thoughts on love. “I had to be in love to marry. I know things have not been easy for me but the person I was passionate about was your mother and still am.” As much as I contemn some of the terms of their union, my own love requirements are more similar to my father’s than I care to admit.

Though the story of the Gran Pasion didn’t change Maxine’s life, she would somehow remember it forever.

Many years later Maxine would reminisce, “What Pilar made me realize was that John was not the Gran Pasion, but Thomas was.”

Ever since Maxine told me the story of the Gran Pasion its mythology has woven in and out of every single one of my relationships. Throughout every date past number three to long-term, sometimes desperate, ordeals I have never stopped asking myself, “Is this the Gran Pasion?” Regardless of the situation, or the guy involved, I have always known the answer to this question in my heart…and still do.

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Sometimes I feel glad that Maxine didn’t know Spanish better. For some reason I like that Pilar could only weep and share a few words about her Gran Pasion. In this way, the ambiguity of her story has given me the freedom to imagine what her Grand Pasion, and more important my Gran Pasion, would be. Her vague yet intense emotional narrative has allowed the essence, the myth of The Gran Pasion to live in me without tarnish.

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Special thanks to H.M. (Maxine :) ) for help with co-authoring.