Training in Love

by Manuela Pigna

  He regards me without speaking.

  “Most of all, I missed him. There were moments when his absence was almost… physical. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  He nods. “No, no, I understand. I know I may seem strange, but it was the same for me with my grandfather.” He looks away while he stretches into another position, which I quickly copy. “Even if we were always informed about the state of his illness when he was in the hospital, and even if the doctors told us we shouldn’t continue to hope – in fact they didn’t even want to operate – I became conscious of his sickness, his death, only months and months after he was gone. I don’t know. It’s as though your brain were slow…” He shrugs. “I felt worse afterwards than I did when he was in the hospital.”

  I just nod.

  “And for me… For me his loss was devastating.” He swallows and doesn’t speak again.

  I don’t add anything, but he starts to speak again spontaneously. “Now that we’re talking about it, I remember certain images…” He laughs and shakes his head. “I spent lots of time with him when I was little. He made me laugh and have fun because he was physical with me. We were always moving.” He looks at me with a sad smile, a sad look. “‘Mens sana in corpore sano,’ he always said.”

  I move my eyes away from his because I suddenly have the desire to get up and go embrace him. Didn’t I start out talking about horrible things? How is it that I find myself like this? Desperate because I can’t throw myself on him and hold him tight?

  He takes a deep breath and sits with his legs bent in front of him. He hugs them around the knees and I see that we’ve finished, but he has no intention of getting up and dismissing me. “However, let’s talk about something nice every so often…” He says with a different tone. “Tell me about the most beautiful moment of your life,” he urges me with a smile.

  I look at him and on the tip of my tongue are the words “this morning, when you kissed me,” but clearly I can’t open my mouth and let them out, so I think furiously for some alternative. “Maybe… when I saw that I had lost weight without doing a real diet.”

  He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

  “What is it?” I ask, already anxious.

  He shakes his head, “No, it’s just that… I’m happy to have been there, but was that really the most beautiful moment of your life?”

  I immediately feel uncomfortable, inadequate, and I realize how much this answer says about my life. I feel stupid. Why have I lived like this? My God…

  I redden, lower my gaze to my crossed legs and answer, stuttering, “You can’t understand. For me it was a victory… after battling for years… and then… there are other moments,” I conclude, playing with my shoe laces.

  “Like?”

  I shrug my shoulders without looking at him, “Like…” I think quickly and finally something comes to me. “Like the first pyjama party with Linda.” I smile at the thought, without meeting his eyes. “I was twelve years old and we stayed up all night, eating trash and watching some cartoons and some videos of Bon Jovi’s concerts.”

  He is quiet, and finally says, “But you aren’t all wrong… it’s hard to pick out the most beautiful of all…”

  I glance at him quickly and I’m happy to discover that his eyes are turned towards the trees which line the track.

  “I’m undecided…”

  I don’t want to know about his most beautiful moment, I don’t need to know at all, so I have no idea why I’m asking him, “Between what?”

  When he hears my voice he moves his ice-blue gaze to me. “Between the birth of my sister and the first time I made love.”

  “Ah.” I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had either of the two experiences. I suspect that my cheeks are starting to go into spontaneous combustion. But despite the fact that I can almost feel the smoke coming from my burning face, I can’t bring myself to take my gaze away from his.

  He speaks with indifference, as though he was calculating the lean body mass and body fat and how many kilos I still have to lose. “The birth of my sister was something incredible. I was six years old, and when she came home, in those first days, I was crazy about this tiny pink ball… she smelled good… And then, one day she wasn’t there and the next day… puff!... a tiny little girl squealing and snoozing in the house.”

  “Really? I’ve always heard that the old siblings are usually jealous…”

  “Oh yes, I was jealous too.” He laughs saying this. “But not in those first few days. The first days I wanted to hold her all the time and give her kisses on her soft cheeks and smell her hair.”

  Oh my God, I’m melting.

  “And then, that was a beautiful moment that I’ll always remember fondly, while…”

  I believe that my ears perked up by themselves – I don’t know how – but I felt a movement.

  He looks away, staring at the trees. “The first time I made love… I’ll never forget what I felt, the strong sensations, the intense emotion, but what came after…” He shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. He seems lost in his memories, in his thoughts. “I’m not saying that it ruined the memory of that moment, but… I don’t know, now that I know what happened afterwards, all the pain and drama… I don’t deny anything, ah, but it does influence my memory of that moment a little. I can’t seem to think of it as being one-hundred percent beautiful anymore.” And he says these things staring at me in a disconcerting way. “It’s still a great moment, though, even if it’s not in first place…”

  I look away, clearing my throat and standing up. I shrug and brush my backside and legs to clean off any eventual dirt and leaves. When I straighten up, I see that Andrea hasn’t moved a millimeter and he’s still looking at me.

  Without leaving my eyes, he slowly gets up, takes a step towards me and I find him directly in front of me.

  My heart starts beating furiously. Kiss me, I think crazily. Kiss me because you want to and not because of a stupid joke. Kiss me for real.

  “This evening?” He asks, brutally shaking up my fantasies.

  “Huh?”

  “The program for this evening?”

  I blink rapidly and furrow my brow, surprised and confused. “What program?”

  “You wouldn’t have me do anything embarrassing tonight?”

  “Oh!” I exclaim, finally getting it. I was so taken by my utopia that I completely forgot about the Week of Power. “No, this evening you’re free. Today’s program is over. Wasn’t it enough for you?” I add with a crooked smile.

  He raises his hands. “No, no, absolutely, it was enough.”

  I laugh softly, in a low voice.

  “So… will we see each other tomorrow?”

  I nod. “Be in the parking lot of the cafè at two.”

  He widens his eyes with a mock expression of terror. “We’re going in your car?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh no…” He murmurs, rubbing a hand on his forehead. The gesture makes me laugh and he smiles.

  I decide to leave right away, during this semblance of normalcy, before going back to ridiculously hoping for something impossible. And most of all, before transmitting it with my eyes to him again. I take my leave without looking at him, yelling “bye” and waving, while I walk hurriedly with my eyes locked on my yellow Cinquecento.

  I hear him say, “See you tomorrow!” And then, finally, I’m free to go back to visualizing this morning in my mind for another billion times without fear that the subject in question is able to read it on my face.

  ***

  When I get home, I unexpectedly find my mother.

  “Mom!” It’s truly the only thing I’m able to cry out. I think this is the first time, in years, that she’s at home during the week before eight in the evening.

  She gets up from the sofa and comes to meet me. She looks me over from top to bottom. You can tell I’ve just been doing exercise. My T-shirt is soaked with sweat. I must still be red in the face and some hair has slipped out of the
ponytail and is sticking out in all directions.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  I don’t feel like answering, but what can I say? “At the bike track,” I finally say, reluctantly.

  She raises her eyebrows in surprise and, when I see the look of happiness appear slowly in her eyes, I swing around and run up the stairs. She follows me.

  I feel her presence at the entrance to my room while I prepare a towel and clean pyjamas to put on after my shower. When I have everything ready under my arm, I turn to her and say, “What do you want?”

  She shakes herself and straightens a little. She looks away and says in a low voice, “Nothing, um… what would you like to eat this evening? I’ll have it ready as soon as you get out of the bathroom.”

  I lift my eyebrows. I don’t smile but, really, if I had known that it was enough to lose a few kilos to see another person emerge, so much nicer than the previous one, I’d have done it sooner.

  I think for a minute more, then I realize that… naaaah, I wouldn’t have done it sooner.

  And then there’s always another explanation, the one I personally consider more probable – an alien has taken possession of my mother’s body and she is now wandering around in space in the body of an alien. I hope they only give her pills the flavor of unseasoned boiled zucchini to eat.

  “Pizza,” I answer impudently, raising one eyebrow.

  She nods without saying a word, without making a face. “I’ll call as soon as you’ve finished then. Cold pizza is awful. What kind do you want?”

  Seriously. Where is my mother?

  “A cheese one.” My voice is diffident, skeptical and she nods, her shoulders falling; she finally frees up the doorway.

  After having taken a quick shower, I tie my still wet hair in a ponytail and go down to the kitchen. The vision I find in front of me is incredible. I’m almost not able to describe it rationally. My mother is waiting for me, seated at the kitchen table, with a pizza in front of her and one in my place.

  I freeze for a second.

  “Come on Olly, it’s just arrived and it’s still hot.”

  I sit down. I have to understand more about these extra-terrestrials that are silently taking over the Earth.

  I get knives and forks and begin to cut the pizza, lifting my eyes to look with suspicion at my mother from time to time. She seems unaware, completely unaware of all my thoughts. She cuts her pizza and even has a smile on her lips.

  I’m about to say, “Who are you?”, when she beats me to it. “How long have you been working out?”

  “For a while,” I answer reluctantly.

  “Alone?”

  “No.”

  I stay silent, then I hear the sound of the fork put down on the plate with a bit of force. “With who?”

  I look at her, undecided whether to answer or not and in the end say, “Andrea.”

  She doesn’t comment, but takes a piece of pizza in her hands, folds it and takes a bite.

  I begin to eat slowly, without saying a word until, once again, she breaks the silence, “How did you meet this Andrea?”

  I sigh, closing my eyes. “I met him through one of the twins. He’s helping me to work out.” I don’t want to tell her that I pay him. I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want to hear her comments about it.

  “Really very nice of him…” She murmurs softly, looking at her pizza with a strange smile on her lips.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, immediately on the defensive.

  She looks up, surprised. “Nothing Olly, only that it’s nice of him to dedicate himself to training-” She stops with a lost look on her face.

  I swallow a bitter bite of pizza. “Dedicate himself to training?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “A girl, like that, by chance? Someone he just met?” She concludes with a tone more interrogative than affirmative.

  With my eyebrows knit I direct my gaze towards my pizza. I lift my shoulders.

  “Doesn’t it seem strange to you?”

  “He likes doing sports, and he’s doing me a favor,” I grumble, cutting another slice.

  “Men aren’t that generous…”

  “What?” I ask looking up. She quickly puts down the slice she was bringing to her lips and sighs, looking at me with odd eyes – halfway between hard and sad, between bitter and savory. “I said that men aren’t that generous,” she repeats more loudly, looking at me.

  I feel uncomfortable. I swallow a couple of times.

  We continue to look at each other in silence for a few seconds, then she sighs and drops her shoulders, her gaze on her slice of pizza. “Forget it.”

  “Why are you like that Mom?” I ask after a while. And for the first time in years I realized I’ve used a normal tone of voice.

  “Like what?” She asks, looking up surprised.

  I shrug. “So cynical… so negative…”

  She lets out a laugh without a trace of mirth. On the contrary, it makes me want to cry. She doesn’t answer right away. She takes her time and then lifts a shoulder. “Life, experiences…”

  I hesitate only for a second before saying, “Dad?”

  Her bitter smile disappears completely. She drops the piece of pizza she has in her hand and leans back in her chair. I really think we’re both coming close to having our appetite disappear thanks to these happy topics of conversation.

  “Of course,” she answers finally. “But it wasn’t only him, even if with him… With him it was really hard.”

  I raise my eyebrows, surprised. “You’ve had other relationships?”

  She smiles. “A few. Not many.”

  I open my mouth. I’m in shock. Total shock.

  She laughs, but the amusement disappears right away.

  “I was never aware of anything!” I exclaim, shaken.

  She nods. “I know, I did it on purpose.”

  My mouth remains open. I’m without words. “Why?” I ask when I finally manage to recover.

  She shrugs her shoulders, starting to play with her fork. “I didn’t want to have you meet someone if I wasn’t sure that they’d stay. I didn’t want you to get attached, I didn’t want…” She stops, looking up fearfully before continuing, “I didn’t want to see you suffer again… in that way.”

  Suddenly, I feel a cold shiver and I hug myself, looking away.

  “Are you shocked?” She asks me in a small voice.

  “Yes!” I cry sincerely, looking up and nodding vigorously.

  She laughs, but it’s a sad laugh. “Are you sorry to know?”

  I frown. “No… No, in reality, I’m not sorry.”

  I could be mistaken, but she seems to be breathing easier now.

  I play with my pizza in silence. “Why are you telling me these things?”

  She sighs noisily. “You’re the one who asked me why I’m like this, and I’m the result of my experiences.”

  I reflect. “Perhaps.”

  “How do you mean ‘perhaps’?” She responds sharply.

  I lift my shoulders. “Perhaps there are different ways of reacting to experiences and you’ve chosen this one.”

  She is speechless. She looks at me open-mouthed. I let a giggle escape. “Now it’s you who are shocked…”

  She laughs softly too. “I believe... I am.”

  I smile at her. I am smiling at my mother. I-am-smiling-at-my-mother. Or at the alien in possession of her body, of course.

  In this state of shock and confusion we finish our dinner, speaking civilly and about different subjects, like two adult people who converse pleasantly while sharing a meal.

  16.

  Saturday evening. Andrea is changing in my bathroom.

  “You got too small a size for these pants…” He huffs from inside.

  “No, I assure you that the clerk told me that they’re supposed to be that way!”

  “I can’t get them on!” I hear his exasperated tone.

  “Take a deep breath!” I tell him encouragingly through the door.


  “Take a deep breath where? Am I supposed to breathe with my legs?” Maybe he’s not amused, but this comment really makes me laugh. Then I hear other noises, grunts, movements…

  I’m already ready for the cafè’s summer party. Every year, the week of June 21st, Leo throws a party on Saturday evening. He rents, if you can say that, the space outside the shop from the city. We put out tables, leaving more room inside. We prepare drinks and appetizers and put on music. Whoever wants to can dance. Then on Sunday we’re closed, to the great joy of the weekend co-workers who do a sort of tour-de-force on the Saturday in question, working from the morning until practically the middle of the night.

  I’ve put on a pair of comfortable jeans, a simple (close-fitting!) black tank-top and a pair of flip-flops. I have a ponytail and I’ve put on a little more makeup than usual as my single touch of glamour. This evening is still partially work for me and the other girls employed at the cafè. It’s still us that have to prepare, set up, answer and serve if someone asks for something, and then we have to put everything away.

  Andrea finally comes out of the bathroom. “This shirt is missing buttons…”

  When I see him I laugh. The effect is astonishing. If the boy with the nice blue eyes comes tonight, he’ll pounce on him… I’ve bought him a pair of skin-tight white jeans, a shiney fuchsia shirt with a big, loud pinapple print covering the left side of his chest and part of the shoulder. It is also really tight with a deep V-neck… The first button is practically at the level of his navel. I look him up and down and, if it weren’t for the color of the shirt, the piece of tan, hairless chest would be heart-stopping.

  I take a good breath, as though an arduous task awaited me. “Well, now we have to complete your look!”

  “More complete than this?” Andrea retorts with a grimace, indicating himself with a hand.

  From behind my back I pull out an earring in the form of a cross made with fake diamonds.

  Andrea pulls back shivering. “I don’t have piercings!”

  “Don’t worry, this is with a magnet…” I push him in the bathroom and make him sit on a stool which I occasionally use to apply makeup. I put the earring on him and then wet his hair and add some gel to slick it all back. “Jesus…” I hear him murmur from time to time. His closeness and touching him makes me feel agitated, so I continue to giggle nervously. I need to calm down.