Rewind and Play

1996

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Samuel

“Hey Ali,” I greeted her the following day, sitting down on the hard plastic seat. I was back and I was still a man on a mission. But boy, those seats were so small I had to almost fold myself like a lawn chair, in order to fit in and leave Alice some space without squishing her onto the window like a mosquito.

Alice was listening to Bjork. I could hear her ear-splitting voice from the front of the bus. I did not necessarily get Bjork, but I did understand the need to give her a go. I was more into my British indie, at the time, like almost everyone who was into music was into. Except for Alice, of course.

Alice removed her earbuds and looked at me, a slightly puzzled expression on her face which was fairly easy to interpret: why is this guy back? Aren’t there other seats available on this god-forsaken bus?

Not such luck for you today, Giannelli.

The day before, not wanting to piss her off too much, when I found her and sat beside her on the way back, I reined myself in and was quiet; we just listened to some more REM and then parted ways without barely saying a word to one another. She probably thought she was done with me then, the poor girl.

“Uhm, ciao Samuel.”

“What did I tell you? If we are going to be friends you can call me Sami,” I smiled brightly at her, determined to win her over, starting now.

“You are far too perky for seven in the morning,” came the grumpy reply. However, she added, after a beat, “Sami.”

“Good woman,” I said, patting her knee lightly, some confetti flying from a cannon in my head because, despite the fact that Alice was clearly not a morning person, she must’ve liked me a tiny not to bodily throw me out of the window.

That day, she was wearing a purple chenille jumper, her hair up in a very messy bun, curls escaping and tumbling down her neck. I had the sudden need to wind one of those curls on my finger and pull a little, but I didn’t think she’d be happy about that either, considering she was scrunching her eyes tight in what could be either disbelief or irritation.

“Not very chatty at this time of the day? Does it take you some time to get going?”

“It’ll get better, if you stop annoying me for two seconds,” was what left Alice’s mouth. Her eyes went wide; it was probably too early for her mental filter to be in place. It was unbearably cute. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

I only chuckled: “That’s all right, at least you are talking to me. What are you listening to?”

“Bjork.”

“Ah, I’m not sure about her. I don’t think I get her?”

“Same here… I felt I had to give her a go. Wanna listen to some Neil Young instead?”

Ok, weird choice for a seventeen-year-old girl, but sure.

“Let’s.”

The bus left the parking lot, rumbling and spitting dark fumes, most of them, incredibly, inside the vehicle.

After a while, it felt safe enough for me to ask, keeping my voice low: “How did your first day go?”

Alice replied: “It wasn’t too bad, at least this time around I knew what I was walking into. Last year, I couldn’t make heads or tails of either Greek or Latin…”

“Why is that?”

“You see, our professor seems to be more interested in telling us tales of when she was a ballerina at La Scala – I am not sure if that actually happened or she’s making it up as she goes along, the mad woman – rather than actually teaching us anything. I kind of only know the letters of the alphabet after a year.”

“Ouch”.

“Also,” went on Alice, on a roll, her expression getting more animated, “except from Clara, my best friend from Castelnuovo, the rest of my class mates are eh… underwhelming. They are all from these posh families. The first day our prof was all ‘Oh, say hello to your dad, your uncle, the doctor, the dentist, the entrepreneur,’ etcetera. Yuck.”

“Sounds like you are making friends for life,” I snickered.

Alice finally, finally, smiled. It was such a pretty little smile, like her face was doing it despite her brain’s order not to, under any circumstances.

“There it goes,” I heard myself saying.

“What?”

“Nothing, please go on. You were talking about being best friends for life with all of your class…”

“Ha, very funny. As soon as I get out of there, I will forget at least ninety percent of them, I am sure. I am too different from them and, crucially, I don’t want to be like them.”

“Fair. I wouldn’t want to be like them either. Except for the making money part, that is.”

Alice smiled again, which made my day: “I just picked the Classic option because I thought it was easier. Now I am thinking, why am I studying Greek, or Latin, for? What am I going to do with that after secondary school?”

“I am sure you will figure it out, after all you are not the only one going through that. But you like studying, don’t you?”

“I wish I was as convinced of that as you are. But yes, I find it relaxing to study. And read. I love reading, and what’s a textbook if not just another book?”

“Very true, nerd girl.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was intended as one.”

After a short silence, spent looking at the fields moving past, each of us lost in thought, Alice asked: “What about you? Was last year ok?”

Well now, some interest was being shown in my person. That was good.

“It went all right. I am not one of the best but neither one of the worst. It’s kind of easy enough that during a lot of the classes I just get to doodle, which is what I like to do the most. Wanna see?”

“Sure?”

Something about Alice seemed to get under my skin in a way no one ever managed to. I felt so comfortable and, at the same time, so keen on getting a reaction out of her.

I rummaged through my backpack and produced a small notebook, suddenly nervous. It was quite a big deal for me to share it, considering that up until then, only my big sister had seen any of it.

“You are the first one I’ve shown this, you know?”

Alice cocked her head to one side, asking, matter-of-factly: “Why?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any bullshit about you, I suppose?”

“Thanks, I suppose. Hand it over?”

That’s when Alice seriously waved her fingers at me, palm up.

It felt like very serious business indeed, when I put the notebook on her open hand.

Alice started slowly to leaf through the pages.

“Your aunt is the owner of Il Cavallino, isn’t she?” I asked then, trying to get out of my head while she was quietly and intently studying my work.

“Yeah, she just bought it off Paolo Giorgi. She is very excited about it,” Alice replied, absentmindedly.

“It looks nice.”

“There’s some work to do, but herself and my uncle seem very happy with the state of the place to start off.” She closed the notebook with a snap, looking up at me.

“Samuel,” she said, through her thick black curls, “this is amazing.” She wasn’t smiling, then, but I recognised she was being serious about it, which was even better, in a way.

“They are just doodles, but I enjoy making them.”

“They are not just doodles, look!” Alice pointed at different drawings on the notebook, like I didn’t know them. At the time I loved reproducing mainly natural objects, flowers mostly, but I also spent some time drawing everyday stuff lying on my desk at school. I sketched in pencil, mostly, inking only the couple of things I liked the most.

“They are incredible,” said Alice, reverently. She sounded almost in awe: “I can’t do anything with my hands. I’m incredibly clumsy. I have always admired people who are practical, and can actually make stuff. Building, cooking, knitting… It’s amazing, Samuel.”

I felt so proud of myself, but also, kind of embarrassed by her praise.

Since my brain was short-circuiting, my hand moved of its own accord. I jabbed my index finger right into Alice’s ribs, making her double up and bang her face onto the seat in front.

Alice reared back and looked at me, more baffled than ever: “What the fuck?” she hissed.

“Just wanted to see if you had tickles…” said I, like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

Alice looked at me for a second, and started chuckling.

“You are a fucking lunatic, Marchetti, you know that?”

I joined in: “At least you are laughing. I want to see you laugh much more, Alice.”

She shook her head, still laughing quietly: “Don’t do that to me again, all right? I do have tickles. You can just ask me, there’s no need for all this touching. I barely know you.”

“Oh, I plan on changing that too.”

“I can see that. How am I supposed to know you are not a psycho?”

“Only one way to find out, I suppose.”

“Fine.” Alice clears her throat, then thrusts the notebook back in my hand: “It’s really lovely. Thanks for showing me.”

“You are most welcome, Alice. Hey, do you think your aunt will need a waiter?”

Alice shrugged: “I don’t know, but I can ask. You need a job?”

“I might, yeah.”

“Ok, I’ll let you know what she says.”

Money was tight in the house, and I needed to find out a way of helping my mother, sooner rather than later. We were already in San Giuliano at that point. We had been so engrossed in our conversation that the earbuds had been lying, completely forgotten, somewhere in the crevice between our legs.