by Fabio Volo
Friday
If it’s true that the encounter between two people always causes a reaction that changes both of them, what would happen to the two of us if we actually met? What if we started talking to each other?
Who are you, what are you like without me? And how would you change after our encounter?
And what about you? What would change in my life, who would I become, different from who I am now?
Today, with all these questions, I couldn’t have gone anywhere if I hadn’t seen you at least for an instant.
You could be my loss of balance. The equation of my chaos.
Monday
Today, when I saw the grey sky, I stopped breathing. I found some air only in the basket of toys. I brought them here with me to survive. Do you want to play with me? Choose at random. Pick something, except the game of indifference, today we can’t play it. The sky has already picked that for itself. Let’s play hide and seek. I’ll hide, you’ll seek, and if you find me I’ll turn small, so that you can fit me in your pocket. Or instead let’s play where instead of hiding I uncover myself.
I’m wearing a long dress. That’s because today I feel like Cinderella. Take me away from here, take me back to the ball. Dance with me again.
In a bit, I’ll get off and run away. I’ll leave you my slipper disguised as a glove. I’m pathetic.
Thursday
Today I’ll pretend I didn’t notice you and I won’t look at you until I get off the tram. I like to keep you waiting. I wonder what you think I’m like. I wonder how I would look reflected in your eyes, as we are standing close. I’d like to evaporate in a thousand little bubbles and condense on the glass behind you, where the other day I saw our images reflected together. I would like to be the same image of me that I didn’t recognize the other day. You, the abyss between what I feel like being and what I was about to become. Before becoming what I am now I wouldn’t have seen you. You’re the encounter between me and us. Perhaps I am waiting for you somehow. In other worlds I have waited for you. I will wait for you.
Thursday
I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m leaving this tram behind with you in it. You gave me the strength to change the things I didn’t like. I’ve never even talked to you and I don’t know if it is you. On you, I projected my companion. You have been the bearer of emotions, thoughts, and desires. You have been the strength, the muscle, and the action. I leave you here, sitting on these mornings. I’ll leave you, taking you away with me forever. I’ll buy you a simple coffee.
Why have you been so quick at making yourself known to my expectations?
How much sugar will you want in “my” cup?
The more I read the more I realized I had been manipulated somehow. The clearest piece of evidence was found on the last page. The day she had left for New York.
… Yesterday Giacomo and I had coffee together. He’s very nice and sweet, but perhaps he’s a bit clumsy. At a certain point, after we had been talking a while, I felt like kissing him, but I thought it was best to take a step back with the excuse of using the bathroom. I left the envelope on the table. I hope he had the desire and the courage to jot down the address, since he didn’t even ask me for my email. I left and I don’t know if I’ll see him again. No matter what happens, it was great flirting with this destiny. Today, before passing through security, I turned around for a moment. I was hoping he would come to say goodbye. I did it more than once and even my brother noticed it and asked me if I was expecting somebody. I told him I wasn’t. I am the only one who knows about us. Perhaps I should have asked him for his information. A phone number or an email. Maybe it was only my woman’s pride. You have six months to call me, track me down, or come to see me. If it doesn’t happen, I’ll send you this notebook, and after that it won’t make any sense to see each other again.
I didn’t know whether to be happy or feel like a dumbass. It was like being trapped, as if I followed a path she laid out, as if I were a lab rat. Me, at home, for weeks, playing mental masturbation; she, here, waiting for me.
But in the end, I was happy. The feelings I experienced those mornings on the tram weren’t just a film in my head, they were real. I got up and, holding my journal in her hand, I left. I would be back by five. I was happy and felt light-headed. To the people I passed on the streets of Manhattan that morning, I looked like a smile on legs. One of the coolest things about being abroad is the thrill of anonymity, the fact that you won’t run into anyone you know. No friends, neighbors, colleagues, people from the gym, etc. Nobody knows who you are, what you do for a living, where you live. Nobody knows you and you don’t know anyone.
This allows me to do things I wouldn’t normally do in places where people know me. For instance, one thing I often catch myself doing as I’m taking a stroll around my city is singing a song under my breath by a singer I’m ashamed of knowing. I immediately stop, afraid someone can hear me. Maybe it got into my head while I was in the café and it is one of those songs that won’t get out, like those flies that buzz against windowpanes. Songs you sing without realizing it. But when that happens abroad, I keep on singing without any problems. That morning I was so happy that I walked a chunk of 8th Avenue singing Uomini Soli by the Pooh. I sang the whole thing, or at least the part I knew. In Italy, I would have stopped immediately, but Uomini Soli on 8th Avenue is too fun to pass up. When I would get to the chorus, I’d go, “Dio delle cittaaaaaaaà e delle immensitaaaaaaaà…!”
At five I was outside Michela’s office. After a few minutes she came out, smiling. When I saw her, I turned into a thousand emotions. I was nervous, happy, embarrassed, proud, ecstatic. Looking at that apparent stranger, I felt bound to her in a surprising way, without feeling the usual apprehension. I was able to single out that sensation later. At the time of our encounter I was overwhelmed and completely unaware of what was happening.
Michela was very emotional as well. Anyone could see that. We sat down on one of the two benches in front of her building.
“I feel a bit stupid being here. Reading your journal made me feel like a lab rat that rang all the right bells, like a fish caught in a net.”
“I liked the idea of playing, of daring to see if something would have come out of it. Here you are. Something came out of it. I’ve always felt close to you, I don’t know why.”
“How did you know I would come?”
“I didn’t.”
“And when you heard my message on your machine, what did you think?”
“Finally. After reading my journal, I’m sure you know it made me happy. Although you’re not here for me, but on business… naturally.”
She said these last words with a smile on her face that made me understand she saw through my lie.
I was so excited and happy that I started talking continuously, so much so that after a while she told me, “I’ll give you a chance to rest a bit by telling you a little about myself. What were you waiting for, why didn’t you ask me out while we were on the tram? You don’t seem shy. I tried everything. I even gave you one of my gloves. I thought you had a girlfriend and maybe you still have one…”
“I don’t have a girlfriend. I thought you had a boyfriend. The day you left I went to the airport.”
“What do you mean you came to the airport… You couldn’t find me?”
“Of course I found you. I found you with a man and then I left.”
“That was my brother.”
“I realized that after reading your journal. It’s a long story. I’m going through a phase in which I’m emotionally confused. Actually, to tell you the truth, it’s not a phase, it’s your fault I’m confused. Usually, I’m much smoother and less clumsy with women. But in the end, I’m happy I waited with you. I’ve never done something like this for a woman, and I don’t even know why I did it this time.”
“Well, that’s a good sign, isn’t it? Or maybe you preferred being the same person you’ve always been?”
“No, it’s better this way. I don’t know, wh
o knows!”
We chatted for a long time. Unlike the first time, although I was still nervous, I felt better, more at ease. I was happy, of a sparkling happiness, I had bubbles under my skin. Maybe, for once, the film was the same for the both of us and, on top of that, we were screening it in New York.
One of the things I liked about her was that when she talked to me she didn’t try to seduce me. Like certain women do, using their look, their voice, their words or their gestures. She acted natural, or at least that’s how it seemed to me.
“What are you doing tonight?” I asked her after a good laugh.
“What am I doing tonight?” I hoped you were going to tell me.
11
Romantic Dinner
(Burger and fries.)
Talking to Michela after that first brief encounter I understood that, perhaps for the first time in my life, I wasn’t dealing with a girl, but with a woman. I wouldn’t even know how to explain the difference. It was a feeling, a smell, a way of speaking, but most importantly way of looking. Perhaps it’s the gaze that transforms a girl into a woman. Certainly, it’s the self-awareness. A girl who’s self-aware is a woman no matter how old she is. Michela was a woman, you could tell by how she navigated her environment, from how she parted the air.
We said we’d meet at my hotel. As I was waiting for her, I was imagining our dinner in some little restaurant in Manhattan, with dim lights, background music, with walls painted in warm colors or bricks painted in white. Our date was set for nine thirty. We left Doma around seven; after returning to the hotel I had the stupid idea of lying down on the bed for a second after a shower. Luckily I realized I was about to fall asleep and I immediately ran out of the room, away from that cotton ball that was my bed. My bag had finally arrived, so I could finally wear my favorite shirt. I don’t know if I could have managed that evening without wearing my own clothes. I went down to the bar and I asked for a triple espresso. I was afraid of falling asleep at dinner, but most importantly I didn’t want to keep yawning, as I usually do when I’m tired. After dinner, especially if I’ve had some red wine, I usually yawn. And what if I have to do it while she’s talking?
Going out at nine for dinner meant that, for me, it was three in the morning. Usually, if I’m tired, I’m not one of those who stays out late. Those nights, I can’t do dinner-movie-sex, something needs to be dropped. Even at the movies, if there’s a late showing, I can’t always stay awake.
Shortly after nine a yellow taxi driven by a gentleman with a mustache and a turban delivered Michela to me. And that was the beginning of our first date.
After saying hello, she handed me a cell phone. “I bought it when I first got to New York, before they gave me a company phone. If you want, you can use it… Remind me to give you the charger as well.”
“Thanks.”
Then she asked me what I wanted to eat.
I remembered Silvia’s advice about women liking decisive men, those who know where to go. So I found an answer that seemed like a good compromise, “I’m in Manhattan, your home, so tonight I’m in your hands. But only for tonight.”
“You feel like walking?”
“Yes.”
We took a stroll. We headed toward Greenwich Village.
Forget about a nice little restaurant, with dim lights and soft music… “How does a burger sound?”
“Sure, why not?”
Michela took me to eat a super-greasy gigantic burger, with fries, onions, and ketchup.
“I don’t eat this stuff a lot, but every now and then I like it. And when you do it, you have to do it properly.”
“Do what?”
“Eat junk food even though you know it’s not good for you. This place makes the best burger in Manhattan.”
The place was called Corner Bistro, on West 4th Street. And old-school sort of place, with a TV hanging from the wall, in the corner above the counter. The place was sort of a dive but it had character. People had etched their names all over the wooden tables, like they do in Italy, in the provincial sandwich shops. There was no trace of youth neither in the management nor the décor. The burgers were served with fires on paper plates. I ordered a hamburger and she a cheeseburger.
I have to say it was the best burger I’ve ever had. Although I had to drink a couple of cokes to wash it down. I put a slice of lemon in them, although I usually drink them without. I like the taste of lemon, but whenever I’m drinking, the slice always floats up to my lips, blocking the coke. I don’t like using straws either. Anyway, that dinner had nothing to do with how I had imagined our first date, the place wasn’t romantic at all, but at the end of the evening it felt like it was. Good job Michela.
When I meet a woman I’m interested in, I like catching myself feeling a desire to be liked. I’d like to say things she likes. Such as a detail, an anecdote, something that you’ll say and she reacts: Come on… I’m exactly the same way, I thought I was the only one who had noticed it.
We talked a lot about our mornings on the tram. Then, laughingly, I asked her a question, “Listen, Michela, you’re really cute and you don’t have a boyfriend. What’s wrong with you? Where’s the manufacturer’s defect that only comes out later? Come on, let’s have it!”
“Well, ‘you’re very cute’ is an expression I can’t stand, but I’ll answer you anyway.”
“There, I made a mistake despite my best intentions.”
“I don’t think I have a problem with men. I think I have many of them.”
She always spoke with a particular smile and she was always ironic.
“Actually, there’s one big one. They always tell me the opposite of what I want to hear.”
“What do you mean?”
“My problem is that when I like a man, and I’d like to share something with him more than seeing each other from time to time to fuck, it happens that, if by mistake I give him that impression, he immediately becomes nervous, and starts to make excuses and to explain that he doesn’t want to be tied down, and in the end he runs away. Without even understanding that I didn’t want an engagement. So I learned how to live with what men give me without asking for anything more. It’s only that sometimes it’s not very exciting. If, instead, it’s me who doesn’t want to be tied down, I only find men who tell me they fell in love on our second date and bury me under cheesy messages, pathetic poems, nocturnal thoughts, and unwavering promises.”
“That’s happened to me, too. One girl kept sending me poems and romantic sayings… Then one day I responded and I think she took offense, since she stopped sending them to me.”
“That depends on what you told her.”
“I wrote: ‘Water, water, everywhere, not a drop to drink!’ In any case, we have the same problem. I, too, have often had the desire to do or say things that go beyond sex, without necessarily wanting to transform things into a love story, an exclusive relationship. But then I always run into more demands. A need for assurances, certainties, promises. Demands and expectations I have to deal with.”
“We are a little screwed up.”
“Quite a bit. And how about you, do you see New York as a temporary thing or are you thinking about moving here for good?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been here long, and now that I’ve gotten past a few initial difficulties I’m doing well. I miss a bunch of things about my old life, but I’m happy to be in this city.”
“Why did you decide to come here?”
“I wanted to get away from my life. The company I worked for in Italy was American, and so it was easy to ask for a transfer. It seemed like a good opportunity, since I’d wanted to clear my head and mix things up for along time.”
“Did anything in particular trigger your decision?”
“No, I simply didn’t like the way I was living anymore. What I had become. I had been thinking about it for a while. The deciding factor came last year when my ex asked me to marry him and then I broke up with him.”
“So you ran away, too! Did you
realize he was an asshole?”
“I wish… That would have made things easier. No, he was almost perfect. Paolo is a handsome man, intelligent, and he truly loved me. Aside from my brother, everybody told me he was a great guy, that I was lucky because I would have never found another like him. My friends, my mother, my two sisters told me he was the right man. I don’t even know if the right man exists. Actually, I think that the right person exists only if you believe in it. If you believe in it, you can turn a person into the right one. For a while. Although I liked him and appreciated all his qualities, deep down I didn’t love him. Or, rather, I loved him, but as a brother, not a partner. Anyway, I broke up with him and I assure you that leaving someone who loves you is devastating. It requires a lot of strength. He wanted something I couldn’t give him. The only thing I could do, as an act of love, was to not waste his time. If I had stayed with him, it would have been unfair to him. But we’re talking about a person completely different from who I am now. I’ve changed more over the last year than I have in my whole life.”
“He asked you to marry him and you broke up with him?”
“Well, more or less that’s the way it went. Funny, right? I still remember the moment it happened. That’s because it all happened in one conversation. We went from the paradise of his words to the hell of mine. I still remember every single sentence and every single expression on his face. I also remember that, toward the end, he told me: ‘How is this possible, I ask you to marry me, and you not only say no but also break up with me! So if I didn’t ask you anything we’d still be together. Listen Michela… Pretend I didn’t say anything at all, let’s go back to normal, and never speak of it again.’ But I couldn’t pretend he didn’t say anything. Two hours later I moved out.”
