All Things in Their Place

by Giulia Dell'uomo

  Everyday life rudely enters my house. The horn of a car, I look out the window. Not just any horn. I know this sound. Even though it is the symbol of a woman who is not good with cars. But this one I would recognise amongst millions of horns. Roberto is here below, with tears in his eyes. I think the worst, I run downstairs without even putting my coat on. He hugs me tight. ‘What happened, what have you done?’ ‘Sara that’s enough it can’t go on. We are hurting each other. She asked me to marry her’. I should yell and let the whole city share the piercing pain I feel inside. At least that would hurt less. I dry his tears, so big they fall down his face and hit the ground. I kiss them, I know them well. Salty and bitter. They carry the taste of an ambiguous suffering, suspended between the past and the future. I should be the one being consoled and yet I feel like it is a decision that was made for him. It’s him who has his back to the wall. ‘If you go, the best part of me goes’. ‘Don’t say that Sara’. He cries harder. I understand that this is our point. A relationship written and finished. Our puzzle completes like this. The last seesaw flight before falling into the abyss. I am silent, I think and rethink about everything that is crumbling in my hands, about the fight I have lost, at the fight I still have to face without him. I think about the strength I have found in this year that I didn’t think I had. I think he is the biggest change I have ever experienced. He is the energy that I didn’t know ran in my veins. He is the painful absence, he is the crazy unconditional love, more powerful than pride. He takes my hand, and in that gesture we share anger and impotence. We tried to climb a mountain but we fell. I break the silence. The words come out of me like freed butterflies.

  ‘You gave meaning to my life that many people search for desperately. For the past year I have woken each day knowing that you are more certain than anything else, that the bricks we built, one on top of the other, built a fortress’. I am talking all in one breath without a break. I start to cry too.

  ‘Stop it Sara I beg you’

  ‘The tears fall because this time the hurricane is taking everything with it. But can I say something to you?’ He looks me in the eye and again those eyes make me feel naked. ‘Nothing and no one can take from us the intensity of when we look at each other’.

  I begin to tremble, I don’t know if it is the cold or the knowledge that a chapter in my life is about to end. The chapter in which I grew and matured, became an adult before my time. The chapter that lasted a year which changed my life. In which I discovered the power of love of my parents, the power of love between a man and a woman, the power of love between friends. The power of an illness that eats away at your life and the power of life that wants to beat illness.

  ‘Sara’ every time he calls my name eternity becomes real, time stands still. ‘If love exists, we went beyond it’. The last embrace, the last kiss, the last look. The last everything. This time for real.

  There are times when black is the dominant colour. All I see is black is often heard. But black is the colour that exists only for us, for our eyes in that moment. The rest of the world continues to see colours, because colours exist. Roberto taught me to attack life, to look at it with curiosity. To understand that there is not only black and white and that rainbows can be touched. To understand that sometimes a hug is a crazy escape, yet heavenly. Because often the simple things are worth gold. Those same things that, more often than not, we look at indifferently or we think they are too insignificant to be worth our attention. A year has passed. Three hundred and sixty-five days of intensity. Three hundred and sixty-five days of life with the knowledge of death. Three hundred and sixty-five days of anger and hate mixed with dependence, on love. I remember. I relive each moment. The ancient Romans built memory on feelings, not reason, it was the heart that was in fact considered the seat of memory. I opened the mail this morning. I am not the only one to remember. I am not alone. We don’t see each other anymore, we don’t speak, but he is there. For the first time I find myself faced with his point of view, from when we met in the hospital. As if there was a camera that moved and he was the director. As if I was an actress, observed with a discrete eye.

  A year ago.... I passed the room and came across your parents...I don’t say a word. I ask myself ‘I wonder what Sara is dreaming about?’ I go into the room and begin to administer bandages, drains, endotracheal tubes. The anaesthetist was touching your face and repeating your name. You started to breathe on your own, I was calling you, you opened your eyes for a second, saliva wet your lips, I was thinking about that tube that when it was removed, would make them swell they were that soft. I observed you, I found your tattoo on your arm, put you back in your bed and ran into the courtyard to have a cigarette. Everything had gone well, even though you were struggling to talk. I passed the recovery room and saw your mum touching your hair. You went back to your room and you had an infinite desire to sleep. Your parents were tired, but more relaxed after having embraced their treasure. I only had to worry about not letting you feel pain, the pins and needles that from then on would possess you, and the most important thing...try and make you smile...

  Roberto was like that. I thought he was a man like all the rest when I was angry. He ran his hands through his dark brown hair. He messed it up on his own. He lit a cigarette and tried to be forgiven. I got drunk on his smoke the way I did with everything else he gave me. I was nourished by every part of him, I collected the crumbs he left in my days. I would often tell him ‘you must forgive yourself’. He felt the guilt and carried it with him like a dead weight. He had for a year two parallel lives without a mode of escape, but instead went in stronger than before. Now I know that he’s thinking of me. Three hundred and sixty-five days of craziness you don’t forget in a moment. I put on my slippers, as usual the wrong way around. Left to right, right to left. I get up from bed reluctantly and turn off the computer. I want to go out so I don’t have to think about it. Because I remember and the memories still hurt. But less than when I was living those times. That is a pain that weighs down your soul. It feeds it and destroys it at the same time. A cursed vicious circle, which I entered by accident and left in the same way. No decision, no choice. Just a process of small, curious, imprudent steps towards a relationship without a future.

  It is the 25th of March. I think about him, boy do I think about him. But some of the pain is diminishing. Maybe he is planning his wedding, I’m trying to put back together the pieces of my heart. We have separated. We have taken different paths. He picked the easy one, I would have been willing to try the hard one. But it doesn’t help to think about it. It doesn’t make any sense. Maybe one day we will meet again at a different crossroad and maybe that day I will have forgotten him and put my memories of him in the bottom drawer of the memory box. The one you never open because it’s so low down you never even notice it. But it’s not like that yet, not today. I open the mail again. When you are used to receiving excitement from someone it’s human nature to continue to expect it. This means you eventually take things for granted, or over-value the person in front of us if the magic was to suddenly disappear. But I know that in this he can’t let me down. While I load the mail I close my eyes. When I open them up I find another email from him. Today is exactly a year since he removed my stitches, creating the scar that decorates my neck.

  A year ago... I was doing rounds with the Prof. I saw you from a distance, in jeans and boots, you were smiling and so so beautiful. I put down the allowance and they asked me ‘do you have to tend to her? Do you want a hand?’ I answered ‘you stay here, I’ll do it’. I took your stitches out, without gloves, as though you would be able to understand from that gesture that I blindly trusted you. In that moment I understood that you were changing my life.

  I swallow, letter after letter. I nourish myself one more time with his words, as I have always done. I would like to have him in front of me and tell him simply and in spite of everything...thanks for the memories.

  It’s April, again. A new month, a new beginning. Spring has
hit the streets, hot and sunny. I am preparing for the summer exams. I am ready to concentrate on myself, I look straight ahead. Dad always says that move forward you should never turn back and in that case I am starting this month right. The cold winter has gone and taken with it the pain I had inside. We’re at the bar under my apartment building, me and Francy. Small, minimalist. The owner is a man around 70, bored with his usual routine. His movements are totally automatic – pour the water, put down the coffees on the bar, serve the pastries. He says he wants to go to Brazil, move and change his life. ‘That’s courage’ Francy says to him. ‘My girls, you need to enjoy your passage of time on this earth..it doesn’t last forever’. ‘Listen’ I interrupt him so I don’t have to listen to too much soppiness ‘why don’t you help us with an April Fool’s for Eleonora? Help us with a joke’. ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ With a look he indicates a guy at my side, who at the same time as me is lifting his cup to his mouth. ‘Him?’ When I turn I am met with the most intense smile. One of those smiles that unbalances you, catches you unawares. The ray of light that you never expect on a normal day. Sunglasses, suit, tie. Young but distinguished. Elegant and fascinating. I think he is probably just over 30 years old. ‘Ah him yes! He is a professor and he is young. He’s definitely got more imagination than me! Alex let me introduce Sara and Francy. Can you help them?’ ‘Of course’ he answers, and has obviously overheard the whole conversation. ‘Why not? Let’s smoke outside, you can tell me what I have to do’. This time I smoke as well, I decide to. I adapt to the situation and forget about what the doctors and mum said ‘Sara don’t smoke, it destroys the calcium in your bones. The pins and needles could come back!’ To hell with the pins and needles I think. I’ll get out a pincushion if I have to.

  On a hot spring day, all three seated at a table, we talk and plan with a compass and the ruler the joke to play on Eleonora. Yes, because of all four of us friends who go around with our heads in the clouds she is always the target of our affectionate jokes. ‘What do you do?’ Alex has his head down while he folds the paper where he wrote down the joke ‘I’m a marketing student’. I respond timidly to the unexpected question. ‘Wow, marketing. The biggest scam of the century’. ‘Right’ I blush and look down. Strange feeling, I’m annoyed. My heart beats faster. Is it the cigarette I’m not used to anymore? ‘What is it about marketing that you like? I ask to see what’s so great about lying to people’. He’s challenging me. He is smart this one. Even though he seems shy and doesn’t look me in the eye, he’s surely more experienced than me. ‘I don’t think it’s about lying. I think it’s a persuasion method for people. Or, when you’re really good, you don’t need to convince anyone, you just create a need for a good or service. For example at the moment I’m working on a uni project relaunching Mulino Bianco biscuits...’ He interrupts. Damn, he can’t be a know-it-all. I won’t be pushed around. ‘Ok so ask Mr Mulino why they stopped making the ‘Soldino’, it was my favourite. Chocolate’. ‘I know the one. I don’t think it sold well enough.’ I cut him short, but my reason doesn’t convince him. He really liked it, who cares about those other types that sold better. ‘Why don’t you give me your number?’ Now Alex is looking me in the eyes. He is not lowering his and penetrates mine. I’m a bit confused about this question, Francy elbows me. I know what she’s thinking. ‘That way I’ll let you know if your friend falls for it or not’ He continues with a reassuring tone. ‘And then maybe you can tell me if I will ever get to eat a Soldino again’. ‘Ok’. I pretend to believe, while on this day a new possibility arises. And I find myself giving him the numbers which are enough to bring him into my life.

  I go home smiling, I feel light. I am calm and serene. I walk without thoughts as if suspended on clouds in the sky. Not the ugly grey ones before a storm, no. The lovely light pink ones that are like fairy floss. Text from Alex. I want the Soldino back, if you’re so good at marketing get it back on the market.

  I’ll try my best, but if I can’t you can always eat a ‘Tegolino’.

  I played the joke on your friend. I called her phone but she didn’t fall for it. Maybe I’m not a good actor.

  I don’t answer but I think I like the fact he isn’t a good actor. I love authentic people. I’ve already had the film, now I want some reality.

  It’s an afternoon like many others. I haven’t seen Alex at the bar again, nor have we texted each other. Maybe he was just really nice and volunteered for the joke out of courtesy. I’m a bit sorry, because he seemed nice. He made me curious. Today I’m in a tracksuit, classic good university student look. Grey pants, tight at the bottom, and blue jumper with a picture of a heart and the Eiffel Tower. A keepsake from a school tour to Paris a few years ago. I have put on a bit of weight since the surgery, finally, but around my waist the pants are still a bit loose. I’m still slim, my hair has grown a lot in a year. It’s long and wavy, an intense chestnut with natural highlights. I went around the supermarket before it closed with my friend Eleonora, just so I didn’t end up with nothing for dinner. With shopping bags in hand, pen in my hair to keep the long fringe out of my eyes and bag on my shoulder. Ring ring. I look for my phone amongst my things, amongst my set of keys and a never used diary I carry around ‘just in case’. Finally I find it, the screen is lit. My heart is in my mouth. ‘Eleonora I’ve got a message! Alex called and there was no reception! Oh God Oh God Oh God’. My friend adds her ‘Oh Gods’ too, she’s really nervous. She’s the last person you want to be with if you are in trouble or in the middle of something unforeseen. Anyway we leave the supermarket, one more agitated than the other. ‘Should I call him?’ ‘Yeah, call him. Actually no, wait until he calls back’. ‘Always so decisive my friend! Ok, I’ll call him’. ‘Always willing to listen...’ But I don’t listen, I have already pushed the call button. ‘Mmm hi it’s Sara. Did you call?’ Silly question I think. It’s clear he called me. ‘Hi Sara, yes I called. I wanted to say...’ and right when the best moment comes, turning the corner extremely curious to know what he wanted to tell me, looking up, I walk into someone. I drop my phone. ‘Hey watch out!’ I hear them say. Not just anyone, it’s him. It’s Alex. He’s the reason I’m walking looking up. Great impression, I think. With my face as red as a tomato, a pen in my hair, a housewife’s tracksuit and two bags full of frozen food. ‘Well now we can continue our conversation in person right?’ He smiles and isn’t angry anymore. ‘Guys I’m leaving to go study! See you Alex, nice to meet you in person, I’m the victim of your joke!’ With a quick embarrassed wave Eleonora leaves, leaving us at that cursed waypoint, destined to meet. ‘What are you doing here?’ Is the first thing that comes to my mind, probably from this point on I will only say stupid things. I am too embarrassed and look how I’m dressed! ‘Well, I work at the bottom of the street. I’m a professor, at the university, down there, see?’ I follow his finger that shows me the building where he works. Wow, I think, the guy of my dreams was always just a step away from home. Not bad! ‘Listen I wanted to call and see if you wanted, there’s a little spot in front of the Colosseum where we can go for an aperitif. What do you say?’ He looks at me with such an angelic air that I automatically respond ‘Of course, why not?’ I try and remain unattached. ‘Ok let’s go then!’ ‘What, now?’ My eyes wide, why can’t I ever be dressed appropriately when I run into people I think. He, on the other hand, is dressed impeccably, blue shirt with top button undone, bottle green pants. Raybans, the classic ones.

  ‘If not now, when?’ He answers simply.

  I’m asking myself the same question. Life is now. You can’t wait. Everything on earth is delicate. We, perfect and fragile, should take opportunities when they present themselves. And so, for almost two hours we talk in the fresh spring evening. In front of us two virgin cocktails, the lights of the Colosseum and a starry sky. It’s here I give him the first piece of my heart. Unconsciously I have faith in him, though I know nothing about him. I hope he can read in my eyes how badly I need to put the pieces of my heart back together. B
ecause there’s a great long slash on my heart. Longer and more painful than the scar on my neck. Thinking of waiting for better times, they landed right in my lap, like everything else this past year. And it’s right here that I decide to jump in again and I know that Alex is the one I want by my side. In the simplicity of his gestures, the purity of his smile, the delicateness of his look I see a greatness inside. As if he was capable of giving me unlimited serenity. He’s giving me an exclusive, he’s only looking at me, my eyes. While I drink the last bit of cocktail he looks at me. ‘You are beautiful’. He says it spontaneously, without a hidden agenda. I am embarrassed by his sincerity. I blush and don’t answer. He keeps telling me about himself, as he has since the beginning, with no secrets. This time it’s cards on the table, heart against heart. Honesty, loyalty. No double life. There is only one we live. ‘So did you solve the Soldino mystery?’. ‘Well, I’m still working on it’. ‘C’mon, don’t worry, it was only an excuse to keep in contact with you.’ ‘That’s an original excuse’. I smile. He takes another sip of his drink. ‘Tell me about yourself. Apart from studying what do you do?’ Good question, difficult answer. I need a whole week to tell him about myself and my past that is still my present. But now isn’t the time to frighten him. ‘I love animals, love my friends, am mad about my family. I live.’ ‘You live? We all live’. It seems banal to him, but it’s true. I live, I’m not afraid to. ‘I don’t think about it like that’. I cut short and he doesn’t want to push. It’s not the time. He will discover more later, there’s time for that.

  ‘Do you like this place?’ I look around. The lights are dimmed and it is getting later. Each table has a menu and a candle. ‘Very cute. The cocktails must be good judging from the appearance.’ I look at the tables laden with little pizzas, cheese, cold cuts, tarts. There is even a dessert corner. ‘Do you want me to get you something? We can’t just drink’. I don’t want to drool in front of him. I’m already dressed like a bum, all I need is to dribble on myself and the picture will be complete. ‘No, no’ I hurriedly reply – ‘don’t worry, I’m not that hungry’. ‘Let’s come back another time’. He smiles at me again, crossing his legs. It wasn’t a question, it’s a certainty.