The Password

-Dad’s not her password anymore

-What do you mean?! Where?

-Her Gmail. It’s not working.

My brother Bud had a tendency to talk about stuff as if I knew the entire context of the conversation he had had in his head. He took after Mom that way. 

I got why a change of passwords would be upsetting, in this context. Bud and I came from a generation where using your significant other as your password was a true sign of commitment. Thus, Dad’s password had always been MomsName1968, Mom’s password DadsName1968 and that was it. Bud and I would later create other passwords, delegate our devices to create them, but our folks never did.

I vaguely recalled Mom ranting about special characters and what’s so special about them and why can’t I keep this password what’s wrong with it anyway I can’t even find that under line anywhere, but I never followed up, and now here we are.

-OK Bud, that’s fine. We’re going to receive the legacy email with all the passwords in a few weeks anyway. And I can still access her phone when I’m there.

-Right. Forgot you had the fingerprints and stuff.

I did have the fingerprints recorded on Mom’s phone. I also had her location, her instructions for the funeral, her directions on what she wanted to wear for it, all the practical info. Bud was the one who had to arrange all of that, since I was living an ocean away, and yet, I was the one Mom trusted with all the info. I was the one who could carry the mental and emotional load.

An episode comes to mind. I was 9 or 10, at a sports competition. Mom was low-key bragging about how level-headed and quiet I always was, when I lost it. I burst out crying because I had lost the match, Mom was surprised and disappointed that I had proven her wrong in front of people. I just needed to be sad. Bud and Dad would always be scared of my sadness; Mom would mostly be embarrassed. I just needed to be sad. I just need to be sad. But I’m, once again, the one who can take it. The one who can be level-headed and figure out the practical stuff. While Bud is doing all the work, and neither of us is truly seen.

______

It wasn’t all about food, but an awful lot of it was about food. Mom was one of the reasons and a fellow victim of my eating disorder and body dysmorphia. But she was also the one who I shared some of the best meals with. Her memory lives in the tea she bought me because I told her I couldn’t find a good one. And in the instant coffee Dad wouldn’t remember was her favorite, so I took it with me on the way home. 

Before moving overseas, I savored every last meal with them as if it was going to be the last one ever. Until one eventually was. I made her her last risotto; I bought her her last treats. When we received the instructions for surgery preparation, that’s when it hit me, that she might never have a bunch of food again. I tried sharing that with Bud.

-That’s good, though, you know. Everyone should follow that diet. It’s really good to cleanse from those foods.

He kept talking about PH imbalances, I stopped listening. It wasn’t about the food. At the height of my eating disorder, Mom or I would stop at the best bakery in town to buy a sweet raisin bread roll and share it over the sink before Dad could realize and want one, too. It was the one treat I was always able to enjoy. This went on for over 20 years. Not like Mom wouldn’t try to guilt trip us on how we shouldn’t be eating this stuff, it’s so bad it’s so fat. But we would, nonetheless. When the doctors insisted that Mom needed to gain weight (ah! How the tables turn, I thought), I bought her the raisin bread roll. The day of her surgery I tried buying one for good luck, for me – they had run out. I only had it the day before her funeral, over the sink before Dad came home. It was one of many pieces of her I lost over time.

______

I’m not sure when it started, but I know when I noticed. She wasn’t texting me twice a day anymore. Days went by without her initiating a text conversation, a week could go by without calls with her and Dad; even those calls seemed shallow, as if they were trying to cut them short to move on to something more urgent. Nothing was more urgent than talking to me, in regular times. When she eventually shared her diagnosis – no, when Bud pushed her to share it with me, - it all made sense. When I flew back, I had to ring the bell. She hadn’t been waiting by the doorbell to buzz me in like she used to. Another piece lost. She would let me do house chores, she felt too tired to keep up with those. Another piece lost. She barely read the newspaper, until we stopped buying it altogether. She stopped humming / whistling / randomly singing around the house. That was a huge piece, her voice. I was forever grateful to my past self, for deciding to record Mom and Grandma on a random Tuesday a decade ago. I wouldn’t have either of their voices to listen to, otherwise. After surgery, she never fully recovered her natural voice. I realized that thanks to a dream. She was in our childhood backyard hanging clothes, humming. She asked me what we should cook for my aunt, who was coming over for lunch. I knew it was a dream; I started sobbing. She came to comfort me and asked me if I can’t come back the way I used to be, what’s even the point? and I knew she meant it. I woke up sobbing and holding what felt like her hand in mine. That was the last time I heard her voice. Another piece lost.

______

There was this short story I read as a child, it was called “Seven Floors.” There was a hospital that treated only one specific disease; mild cases were on the 7th floor, the more severe the case, the lower the floor. The protagonist was first admitted to the top floor, as his was a very mild case. There were multiple reasons and excuses to move him to lower and lower floors (we need the bed, there’s maintenance on this floor, we’ll just move you temporarily…), until he was in the basement floor and died. Sometimes, it felt like that with Mom.

The doctors were initially optimistic on her chances of recovery. They said her symptoms were normal, even the grossest ones. A lot of it didn’t sit right with us, but we weren’t doctors. So, we trusted that she was being admitted to what that short story would consider the 4th or 5th floor, and she would eventually get better. She wanted me and only me to take her to the hospital. I made a point of breathing in the crispy, cold air that morning. She couldn’t be bothered; she was in too much pain. She didn’t know that was going to be the last outdoor air she would ever breathe. 

I’m now breathing a little deeper, loving a little harder, hugging a little tighter, because I saw what I could be missing out on.

After surgery there were complications, “only temporary” we were told. Except they kept piling up. It became a rollercoaster of “she’s not gonna make it” to “we weren’t expecting this much improvement”. It felt like she was condemned to the basement, and that’s when she started mentioning death.

______

She would gesture “death” to me behind other people’s backs. I don’t know why, but I can speculate. I could talk about that very matter of fact. I could still crack some dark jokes. Just like when we talked about their funerals months before, between talking about what to have for dinner and what happened at work. We had talked about “their” funerals because she was not the one who anybody expected to go first. So, she had started giving me instructions for Dad’s funeral, and since we were at it, she added instructions for her own. 

So, I wasn’t worried about her gesturing “death” in the hospital bed. I wasn’t going to dismiss and deny the gesture – like Dad would, - and I wasn’t going to go philosophical or spiritual – like Bud would. I just acknowledged:

-Yes, Mom, I know you think you’re going to die. Not today, though, your body has decided otherwise. And no, it’s not like we can help you in that direction, it’s still illegal.

At that point, she would gesture exasperation. I get it. I was bombarded by texts from people who wished her some sort of recovery. I was exasperated too. Sometimes, it felt like they were wishing her torture. But they were sending their prayers to the Mom they remembered from before. They hadn’t seen her steady decline, they didn’t realize how huge of a miracle they were wishing for, when talking about a full recovery. Both Mom and I wished we could put “dignified death” on the table, as a good alternative to everything else.

______

-We had time, that was a luxury. We had time to tell her everything we needed to.

Bud was right. But I also realized I didn’t have anything to tell her. Tough love had been her love language to me; practical compliance had been mine towards her.

I visited her wearing new clothes I had picked, asking her for her opinion. She would give me a “thumbs up” or a “good enough (a bit too squared)” gesture. Yes, she could be very detailed in her gestures. I would text her my hairstyle and my ironed clothes, she would reply praising my evolution into adulthood, at over 40. She was using the correct emojis right until the end.

It seems only apt, that she would die when I had just bought clothes for her funeral. Because we knew the end was coming, and I didn’t have dark clothes for the heatwave. I was walking home from the mall when Bud called me. I had been listening to emotional songs, while thinking of all the life that Mom wasn’t going to experience. I was embarrassed on her behalf about my crying in the middle of the street but couldn’t help it. I felt like it was too sunny, the breeze too nice, for her to go without taking notice. She would never walk down the beach, she would never smell the ocean, she would never laugh again.

I went home and wrote what I would say at the funeral.

And I just wanted to be sad.

______

Not going out of our way to let everyone know, to shout it from the rooftops, seemed cruel to me. Sure, Mom was beyond discreet, but her life had touched a lot of people, who would barely even learn about her passing. And I felt like I needed a village or two, to get through that. So, I went rogue and told more people than she would have liked me to. Some broke down in tears, some didn’t bat an eye, others offered a hug, a bottle of water, a tissue to dry my tears – every interaction helped.

Someone said that grief is like a spiky rod in the middle of our soul, which is a fluffy cloud; the soul keeps growing, as more love feeds it, but sometimes it will touch a spike. Grief will never disappear, but it will become more bearable. All the rituals of death – the rituals that serve those who stay more than those who go – help share the load of that grief. 

Being able to imagine how Mom would have critiqued the details of the funeral also helped. Hearing raucous children playing outside the church – a sign that the world moves on even when it stops for us – also helped. Carrying her urn, as if I was holding her on her last walk, helped tremendously. Swapping the traditional “May the earth be light upon you” with a whispered “May you be light upon the earth, because I don’t think it’s ready” also helped. Breathing in the summer breeze, in the brightest sun, while her ashes spread on the green grass, gave me closure and peace.

But at the end of the day, I still needed to be sad. 

______

-Bud, I got the legacy email from Gmail.

-Oh, right. So, what did she change it to?

-Technically, it’s still Dad. But us, too. The password is Rose<3Bud<3Dad_1968

Turns out she found the “under line” after all.

Scent of coffee grounds

Bam bam bam. A light, then nothing. Quick pics flow like a film, quick flashes now slowing down. Here we are, me and Roby. I've grazed my knee, because he was holding me and he let me slip out of his arms. I'm afraid of blood, but I don't want to cry because I don't want to give him this satisfaction. «It hurts?» «YES!!» «Sorry, didn't mean to…» «You're a jerk, as usual. I won't play with you ever again.» And then I cuddle up, pretending to hurt more than I actually do. He stands up and goes to the kitchen, he's gone for a while. When he comes back, he's got two coffee cups, even if mama doesn't want us to drink it. «I put four sugars in yours, shall we make peace?» I don't answer, take my cup and mix the sugar. He's fooling around, gargles and make me laugh. «Still mad?» «Little less now.» «So you can smell the scent?» «What scent?» «That scent you smell after you drank a cup of coffee when you're happy. Can you smell it?» «You're right, I can smell something. I think it's the scent of coffee grounds.» «Oh, I thought it was the cup. But you're the one to know such stuff, so I trust you. It's the scent of coffee grounds.» Pics flowing again, running fast. Here they slow down again. Me and Roby again, but older. I'm crying after I just broke up. «Hussshhhhhh c'mon, stop it huuuushhhhhhh!!» He could never stand my tears, he's afraid of seeing me cry. «It's not worth it, c'mon! He was such an asshole!! He can't force you to do something you don't want to! If you're meant to be, you will meet him again, if not you'll find a thousand other guys, much better than him!! Huuusssshhhh stop it, c'mon stand up and follow me.» He draws me out to the balcony where we hang our laundry out to dry. We can see all the roofs from there, time's close to sunset. «Do you think it's worth to cry?? Look at this sight, look at the colors of the clouds! This is worth crying for, but with happiness!!» I stopped crying, but I don't give a damn about the clouds. «Thanks.» I smile. «Fine, that's a start. If you stop fuckin' sulk, then, you can also find a new Brad Pitt.» I push him in play and laugh, he puts his hand on my shoulder and we go back inside.

Bam bam bam. I open my eyes, where am I? Blue light Oh My God I can't breathe aaahhhh aaahhhh calm down calm down it's just an oxygen mask. I take a deep breath, where am I? IV everywhere, am I at the hospital? I'm passing out, I close my eyes. Pics flowing again, as if I'm watching a movie. Me and Roby again, we're children again, we're puffing up our cheeks. We're Bubboo and Bubbee, we must keep talking like this until one of us laughs. He's doing everything he can to make me laugh, and finally he manages to. He's happy, but not because he won, just because I'm laughing. Pics flowing again, memories shoal and mix together. Here I am, at Roby's door. Ding-dong. «Heeeyyy dumby, how come you're here??» «Hi.. well… I dropped by to give you the invitation, you know... I'm marrying Manuel.» «Oh. Oh, OK. But, are you sure? Come on in, let's talk about it.» «Oh no, he's waiting in the car, I'm on a rush... sorry.» He looks down at the invitation. «Sorry for what? The thing is, I don't know if you would still be sorry, if you were happy. And if you would miss that sparkle in your eyes. But if you say you're happy, then I believe you, you know I trust you.» «And I trust you.» I've got a lump in my throat, I don't want him to frown at me. «Don't turn away from me.» «Heeeyyyy are you nuts?? How could Bubboo turn away from Bubbee??» And he puffs up his cheeks, like when we were children. I laugh, and he's relieved to see me laugh as I used to. «But if you have any problems, you know I'm here, right?» I hold him tight, because I'm afraid we will end up growing away anyway.

White lights, distant voices. «Doctor, the girl is waking up.» One light in one eye, then in the other one. «Giovanna, can you hear me?» My mouth is furred, I can't answer. «Sedate her, she's still weak». It's dark again, and the pics are flowing again. Me and Roby walking on the beach after it rained. He lifts some wet sand with his umbrella and I get dirty. I'm about to get mad at him when he throws me to the ground with a wrestler's move, we laugh and fight. Back at the bungalow, mama gets really mad. «C'mon mama, it's my fault 'cause I made her kinda tumbling down!!» I laugh again. Pics flowing, once again. We're in his car, I'm crying while Roby's driving. «I don't wanna start with "I warned you", so let me just say he's the biggest jackass on Earth. And stop looking at that fucking mobile or I'll throw it away!! He's not gonna call you, and if he does, he will talk to ME! When will you begin to understand how much you deserve thanks to the wonderful person you are and all you give to other people??» «Sure, what I give besides ballbusting? Evidently, I wasn't enough for him.» «YEAH, SURE!! And if that was true, he's justified in finding another woman? Are you kidding??! If I weren't driving I would wrestle with you like we used to, just to see if I can re-activate some cells in that brain of yours!! And do you really want to know what you give to other people? Look at what I found in my stuff, the other day, read something that's worth crying for, c'mon!» He takes a piece of paper out of his pocket, it's old and yellow. At the top, there's a date written by a child. «Hey, what the fuck is he doing?? WWWOOOHHHAAA!!»

Bam bam bam. I wake up, I'm still numb but my head is clear. A nurse is changing the IV. «Good morning Giovanna, how do you feel?» «Confused… weak» «You had a bad accident, it's normal.» «Roby… Roberto, my brother, where is he?? How is he?» «You must thank him, if he hadn't had that quick reaction... he sheered on his side, to avoid you being hurt. He saved your life. He's in a different ward.» «Can I see him? I want to see him.» «Maybe tomorrow, right now he's still too weak.» She goes away. I start looking around, bringing the room into focus. I see my mobile on the bedside table, and that piece of paper. I must have had it in my hands. I take it and read the first lines:

“March 10th 1989. That is the day I turn eight.

Today I'm writing the eight nine or maybe ten stuff I more like, so when I read this in four or maybe five years I can see what I like still and what not. I begin from the less good to the best good.

10.Playing Pang on the Amiga, cos I always win at Pang and sometimes at golden axe too.

09.The recess at school, so I can run and play and I can not study for a while.

08.When we sit around the table at Christmas and New Years Eve all together and we laugh a lot and we eat what Auntie makes and then we count sixty fiftyfive and so on, cos now I can cos I'm older but some time ago I couldn't cos I was too young and I slept a lot earlier.

07.The scent of burned paper and wood when papa cooks barbecue and we collect pine needles. Then papa always gets sick and that's not good, but before it is.

06.The scent of grass when it rains or maybe not, the scent of everything when it's not raining anymore and everybody go around in tracksuit with the umbrella and then you can see the rain bowl too.

05.When we go to the beach together, cos we sing in the car and we laugh all the time but then my sister gets sick so we must be quiet but I still like it.

04.When my mom hugs me tight and I don't know that she wants to hug me, so I like it anyway no I like it even more.”

A smile fills my mouth, tears fill my eyes, I close the paper and decide to go on reading it later, with Roby. He's so right, there are many things worth crying for. Finally they let me see him. Doctors have dark, crusty faces, I don't like them. They stop me in the hallway.

«Hi.»

«Hi.»

«Miss D., maybe you should wait a little while. It's not a good show.»

«I don't care, I wanna see Roby. How is he?»

«Oh… he's not well, Miss D.»

«What do you mean? How long will he have to stay here?»

«Well… he suffered some traumas and brain damages which led to an oedema… he's in coma, Miss D.»

«Coma? But he will pull through. He must pull through.»

«We don't have big hopes, honestly. I'm sorry but... well, if he doesn't react in the next six hours, we will have to declare his brain death. I'm really sorry Miss D., honestly.» Silence.

«Mrs.»

«Sorry?»

«You keep calling me "Miss" even though I'm married. Mrs.»

«Oh… sorry. Seriously, you'd better choose another moment to see your brother.»

«No. If you're telling the truth, this could be my last chance to see him.»

«It's up to you then, ma'm. Let me take you to the room.»

The room is dark, Roby's got IV everywhere. His head is all wrapped, his legs too. Oh My God brother, what happened? I get closer and hold his hand. «Hi, it's me.» Beep beep beep. «C'mon, stop pretending, you won. Wake up.» Beep beep beep. I can feel a lead weight on my stomach. It's called helplessness. I'm looking at the only man –or maybe the only person- who never deceived me, and gave me all he had without asking anything back. And I'm helpless. And I can't even tell him, how special he is. How long I've been looking for someone like him, someone who could see in me all the good things he saw. I can't stop staring at that bandage around his head... how much did it hurt??! Why?? To save me, once more. To save my life and save me from my life, at the same time. To make me realize how many walls I built along the years. Walls around myself, to prevent me from getting at my heart and hurt myself. Walls against other people, to prevent them from getting at my heart and destroy me. Walls against the whole world, afraid of I don't know what, but it's something that could kill me if it'd only got closer. Maybe it's fear of happiness. Roby never built any walls. Every time he was slapped, he smiled back. And every time he was let down, he chose to trust again. Like he did with me. I let him down all my life. And yet he made me feel the most important person in the world. What's so special in me, I don't know. I can't even wake you up. I keep crying. Oh yeah, the list. I take the paper, start reading it and remembering with him. Nothing. Beep beep beep. There's only half an hour left, I've been here for five hours and a half. I go on reading, there are three items left.

“03.The sun set when there are a lot of clouds in the sky, and they color orange and pink and then birds fly into them and there's the light wind that ruffles my hair.

02.The scent of coffee grounds, cos then you are very happy if you smell it, and you love very very much that who's with you. When my sister is there I always smell it. Only if I drink coffee, that is.”

Oh, yeah. It's been a long time since I thought about that. It's been a long time since I last smelled it. I take a glimpse to the last line, and everything collapses. The world as I considered it until now, the idea of being forced to fight for something different from what I already have. I look around and discover a new world, that is the same world but now I'm able to see it. And I understand that my life is stronger than my efforts to ruin it. And I finally understand that there are many things worth crying for, but many more things worth laughing for. Once again, Roby gave me joy, gave me my life back.

“01.My sister's smile, cos it colors everything and it seems that there's a light so strong that you must close your eyes, even if it's raining outside. And she always smiles even if I say silly silly stuff, but she smiles cos she's nice. Here they are. This are the stuff I more like. One day I say them to my sister, so she can say hers. Not today cos she's mad, and I want to make her laugh. So then she's happy.”

Beep beep beep. I can't hold back the tears anymore. I stop. I read the list all over again. Beep beep beep. A doctor walks in. «Ma'am… you should walk out the room.»

«No.»

«Please, ma'am, we must unplug the machines.»

«Unplug them, but I'm staying here. And bring me a coffee, with lots of sugar.»

«But ma'am…» He's persuaded by my glance. When the nurse comes in bringing my coffee, I slowly mix it. I look at Roby, and I can't see anything else. I drink my coffee as we used to. Beep beep beep. Beep beep. Then nothing. His face softens, he looks as if he's ready to stick out his tongue and make me laugh. Thus I laugh, laugh, laugh and everybody thinks I'm crazy but I can't see them nor hear them. Out of the windows there's one of our sunsets, full of clouds in the sky. And I bet you can smell wet grass, rain and burnt wood in the air. But I can smell only one thing, and put my lips on Roby's 'cause I'm sure he can smell it too. It's that scent, again. The scent of coffee grounds.

Three nickels

“21. 11. 1992

Dear Santa,
Ill write you early enogh so you can find the time to find the stuff I need.
This year I don't want any presents for me even tough I've been a good girl, but I just need a kimono and a radio, 'cause mama needs them. So I can help her pull out the three nickels shes got on her forehead and we can plant them and grow the nickels tree. Thanx a lot, say hi to the reindeer.
Giorgia Badin.”

“18.02.1993
Dear Santa,
I just wanted say thanx for the kimono and the radio, even tough mama didn't need them, after all. Oh, and while you're at it, say thanx to the Wise Men for the candies, mama liked those!
Giorgia Badin.”
“01.02.2013
From: Giorgia gbadgirl@libero.it
To: Ale; Anna; Babi; Cher; Dani; Ele; Eleuni; Elyb; Elytit; Mary; Nick; Ozzy; Peppe; Rosa; Vero
Obj: B-Daaayyyy!!

Hey guys!
I'm depressed right know, can you believe I'm almost 30??! Still I'm safe for another year :-D! And not the oldest of the gang, uh?! Just kidddin! C'mon Vero, no offense meant!! How about celebrating (or drown our sorrows)?? See ya on the 18th of course, at my daddy's place, OK? If my boss won't change his mind on the V-E-R-Y S-H-O-R-T meeting we're having (he's such a cock), I'd say we meet 9.15 so that MAYBE you, Ely, will make it on time??! Let me know who's coming so I can book the place! Bring whoever you want! See yaaaaaa! Hugs,
Giò

P.S.- This year NO PRESENTS, no kidding!! But you can bring the cake ;-)!”
“18.02.2013

Dear Giugi,
the date on this letter is not -of course- the date it was written, but the day you'll receive it. I didn't choose your 29th birthday by chance. When you're 29, you're often taking stock of your life, making tough choices, tough decisions. Or, as in my case, you suddenly see "game over" on your screen. I'm 29 right now while I'm writing, you're in your room and you're just eight. In my whole life I always did everything in a rush, as if I had known I wasn't allowed to waste my time. But I wouldn't retrace my steps, I don't have any regrets and just few remorses. I started writing because this morning, while touching my forehead, you asked me what those bumps were. Since I couldn't explain, I told you they were three nickels, remember? And that I would have had to go to Heaven, to pull those out and plant the nickels tree. Forgive me for lying to you, forgive me for not being there to see you grow up. See? I'm asking your forgiveness for things not under my control. This is something you should keep in mind: be always sorry and thankful, even for things that don't figure on you or people around you. There are so many things I wish I could teach you, even if I'm not the best person to do that. Take care of your dad, he looks strong but he's fragile inside. I wish I were by your side, when you'll have your first gratifications, and your first disappointments too. Don't beat yourself down, be strong. You're already strong.
You just came and showed me your letter for Santa. You must have heard me and your daddy talking about chemo and radio therapies... I'm so sorry honey, I didn't mean to steal your dreams.
Back to us, what were we talking about? Now that I don't have much time left, I reconsider everything under a different light. Sounds prosaic, but it's true; oh, by the way, the old "when you don't have much time left you do everything you always dreamed about" isn't true. It's bullshit. When you're diagnosed a cancer, you spend every second trying to recover, and you have hardly any energy left. Thus, live now, live every second without a second thought, don't linger on resentment or regret because you really have just one life. And nothing lasts forever. Now that you're young, everything seems to last forever, delights as much as deprivations. It's not like that. Everything -except death- changes more often than you could imagine. The way you'll miss me -that will change; the "endless" love for your first boyfriend -that will change; the disappointment for your first breakup -that will change; the job you hate -that will change; your lease on life -that will change. Don't ever let your life go without your guide, fight to change what's wrong. And don't ever stop fighting just because everybody else goes against you: I fought to get married and give birth to you when I was barely twenty, and now everybody agrees with me. Even your grandma.
Always follow your instinct, even in the worst moments, because I trust it to lead you in the right direction. Remember how the sun rises in the sky: it always wins, against any clouds, it will fight and rise every single day. Do the same, follow your light, rush headlong into every experience, breathing every moment of those. I'm already missing those breaths, those smells and those moments which get out of my hands... but I wish you will feel this nostalgia in a far future, in sixty years at least.
I wish I could write forever, but I don't think I can. Trust yourself, don't trust others too much, and most important don't trust those who promise the world to you. Your dad conquered me with actions, not words. Take care of him, make him proud. Now it's time for me to end this letter. I love you, I know you know it, and I'm not watching you from up above, so do all the crap you want to. If one's value is measured on the mark she leaves on others, when I look at you I'm proud of myself because I'm worth much more than I could ever imagine. Have a nice life, happy birthday Giugi.
Mommy.

PS- In the envelope you'll find three nickels... who knows if they'll still exist, in your future, and maybe they're worth a lot!"

“15.03.2013
From: Giorgia gbadgirl@libero.it
To: Babi
Obj: Done!

Baby, it's done!
I booked the flight... and gave notice!! AAAAHHHH!!! I've never been this impulsive, am I fucking things up, whaddo u say?! I know it's crazy, relying on a letter and all that stuff, but... you know, it's my mother!! She's right, I should live my life! Do you remember when we bungee jumped, that time?! Here, I'm diving with the same recklessness... and we liked that so much! Yes, maybe it will hurt afterwards, but why don't we mention the thrill of the jump??! Oh by the way, I went to have the coins evaluated as you told me: yes, you were right, this coinage is a rare one, they're worth a fortune! But I don't care, I gave them to my daddy because I know he treasured them. Now I must go, I don't want THEM to find out I'm minding my own fucking business while at work, these last days ;-)! Call you tomorrow, hugs!
Giò
P.S.-Would you mind learning how to use that fucking Skype, so I can at least call you once I'm there??!"

Who knows (taste of regret)

Memories are treacherous: you're sure that they're elaborated, rationalized and stored in the back of your mind to explain all your life's events… and then, little removed details suddenly come to light, awaken by the smallest feeling. And so you understand, in that short instant, the reasons of many of your behaviours. Thus, when my seven-year-old daughter insists on making me taste that so-called "strawberry milk", I'm not expecting what's about to happen. It happens that the so-called milk tastes like strawberry chewing-gum. So what?! So much, instead. 'Cause that's the same taste of my first kiss, so long ago. I remembered having thought two things: "Tastes like strawberry" and "that's it?!" But then that beautiful sensation came back to my mind, for a short instant. Having the whole world at my feet. Having all that I wanted. My mind empty, no thoughts. Pure happiness. It lasted just a moment, then and now. And since that day -that evening, I mean- I never dreamed of flying anymore. My analyst told me it's because I'm not able to let myself go. Of course. The bruises of the crash, when you fall, remain, they don't heal. It's called "growing up".
Then there was my first time. My first time tasted like tears. Not because of the pain –not only that, at least- but because it represented freedom. Freedom from taboos, from concerns... concerns of what?! After all these years I can't recall it, but sometimes that taste of freedom comes back to my mind, oh yes.

And then so much water flowed, under the bridges. Bridges of life, death, pain and joy. And then he crossed the bridge. He seemed so far from me that I must have been on a boat. Our affair was a matter of distance and lack, more than normality. That normality which -who knows- could have destroyed us. Our desire was fed by the impossibility of living it -or, who knows, it could have been real love. And after all, "real" depends on those who live it. And we both lived it, but each one in his corner, afraid of the possibility that the whole world could have put us to the test and asked us a reason for being us, and not simply "me" and "you". I insisted on saying that a dream can change the whole world's mind, and persuade it. When you're young you're sooo ingenuous, sometimes. But then maybe -who knows- if you try, maybe the world is ready to be changed by a dream. And then maybe -who knows- we would have fallen upon that normality that scared us so much. All that I know is that, when I hugged him, in that fake friendship's farewell in which each one really wished the other one to find a way that would finally separate us... well, I tasted tears once again. But they didn't taste like freedom, this time. They tasted sour, they were talking about regret. And if I think of us now, and despite everything I look at my normality, that doesn't scare me anymore, since I'm far from him... I can still taste that flavour in my mouth.
And I think, who knows?

No smoking

Every time I used to leave or come back, the "no smoking" writing would welcome me. It was written in enormous letter over the buildings sorrounding the railway station, and it had become the symbol of every trip, ever since. Now that I was coming back to the place I used to call my home, that writing had disappeared.. of course, since the smoking ban was now law, there was no need for it to be written everywhere. The station though was still the same, so grey, smelling bad and with all those faces that here are called "sooo shady" and instead, there where I consider to be my home now, are just faces and nothing else. I was setting foot in Italy for a short weekend, right on the threshold of my endurance to my mother's care, just for a special occasion: ten years from our graduation, to see how much we've grown old and what's happened to That who's not Her boyfriend anymore. The places that I used to know have changed, but not so much. The streets have still holes in the asphalt, people and houses are still asking themselves if we're a village, outskirts or a little town. The air smells like smog. But the date with our past is "downtown", so at least it's troubling for everybody - and that's fair. Our funny chap mate arranged the whole thing, reserving a front-lagoon pizzeria to have the comfort of the landscape, at least. "Downtown" you can smell saltiness, humidity, sewer.. same as always, but in the evening you smell saltiness more than anything, so you feel better and almost think you're on holiday. So here we are, twenty adults who don't know what to do with this meeting, except for buzzing about it the next day, with the only close friend left frome those years. There's the copycat, the never-studying one to whom everybody should always pass the tests but-it's-really-not-fair-'cause-this-is-my-effort-and-you're-taking-advantage-of-it, there's the self-confindent girl damn-English-teacher-wasted-my-high-school-years-but-I-still-have-a-fucking-degree, there's the poser girl from-my-loft-I-can-see-the-London-Eye.. guess what, it's enough to say that you live in London, and you MUST see the london Eye, that big. «Instead I live in Lausanne, and from my loft I can see the lake». It's a joke –of course you can see the lake, you can see it from every house in Lausanne- but He's the only one to get it. Yeah. Of course. He saw it, “the loft”. He was supposed to live with me, in the loft. It was not a must, but it was a plan. At least my plan. Slightly before he planned to tell me "If you love me, stay here". «How are you?» Where do I start from? I'm just like that. I'm looking for something that may not even exist, I'm blaming other people for that happiness that I can't find in what's already there, and that's so much. «I'm fine, and you?» Let me tell you that you look like one whose eyes are full of melancholy and regret. But it could be just my sensation. «Not bad, you know.. the same, you know.» Yeah, the "same" that we used to share day and night, and seemed so worth to me. The same that turned out to be the same, nothing else. So true, the magic vanishes. He's a little fatter, turned a little whiter, he's a little normalized. He's not the man I wanted to marry anymore, I can't recall what I thought was so special about him. Except for the love he felt for me. «How's your job, how do you feel living in Switzerland?» You mean, except for those two lonely months spent crying? And the remaining time healing the wounds, to finally find out that I'm stronger by myself? And those pathetic attempts to hear each other? As if we could really remain friends, after all? «I was sorry not to hear from you again» «I think it was better like that» «Yeah, maybe you're right» Still don't have the guts, uh, even after all those years? I don't know what I'm looking for, but it's certainly not here, tonight. Not in his eyes, not in twenty faces that play no role in my life. And I even ate a better pizza in Lausanne. We stand up, a quick walk by the lagoon, then we greet each other. «Well, take care. Maybe we could hear each other, someday.» Yes, of course. Guaranteed. I walk away, breathe deep the air of what used to be my home and I used to think was my whole world. There was a time when I thought I could stop. Then I understood that maybe those who wanted to love me should have followed me - or wait for me, like John Donne's compass. To go back I get on a plane, to escape faster. I take my seat, fasten my seatbelt, watch the lagoon farther and farther away, I fly over the clouds and let myself be blinded by the sun. Beep. A warning has been switched on. It shows a cigarette with a red cross over it. No smoking. Welcome back home.

One noise, just one

One noise, just one. To sweep this gloomy air away, to heat this night with new life, 'cause night creates ghosts and fears. I was afraid of the dark when I was I little girl too, she thought. It's waiting for those things that we don't see, but we know exist, that scares us. Or -maybe- we're afraid of being alone and listening to ourselves. Too bad, that loneliness. But you have to turn the light on, right? That's how everything turns out right. But it could happen that it lights up only a little part, it could happen that I can't find the switch. That's when fear comes back. One noise, just one, would be enough to make you understand that life goes on around you, to understand that everybody else isn't looking at you. Or maybe is, if that noise is the bogeyman's step, if he's coming to grab you. Shit, I'm freaking out. No good, you must breathe deep Meggie.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.Panting doesn't do any good. It's a friend of silence, and silence brings ghosts and fears along, 'cause it's a night-mate. Oh no, this is no good. I'm sweating.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Neither the moon is brave enough to show herself, what a coward. And I know what "coward" means. Oh God, I know. Well, is there a God somewhere? I would really like to meet him, if he does exist, so that I could congratulate him. He made me perfect. Wealthy family, happy life. Not too many ambitions, way too many illusions. And the dream of love. Why didn't he make me a lesbian? Could have been the same, who knows. Or maybe not. I would have find it out too late, for sure. Another missed opportunity, one more. For her all life, in every damned event of those filthy twentythree years, she had never arrived at the right moment, ever. I was even born too soon, my fate was written. Fate. He's there, beyond everything, he manages everything and decides everything, he never speaks and throws cheap shots. But if you go off to war with him, it's like you're an underdog. And what's worse is that you cannot fly into a rage, this is not left to you either. 'Cause it's not someone's fault. "Fate's fault", you shrug your shoulders and that's all. But I can't beat anybody up, and I can't lean on anything. He must keep the balance, he must keep this crappy world up. That's the reason why he's so constant, he repeats the same old story again and again. It's such a pity that I found myself in the middle of that. If only HE was there, too. That's a record. Five minutes without mentioning HIM.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
He's not here and he won't be here. You must do without him. But the pain... you can't do without the pain. And it comes from deep inside, that's where it starts from. And there are no fake tears, no more light memories. Tears are as real as ever, memories are way too heavy. Tears that turn into screams, memories that turn into stones. Your wall is made of stones. But everywhere you turn, there's his smell, his face, his smile. All those things now are gone. And if you try to hug his shadow, you can't grab anything but yourself. But if you can't stand tall, you'll fall over and you will never learn to fly. And everything falls along with you. He's not here, you must do without him. In six months, how many time did I say that? Had I ever understood that. Had I ever learned that. If only... if only what?? If only I was different, but I can't be. I just can't not give a damn about it. As if it wasn't anything. It was everything, that's the fact. The fact is that I never arrive at the right time. If I had arrived before, I would have had him on time. If I had arrived later, maybe he wouldn't have even noticed me. 'Cause he would have already been with her. "Already"? I should say "again". "Her"? "Slut" would be more appropriate. Oh my God. Calm down.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Maybe I was too weak, maybe he was too unsure. I don't know, I can't know. Being at his side all those months, not knowing if he feels the same, if his heart is beating at the right pace. I don't know who would stand that. Having to trust his words, even if the light in his eyes shows a different colour. Your conscience then, it'd better shut up. Or it would tell you, that he's not talking real.
Devastating. It's so tremendously devastating. Suddenly arriving in his life, when they were breaking up. Bad choice, bad timing. Falling in love with him, while he was still thinking of her. Bad choice. Waiting all the time he needed, allowing him enough time to recover. And, in the meantime, falling deeper in love with him. Oh God, why? Why.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.Kissing him, then. And what's worse, believing that that was the solution. Figuring a solution where there's no solution. Believing that a hug, a strong hug could reassure both of you. But his hug is a shy one, his squeeze is not convincing. And you pretend not to see. And you spend your time hoping he will call you, watching TV 'cause if there are interferences, it could be the mobile ready to ring. Damn stupid, they were just interferences. Your mobile is dumb and the silence is a night-mate. And so, you create your ghosts and fears, but who can prevent that? Wonder who he's thinking of. Maybe he's thinking of her, and she's thinking of him. And I'm still here, waiting for interferences. Maybe he doesn't love me anymore, maybe he's thinking about going back to her. And I'm not brave enough to ask him. 'Cause if I turn the light on and I find out the bogeyman for real, then I know it's over. Better be uncertain, 'cause I'm sure he will choose me, at the end. Whatever. Slut. Such a slut. She took him away from me, and he let himself be taken.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
I would have made the grade. I would have persuaded him that I was the right one. If only she hadn't come back. Sure, what can you do? After two years with her, six months with me can be thrown in the dump. Together with my whole life. Today it would be our first year. Today, right here. But he's not here, I must do without him. And the pain and the silence clasp my soul, good God how it hurts. He disappeared, soon after telling me he was going back to her. Nasty coward. He surely is an asshole, but I just can't hate him. 'Cause the fate drove him, he loved me. He loved me. And now he's not here. I must do without him. But how can I? How?
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
There must be a reason, for all this. Sure. Such a pity that nobody knows it. Oh, but I'm not waiting for someone to explain it to me -that's for sure. I've got the solution, 'cause he's not here. This night lasts too much. I just have to calm down.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
And close my eyes. And know everything's fine. Know that I'm worth. He used to tell me. But he's not here, and I have to do without him. Goodbye my soul. I used to love him. I still love him. I love you Jack, can you hear me? My darling, can you hear me? Holy God. My God.Bang.
One noise, just one, ripped the night, swept the gloomy air away, woke up the nature. One noise, just one. And just like a call, here he comes as if he heard it. He comes, he sees, he doesn't know.
'Cause if it had to be a goodbye, it would have been a goodbye, but as he wanted it to be. 'Cause "cancer" must not be said, cancer scares, cancer hurts. And she was so close, she had already healed him, from a too long-dragged love. Suddenly bursting into her life, when she was so frail and so delicate. Bad choice, bad timing. And disappearing, when she was deeper in love than ever. Bad choice, even worse maybe. But fate had decided, it had all the power. There had been no choice, nothing else to do. How could you impose also that, on her? How, after imposing on her to be close to you, to be able to stand what everybody else wouldn't have stood, to heal, with her smile, the disillusion of a past love? That smile that teased him, that face that kept on coming back, in the places, in the streets, in the smells and faces of their love, so brief and yet so intense. It would have lasted, one more instant would have been enough to reach eternity. But if pain doesn't leave any way out, disease leaves even less. And that illness, so big, so invisible, had taken possession of him, and life changed. His eyes changed, when he said I Love You, 'cause if this could be the last time, you're almost breathless when you say it. And you're not brave enough to tell her why, why that voice, why that blink. And if you don't say it, the silence will create ghosts and fears for you. Fear of not seeing her again, fear of hurting her, fear of stealing her smile, but her smile is all that's left for you. And fear brings you to drastic decisions. 'Cause she will hate. But rather than hating fate -'cause against him, you're an underdog-, she'd better hate you. She'd better call you a bastard, she'd better have a picture to tear, a pain to yell out, a name to give to that pain. 'Cause maybe, if it's you that will give her that pain, that pain can heal. Maybe. You'd better tell her you're going back to your past, you're going back to the other one, nobody's fault. This last thing, then you're gone. You just can't say who paid more. But you paid a lot. So painful, that hospital room, that white cold wall where her eyes still reflected themselves, and her face in your dreams. Don't know how, you fought thinking of her, hoping she could still be happy. And instead, you recovered. Don't care how, you're out of that. Regressed. Cancer has regressed. And while it's gone, you come back. But not at her's, couldn't be such a bastard. You come back to see one more place that talks about the two of you. The old barn. One year ago a new feeling was born, one year ago a brand new emotion. Memories of her all over the place.
Here he comes, here he goes in, here he sees. And the daylight brings light into him. Here he understands. Here he knows what he did, here he feels where he pushed the limit. Here she is, there, smiling at her mocking fate, while dying. 'Cause one more time, she chose the wrong moment. He's there, she doesn't have to do without him anymore. He's there but it's too late, it's too late when he understands. But the new day brings new light with it, sweeps the gloomy air away and brightens new colours. And as bright as the light, here comes the only choice.
Bang.
One noise, just one, had said goodbye to the night, and one noise, just one, welcomes the day, receives the light and sweeps the darkness away. And finally Jack's heart beats at the same pace as Meggie's. Finally two hearts, but only one beat, only one noise. One noise, just one.

One noise, just one.