Rewind and Play

2013

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Alice

After a two and a half hours flight, an hour on a bus, a wait of another hour and a half in the Milan train station and an hour on a train, I finally arrive in Castelnuovo.

Slap!

I might leave the imprint of my fingers on my face, but the mosquito, at least, is dead. I know I am too late, however, since a small bubble is already surging from the skin.

Fucker.

Despite the fact that summer should start to give way to autumn, the heat of the day is making me breathe unsteadily. I can feel the grossest rivulet of sweat sliding between my breasts.

At least, in Madrid no insects can be found (with the exception of roaches the size of my head, but let’s not), and the heat is more bearable than here, where it feels like a layer of moisture is covering me head to toe.

Really trying to keep the mood in check here, but I am clearly failing.

I don’t want to be unfair and compare Castelnuovo to Madrid: the former will come up losing by quite a lot and I’m here now, so no point in complaining. I should try and make the most of it.  

Maybe in a month or so I’ll be able to think more clearly about Madrid, my move, this… Holiday? Career break?

Yeah, let’s give it some time.

Sighing, I turn around and open the gate to the small apartment block where the Giannelli leave.

“Ali!” comes a shout from the stairs that lead up to the flat.

My little sister, Laura, who is sixteen now and seems to have grown up ages since the last time I saw her, comes hurtling down and launches herself at me for a hug.

Guilt for all the time I have missed while being away tightens my chest.

“Lauri, you look gorgeous!”

And she does, she is taller and thinner than me, with long flowy hair the colour of honey, and a tanned and healthy-looking skin. She is wearing a short sundress and black flip flops, and for all I know she’s just walked out of a magazine cover.

“You ready for school?”

“It’ll be a breeze!” Says Laura, who, unlike yours truly at her age, is a much more resolute and self-assured girl.

I can only beam at her, in awe.

Laura starts for the entrance, saying over a shoulder, while dragging my bag: “Anna is making lasagne!”

My stomach grumbles, confirming it’s half past eight in the evening. Without further ado, I close the door hastily (fuck you, mosquitoes) and run up the stairs.

“You are back!” exclaims Anna, hugging me tight. None of us really calls her mom, because she is far too scary for that, even if she currently looks happy. This is the moment she’s been waiting for, the moment in which, finally, her daughter is coming back home and stay here forevermore. It won’t last, and I am talking about the homecoming and the happiness, if I have anything to do about it.

Anna does not really understand how this feels more like a defeat to me, either, so I won’t burst that specific bubble, yet.

“Let’s eat!” I exclaim with all the enthusiasm I can muster, running to get my hands washed while kicking off shoes, stopping by the couch to pat Poppy, our ancient cat, on the head.

At the table, sometime later, while the TV is spitting out bad news after bad news, followed by football news and, inexplicably, cat videos, our quiet dinner is interrupted by Anna, who asks:

“So, what’s the plan?”

I would’ve thought we could get through dinner without any confrontations or uncomfortable questions. But Anna is not like that. She gives with one hand and takes away with the other, forcefully. She is elated that the runaway daughter is back, but she also wants, expects, her, to have a plan. No slacking in the Giannelli family.

“Ah, well, the plan is to go see auntie Daniela tomorrow and see what she needs”.

“That woman doesn’t know how to tie her shoelaces; she won’t know what she needs. You better be prepared for that” spits out Anna in a low voice, venom lacing her words.

“She’s at least nice” mumbles Laura between forkfuls of deliciousness.

Anna gives her the Stare.

“She can be a bit scatterbrained, at times” Laura whispers, looking down into the lasagne like they could tell her the meaning of life.

The conversation is rapidly turning sour, so I try and put to use my best peace-making skills: “Her organisational skills are not the best, granted. But she is nice and she is good with customers. Anyway, tomorrow I will go and see what I can help her with”.

“Everything” huffs my mother.

“Anna…” chimes in dad, extending that last “a” for what feels like centuries. The other peacemaker in the family, when he is not watching football.

“Well, I am here to help her, after all.” Oh, my own argumentative side is perking up despite my half-hearted efforts.

“You are here because they fired you in your last job and you don’t have anything else to do for now. I am not even sure that one can pay you, at that.”

Ah, I do miss those first fifteen seconds of pure, undiluted, love I was shown coming through the door.

However harsh it might sound, however, Anna is also right, there’s no denying that.

Indeed, I am “taking a break” from life in Madrid. All my stuff is with Jon, my bestie from over there, and at the moment I do not have anywhere, anything or anyone to go back to, not really. Maybe Jon’s spare room, if I’m lucky.

“I know, mom, but at least that will keep me occupied while I think about what to do next” is what I end up saying, trying to smother my conflicting emotions. The short fuse comes from somewhere, after all.

My phone vibrates in my pocket:

JON: Guapa, have you arrived? I hope you have a great time over there, take the time you need and just let me know if you find some hot Italians to entertain while you go into hibernation

Bless you, Jon.

I put the phone away, making a mental note to write to him as soon as I’m done here, and I take a deep breath.

“So, how’s Inter doing?” I ask Luigi and Laura.

Anna releases a dragon’s breath, but keeps her peace.

And the dinner moves on with a semblance of normality.

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“Ali!”

The joy in my friend’s voice makes me smile, too.

“Clara!”

As soon as the dinner is finished, I call Clara, my friend. And not any friend, one of my very few, very precious, very fabulous, close friends. I didn’t have (or need, for that matter) many friends when I was little, and that has not changed much.

“I’m home, bitch!”

“Welcome back to lovely Castelnuovo! I thought you were due tomorrow…”

“No, I came today, Iberia changed the flight because of some strike or another. How is Marco? How is the wedding prep going?”

“It’ not going very well, considering we haven’t even started… Luciana is going a bit mental because of it, but we are too busy these days. Marco is all good, even if he’s dreading the start of the school.”

“Poor thing. As soon as I am settled, we go out for an aperitivo, yeah?”

“With or without him?”

“Both! It’s not like I don’t have time on my hands…”

“How do you feel being back? Now that you are actually here…”

“It’s ok, for now. I will crash at some point and I will call you again when that happens”.

We have been in touch through thick and thin ever since middle school, even we were apart, Clara living for a time in Paris and myself, settling in Madrid after studying there during college.  We have been part of each other’s life, each other’s family, ever since we were little. We have been there for each another through heartbreak, life changing decisions and moves for what feels like forever and which we hope will go on forever.

Clara has followed my machinations to get fired from my previous job from here, cheering me all the way. She knew I was tired of jumping from forgettable job to horrible job, all mindless, without any more purpose than to just survive. The Madrid experiment had gone well, considering. But Madrid had not given me what I wanted: to find my path. I am pretty sure Castelnuovo won’t either, but Clara at least wins her best friend back for some time.

The third angle to my BFF triangle is Marta, currently living in Málaga. She has already promised she will be back for the hen party, whenever that will be. I just can’t wait to be with them, giggling like teenagers and having beers, talking and laughing way too loud not caring one bit that everyone in the bar is looking at us like we are out of our minds.

If only for this, it’s worth coming back.

“You will be just fine, Ali. It’s just a short stop here. You don’t have to stay, just to catch your breath.” “Right you are Clari. I am just hoping this place won’t asphyxiate me.”