by Fabio Volo
I would help my grandma when she made string beans for dinner, trimming the ends. We would remove them using our nails and put them on a sheet of newspaper that we would later roll up and throw away. I also remember how she used to make me iron handkerchiefs. I liked to push the iron all the way up into the corner seam. It looked like the tip of the iron had been sucked under the corner. Or when she asked me to help her fold the sheets. Just for laughs I would fold them in the opposite direction, so they would end up twisting together. It was funny when, just before the last fold, she would pull hard to stretch them out and I would fly toward her. She had to put up with so much from me. She really loved me. She had always shown me how much, even with the foot test. I would run my fingers through my toes and make her smell them. “If you love me, smell ’em.”
If she had woken up at that moment, we would have lost her. With me sitting next to her with a bloody face, she would have been scared to death… I slowly got up and when I reached the door my phone rang. I immediately pushed the “mute” button.
My grandma opened her eyes, looked at me for a second, and said, “Hello, Alberto.”
“Hi, Teresa.”
Then she closed her eyes and I went back to Silvia.
“My phone rang as I was trying to leave without waking her.”
“Who was it?”
“The wrong man at the wrong time.”
“Is he still calling you?”
“RedunDant-e never gives up. The other day I answered the phone without checking who it was and it was him. I was on the toilet. While I was on the phone with him I kept doing my thing and then I left the bathroom without flushing so he wouldn’t know where I was or what I was doing. He kept me on the phone so long, I forgot all about it, and when I went back to the bathroom a few hours later, it felt like the circus was back in town. I looked in the toilet and it reminded me of the Smurfs’ village after an earthquake.”
“Come on, you’re groooooosss! You’re disgusting! Why do you always tell me all these gross things? You’re like a kid who gets a kick out of saying ‘poop.’ If they hadn’t beat you up already, I’d do it myself.”
“You know, I’m happy I got my ass kicked by Monica’s boyfriend!”
“Well, congratulations.”
“I deserved it. Maybe it’s a sign I need to change things.”
“You’ve been saying that for a while now, you’re thinking about Michela…”
“Yes, I think about her often, but maybe more than her, it’s an idea I think about, what she stands for. Or it could be that the people we don’t know too well seem more interesting in our heads. We make them into what we want them to be, like the people waiting at the light: after they smile at you, it turns green and they leave. And you’re left with the feeling that it was the person you had been looking for forever.”
“Maybe they really are. Are you still sniffing her glove?”
“Yes.”
“Then go and get her. Or at least try. Anyway, it’s time to take you to the ER.”
“Fine.”
In the meantime, my mother showed up to look after my grandma.
“Hello.”
“Hello, sorry I’m late, I’m all over the place, but don’t get me started on the movers. If I hadn’t been there they would have torn the place apart. And yet they still managed to scratch the wall where the armoire goes. I had to yell at them… What happened to your face?”
“I fell…”
“Did you have a doctor look at it?”
“Yes, I went to the ER and they told me it’s nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure, do you need anything?”
“No thanks. I have to go.”
“Alright. And grandma?”
“Asleep.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Goodbye, ma’am.”
“Bye, Silvia.”
“Oh, mom…”
“What is it?”
“Is the scratch on the wall behind the armoire?”
“Yes, luckily it’s on the wall where the armoire was supposed to go, so you can’t see it. But I got mad anyway, I mean… It’s their job and they have to be careful.”
“Oh, right, bye.”
“Bye.”
7
A Night in the Emergency Room
When we got to the ER they took a look at me. Nothing serious, but they wanted to keep me under observation that night, because of the blows to the head.
“What do you mean spend the night here… It’s nothing.”
“You’re free to go if you please, just sign the release form.”
I looked at Silvia.
Then the nurse asked her colleague, “Is number three free?”
“Yes, for now.”
“We’ll put you in there and if the lady wants to stay, she can keep you company,” she said looking at Silvia.
We went to room number three. Unusual Saturday night.
“What’s so special about number three?”
“It only has two beds, the other rooms are bigger. You’ll be more comfortable here, although I don’t think it will last: the whole Saturday night circus will start in a little while.”
It was a funny situation: aside from a little pain, I was okay. So laying down on the bed with Silvia sitting next to me, everything seemed surreal.
The last time I was in the emergency room Silvia was there, too. But the situation was reversed, she was the one who wasn’t well. It happened in the brief time we were lovers, before we became friends. Silvia usually combs her hair by quickly tossing it in a quick bow. Then she combs it pulling downward. That day the bathroom sink had clogged. And since it was resting on a small cabinet, I tried to tip it slightly to unclog it. After a shower, without having noticed the change, Silvia took her usual bow, throwing her head forward. I heard a loud bang. When I got to the bathroom she was passed out on the floor.
But this time, I was the one on the gurney in the emergency room. Silvia went to get some cookies. While she was gone I received another message on my phone. “Stupid!” It was Silvia who sent me Michela’s address again. I hadn’t even written her an email. However, I found it funny receiving that message from Silvia every time she thought I should be thinking about Michela. Now it meant a lot more: it wasn’t just a reminder to go and find her, it was deeper than that. Then she came back with cookies.
“Would you stop sending me that message?”
“I’ll send it to you for as long as you live.”
“I’ll be honest with you, the other day I thought about it, I tried to imagine the two of us meeting in New York… I wouldn’t even know how to say hello to her.”
“Why don’t you try: ‘Hi. How are you? You know I was in the neighborhood taking a stroll and I saw you…’”
“Well, that doesn’t sound bad. It might make her laugh. Listen, since it looks like it’s going to be a long night give me some female advice on what to say.”
“How am I supposed to know, it’s not like we’re made from the same mold.”
“I know, but you are a woman and you can put yourself in her shoes more easily than I. Tell me about you then, tell me the things men do on the first date that you can’t stand.”
“I haven’t gone out on date with a man in years, you know that.”
“But you remember what you couldn’t stand, don’t you? I remember the way you were, merciless: if the guy chose the wrong word or gesture you would immediately discard him.”
“Yes, it’s true, and what do I have to show for it… Look how things turned out for me. And you’re one to talk. Even now you stop dating a girl if she gets a text message wrong or if she sends too many of them. You told me you started dating Monica only because she has a nice ass. Here, a nice ass is all it takes for you to be with someone; but I would leave them for the smallest thing.”
She was right. I wanted to go out with women and make love to them, even if I liked them only for their ass or tits. Sometimes I overh
ear women say they haven’t made love in a long time, “You know, I’m very picky, to make love to someone I really have to like them. I don’t mean I have to be in love with him, but it’s not only a matter of him being intelligent, handsome, or funny…”
And I would think, “For me, it’s enough if they have a nice pair of tits or a nice ass, that’s all I ask.”
Monica has the finest ass in the world. Silvia says it’s ludicrous that someone would want to go out with a woman because she has a nice ass. I beg to differ. What can I do? I like asses. Even the ones on the spinning mannequins in the lingerie shops. If I pass a shop window and see revolving ones, before walking off, I wait for their ass to come around so I can see it.
“But I’ve never discarded a man because of something he said. That’s what you think, but it isn’t true. Of course, certain sentences can make you lose a lot of points. But that’s normal, it happens to everybody.”
“Like what?”
“For example, I never liked those guys who invite you to their place for dinner, and when you get there they say they didn’t have time to buy groceries and they cook you something quick with whatever they happen to have in the fridge.”
“But I always did that with you.”
“You were worse. You invited me over then made me cook for you with whatever was in the fridge, and before eating, you made me do the dishes because otherwise there wouldn’t have been any clean utensils.”
“But we’re friends, it’s different.”
“Exactly, let’s not talk about it. I remember I also never liked the guys who asked for your permission before doing anything: ‘Can I tell you something? Can I kiss you? Can I call you?’ Or the ones who’d say lines like: ‘I’m not going to call you because I don’t want to bother you. You call me if you want.’ I don’t like men who take you out to dinner and ask you where you want to go. I like the confident ones, who know what they want, who know where to take you. I don’t like the ones who pretend to be gentle. I used to like the guys who poured water for me because they were well behaved, the ones who would have behaved the same whether they were with you or their grandma. The ones who weren’t considerate just because it was the first date. The first date types are those who take things too far: the car door and that whole thing, but then later at their place, they won’t even pass the salt. I didn’t like the ones who wouldn’t put a condom on and I had to remind them.”
“It must be hard to stop everything and ask them to put the condom on.”
“Yes, but I learned how to do it.”
“Was that a deal breaker?”
“Not always, it depended on how things were going, but the real problem was their excuses; the best one was: ‘I’m allergic to them.’ Although the one I hated the most was: ‘I usually put it on, but I trust you.’”
“I usually say it’s too constrictive.”
“In your case, I recommend you say it while your clothes are still on, otherwise, if memory serves, it would be hard to believe you.”
“With youI put it on the first time, remember?”
“Yes, I remember, but I also remember that we had a little fight because after the first few times you didn’t want to use it anymore.”
“Right, but after the third time it’s no longer casual sex, it’s a relationship.”
We both laughed at my ridiculous statement.
“And Carlo managed to navigate that mine field without ever making a mistake?”
“I immediately fell in love with Carlo; even though I noticed certain things, they didn’t bother me.”
“I remember that, after dating him for a while, you told me he had certain qualities you really liked and others you weren’t too crazy about. I still remember them.”
“What were they? Refresh my memory.”
“You liked his hands, the way he smiled, the way he dressed, and most of all, you told me he was always well behaved.”
“It’s true. And do you also remember the things I didn’t like? If not, I can tell you some new ones.”
“Back then you didn’t like the fact that he didn’t come to pick you up on your first date, but rather that he gave you the name of the restaurant; that when he hung up the phone, he would end the conversation with ‘bye, beautiful’; and that when he would kiss you and start feeling you up, if you told him not to do it, he would stop immediately and never try again. At all.”
“I remember the exact moment I decided I’d sleep with him. I made the decision in front of the restaurant, when he parked on the sidewalk. I remember he did it with only one hand on the wheel as he was talking to me. He did the whole thing without ever taking his eyes off me. Then, that was the moment when I decided to sleep with him.”
“Well, it’s normal, isn’t it? A guy’s parking a car and you decide you want to fuck him. That sounds perfect.”
“A girlfriend of mine used to say: ‘If you want to know how a man is in bed, watch how he drives.”
“So, to sum it up, if I ever see Michela, I’ll try to park using one hand and never take my eyes off her. Great, I’m all set. Any words of advice on how to make love to her?”
“I don’t even remember how it’s done anymore! However, from a strictly sexual point of view, I never liked the ones who asked for an evaluation: ‘What is good for you, too?’”
“But in your opinion, when a woman sleeps with someone, and it wasn’t exactly great, can she tell whether it went that way because he is hopeless or because it was their first time?”
“You can tell immediately. It’s not a matter of athletics. Some people are really beyond hope. But I can assure you, and here I’m speaking for all women, that there is nothing worse than the ones who are too well-behaved while making love.”
“What do you mean too well-behaved?”
“The well-behaved fuck is the worst one ever, worse than the guys who fold their clothes before jumping into bed, placing them neatly on the chair. It would be a turn off for any woman.” After a moment of silence, Silvia, looking inside the box of cookies, said, “This morning, when I took Margherita to her grandparents, I talked to my mother about my situation. Whenever I bring up the issue, she immediately changes the subject. It’s as if she’s not hearing me. This morning I gave her the whole thing. I told her the entire story.”
“How did that go?”
“Very badly. I was expecting at least some mother-daughter solidarity, if not that, at least between one woman and another. Instead, nothing. She started saying that marriage is about sacrifice, and that you can’t have everything in life, that she, too, hadn’t always been happy with my father, but that she put up with him and kept going for us children. She even told me that many times she had cried in silence. Then she began telling me that it would hurt Margherita too much and that I should at least wait a little while, because sometimes these things pass. Everyone’s telling me the same thing. I tried to make her understand that it’s been happening for a while and that it isn’t a passing thing. I didn’t make up my mind to leave just yesterday. Plus, I’m sure I’ll never be able to love Carlo again. It’s as if I woke up from a long sleep, and now I can see and understand things I couldn’t before. As if I were seeing them for the first time for what they really are, and this decision, although painful, gave me an energy and strength I haven’t felt in years. I feel alive, awake. And after waking up, I realized I married an asshole. It’s not a nice thing to say, but Carlo really is one. I wonder what I was thinking.”
“Edoardo?”
I named he who must not be mentioned. Edoardo was the guy she was with before marrying Carlo. I’ve always thought she had married him because she had been completely devastated by her relationship with Edoardo. He really did a number on her. Not even my friendship had been of any help. Edoardo, whom we nicknamed Egoardo, because of his self-obsession, was one of those people who probably everyone, sooner or later, encounters in their lives. Those people who, for some mysterious and inexplicable reason, manage to trap you and you
can’t break free until they’ve completely destroyed you, torn you to shreds. Even intelligent people like Silvia can fall for it. The fact that she had tried to make sense of his behavior had driven her mad, like a puzzle you can’t solve. I don’t understand why he said that! Why did he do it? What did he mean? Where did I go wrong?
We place too much importance on those people. We hang on their every word; we crave their approval. One negative comment from them erases all the compliments they had paid us up to that point. They can destroy you or make you feel bliss with just one word. You start competing with yourself to win their approval. You become your own worst enemy. These are relationships you can’t control. On the rational level you know they’re bad for you, but you can’t get rid of them because they have turned into an addiction. Everything becomes hard to deal with. Even something simple like sending a message from your phone becomes an opportunity for existential doubts: I sent the last message, what should I do: send another asking why he didn’t answer, wait, call him with my number blocked? Act offended, or witty and fun? Should I get mad, telling him that he should answer out of common courtesy if nothing else?
As a friend I immediately recognized the type of relationship between Egoardo and Silvia, and I knew that if I had insisted too much on telling her to leave him I would have lost her. In that case it is best to take small steps, because the person we love is not entirely there. At that point, it’s as if they were hypnotized. The first red flag was when she stayed overnight at his place. The next morning she called me, “Giacomo, I did something really stupid. I slept at Edoardo’s and when I woke up he had already gone to work. I started snooping around, opening drawers and looking for traces of other women. Especially in the bathroom. I have been thinking about it since last night, the kitchen sink made me suspicious: it was too clean to be that of a man who doesn’t have a cleaning lady. I didn’t find anything.”
It was the first sign that she had started to lose control. The Silvia I knew would have never done something like that.