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Carla Cucchiarelli
Slaps Face
Series "Slaps Face”
Episode 1
www.quellidized.it
Slaps Face
Copyright © 2012
Zerounoundici Edizioni
Cover: Image furnished by the author
Slaps Face
My mother has brought me from a psico. Fig tree. Woody's Allen film stuff. Sinned that there was not the bunk, but only two chairs, also some uncomfortable ones I would say. But here we are in Rome, not in New York and there is not the bridge of Brooklyn in distance or the jazz soft in foundation, but only a grungy palazzone of Trastevere and the sonorous column are the noises that arrive nearby from the apartment. He/she knows me that you/they are drilling the wall. The psico smiles embarrassed and jokes us some, I politely bear, so much I am more in embarrassment of her. The window of the room leans out on an inside courtyard, other sounds in shed order arrive in the study, from the women's footsteps to the voices in distance. In short, air of house. If I/you had to put here a music to this scene I would opt for a thing from old men, type Rolling Stones. Memoirs, certain. My father, from small, it made me dance with Angie to put to sleep me. I have not had that that a traditional infancy would be said, here, above all considering that my mother, opted instead for Claudio Baglioni. And me between them, with them, was I able venir a calm person out never? And above all that two with musical tastes so disarranged and opposite you/they could love seriously him? It is all right, we allow to lose, we return to the study of the psico. Overall, the room is of my taste. Beautiful poster to the walls, photo of art in black and white, and a bookstore full of texts that nobody has opened for years. How do I know him/it? You sees. They have that air some so that "it looks as I am fig tree", "I have him and you no", "I am that that studies the mind and you my sacrificial chicken." Freud, Jung and other names that I don't know, all important tomes, bound in red. You feels that here the to know has a value. You studies and he/she is thought. I am in momentary apnea, the short breath, looks around me. Perhaps I am a tantino fuoriposto. I have on makes her/it another history, I have the air from "I am a rebel, leave me alone."
What do you say? Why must I go from the psico? Beh, would believe never it, mother thinks that I have asked you him me. Not with the words, he intends, with the facts. You, my mother, not the psico, has a lot of paranoias. So much to say one of them, doesn't want to buy me the moped and not even the macchinetta. It says that of me it trusts, but not of the others and it makes me a lot of sermons because I am distracted. And' true that I sometimes call her/it and I make me pick up from some part, because I am tired, because I have mistaken road, because I need little darlings and to feel that she there is, always, to my disposition. but in short. And' only because I don't have a mean to move me and then hate the buses. They put us a life to arrive and inside there is a fear foul smell. The people that take the means are washed few, believe me. However, to tell her/it all, my mother it is a fifona, it is convinced that I would take some road against hand and I would end dead stiff along the road. You have us the syndrome from "I read too many newspapers" or "I see too many newscast", that is then the same thing. It imagines everywhere catastrophes. It does me certain lead. I don't tell you after there has been the history in Brindisi, with that poor dead ragazzina. You/he/she has accompanied me to school for two days as a possessed. I have told you him that it is not at all a fact that happens every day and then, if really we want to insist, those that are dead in Emilia, with the earthquake, they were for instance to house or to the job: the accidents happen when lead you wait for him/it and only if you/he/she is written in the destiny, it doesn't seem you? You think that this is another history. Fatalism doesn't know what both. In the life it take prudence, it repeats, as if it were an ancient philosopher. Will be that the physician does and works to the ready help, but is really squirted! A torment skin and bones, would say. And' thin that puts fear. From when you/he/she is separated with my father, by now it will be almost one year, you/he/she has still lost some kilo. If it continues so I must make her the obligatory feeding. When it returns home it always has the tired look and the air of one that you/he/she has seen only the hell and the purgatory in a moment and he/she embraces me as if it were the last time that he/she sees me. He/she wants to be her behind of it of liver. However not you think that that woman is tender, contrarily you/he/she is a wood piece, hard as an oak. A general. From when my father has gone you/he/she has become even more obstinate. A mule. And it is me to the ribs as a stalker. This way I have decided, I/you/they have entered strike. Or I have been being better it for a couple of weeks. I have stopped studying, that so much doesn't serve to anything because all those that I know, those that are graduated or graduates in the last years, are idle or precarious. Do they also make the demonstrations to ask the future. And then that I work hard to do? Better being beautiful that studious, even somehow you also succeed in turning. Therefore now I want to also stop eating. At least I finally grow thin and you/he/she can be that I become a strafica and I succeed in conquering someone, someone of very rich, so I settle me. I don't tell him/it my mother otherwise it howls and it says that you/he/she has mistaken everything in the life with me. You that sermon always that in the life the only thing that counts is to study and to work hard for affirming him. "And you as woman you must hock yourself the double one of a man", this is his/her witticism, the perennial lesson for me. Old feminist incazzata that is not other. I don't even respond her. I have other projects. To affirm me in the sentimental field, for instance, considering that to the moment the boys to which I like are counted without abacus. Zero. Perhaps under zero. And therefore I don't want to go to school anymore and not even to eat. I want to stretch me on the bed and to look at the ceiling, up to that it won't come me to boredom. Word of Julia, that I then would be me, fifteen-year-old it toasts and trasteverina.
We said some psico. Everything starts with her. Where my mother has found a tipa so much fica I don't know him/it and even as has succeeded in convincing to follow her/it to me in his new madness, but - I must admit him/it - the psico is nice, it always laughs and it squeezes the eyes while it is looking yourself. I don't believe that is myopic, it seems me that I/you/he/she do him/it to look within you with the lens of enlargement. Even ago also some scene, but this knows me about good person. Because someone also has to think of us to know what behind my face is from slaps. Already, my face from slaps. This way he/she called me dad when I combined someone of it of mine. Always. It told me: "with that face from slaps you can go where you want" and me his/her child I laughed and I returned. He knew whether to take me. You/he/she has alwa
ys known him that with me it take some irony and imagination, because I throw her/it a lot to me, but I don't know how to live without the sense of the humor. For this I like Woody Allen, he makes all light, also the darkest things. And now I don't want there to think about my father however, because otherwise I feels like crying and I want to laugh instead and to be hard. As him that from three months it doesn't phone and it doesn't make him see. You/he/she has surrendered me to my destiny. And you/he/she has also stopped sending the check to my mother that has gone on all the furies and him it is again revolt to the lawyer. That anything else other than pettifogger, must be multimillion with all the sfigatis that turn him to him for the causes of separation and divorce. He holds them on the careful ones and it lengthens the times and ago in way to make them quarrel more always. Complex character, should speak to us me to the place of mine. I would put him/it in line. They hold me instead out of the games, according to them I should be forever the beautiful dormant in the wood. But they delude him, I know everything that that
Slaps face (episode n.1) Page 1