Rewind and Play

1997

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Alice

I was sitting on a windowsill, Clara to my right, Marta to my left.

We were looking towards a group of boys a couple of years older than us, huddled in the corner of the corridor opposite ours. It was recess, a blessed quarter of an hour dedicated to mingling with other students. In our class, the boys were all weirdos, or taken. The only salvageable one was Antonio, last link in a long dynasty of dentists with lovely, curly, black hair; he knew full well he was the only normal one in the class and, for that reason, took full advantage of it. Already three girls have been seen crying over him since school began this year.

That is to mean, I had to scout outside of the limits of my own classroom.

After the Nico debacle, I was trying really hard to find someone who was at least half decent and/or half normal.

Half normal would do me, that’s how low my standards were, even back then.

We were going on a school trip soon enough, but I didn’t want to wait until the trip to Prague to comb through the other classes’ boys. A girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do and so, here we were, ogling boys during recess.

“Are you coming to rehearsals this afternoon?” Marta asked Clara. Marta and Clara had become friends when participating to theatre as an extra-curricular activity.

“Of course, we are going to start with the Eumenides this afternoon. Carlo wants maximum attendance.”

Carlo, the director, had big ideas for the end of year show: nothing less than a Greek tragedy, the Oresteia, all three plays. He was from Milan and he behaved like the Leopardi’s students were actual actors, according to Clara.

“Wanna come with?” Clara turned to me: “You can have a look at our first table read… It should be fun. Govi is really struggling with Oreste, Pinocchio would give a less wooden impersonation without trying…”

Giovanni “Govi” Govini was the star actor of the year, but he was not liking the role at all, even if it was the main character.

“Thanks girls, but I think I will go home and play some Theme Park.”

“You sure? Govi was asking for you.”

“He was? Why? He’s only seen me what? Once? That time when I came to pick you up before Christmas.”

Clara looked smug, which was the sure sign of her knowing she was about to sway my interest towards actual human interaction dangling the hottie in front of my nose.

“You’ll have to ask him. You know he’s coming to Prague too, don’t you?”

“Oh, are they?” I asked, feigning surprise. Of course I knew. And Clara knew that I knew. Because she knew too.  When Govi’s class, the coolest of the Leopardi; had chosen ours to accompany them on the school trip, champagne had almost been popped.

Clara and Marta were just standing there, looking at me.

“Fine, I’ll come. But if I’m the only one there I’ll go get the next bus.”

“Sure… Like you are not avoiding Samuel anyway. We will go get a toastie, then to the rehearsal and then you can go home, after having spoken to Govi and also having avoided Marchetti. Bam!” Marta makes the point of mimicking an explosion.

“And I’ll also have a look at how good you two are, isn’t that great?”

“I mean, we barely speak throughout the Eumenides, but sure, knock yourself out…”

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“Athene, at Apollo’s voice

I come to you. What’s brought me here’s

No sanctuary-quest for polluted course,

No suppliant’s accusing fears;

Yet those I have fled, as guest, from host to host,

Drive me from land to sea, from sea to coast.

So now before your shrine, your face, I stand;

I look for a final verdict from your hand.”

“He is really bad”, I muttered, looking at Govi, who was trying to convey desperation but mainly looked like something was lodged somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine and was trying to get it out. Granted, Aeschylus was not the first thing that would come to one’s mind when thinking of putting together a play acted by teenagers, but director Carlo Urbani was not going to let anyone get in the way of Art (capital A, you could hear it when he was talking).

“Giovanni,” he stopped his main actor now, walking to the central space of the room where the rehearsal was taking place, shoving a hand in his thick, directorial, hair.

“Giovanni, this is a pivotal moment in the history of Oreste. The Furies are after him and he is throwing himself at the mercy of Athena. We need to feel his struggle, his desperation.”

“But there are so many lines!” Whined Govi.

“See that there, that’s the kind of desperation we need. Don’t worry about the lines for now, worry more about the performance!”

I was really enjoying seeing the golden child being ripped apart by the director. Govi was in his last year and believed the sun shone in full force out of his own arse. Granted, he was really hot and he had a great arse, but without taking that into consideration, his only badge of honour was being friends with the Nick Carter lookalike in the other section. You could often see them, on a Saturday evening, under the portici, strutting like they owned the place. At the same time, they were the popular guys and they were hot (I had reservations about Backstreet Boy, but I had to admire his commitment).

From where I was watching, I also happened to have a clear view of his backend, which was, by quite some distance, his best feature.

That and his dimples. I had always had something for a good dimple.

I thought Govi did not know I even existed, since I was so boring as to even be unpopular, and,  most definitely, not pretty enough. But hey, if life was about to throw me a bone, who was I to say no?

Obviously, I had not seen much of Samuel, recently. Vittoria had taken to coming to San Giuliano on the bus every now and again, quite like Nico did. So, while Samuel and Vittoria shared the “couple” seats at the front of the bus, I was at my seat, listening to good music and not engaging with them.

I did not know Vittoria well, despite the fact that we had been besties. But that was when we were ten, for fuck’s sake. I knew she was an only child, and rumours went that she was quiet. I often wondered what herself and Samuel talked about. Possibly they weren’t talking much, but I didn’t really want to think about that. I couldn’t help but admit that I was being a little jealous. Repeating to myself that I just missed my morning friend did not do much to make me feel better.

That’s why I was there, concentrating on Govi’s “acting”. He was still trying too hard, and acted just badly enough that Orestes sounded like a petulant child.

Fortunately for him and Aeschylus’ legacy, the rehearsal was wrapping up. I made my way to where Marta, Clara and another girl, who was one of the Furies, were huddled, whispering worriedly.

“He is really not getting it, is he?” was saying Marta.

“Carlo will never change him, he promised him the role last year when he did so well for that Brecht, plus it’s his last shot at it,” said Fury Girl.

“You should put him in a loincloth and oil him up, at least that way the audience will be distracted,” I intervened, whispering to match the other three, who broke up giggling.

“It’s not funny!” laughed Clara.

“It’s a bit funny…” I countered.

“Well, he’s coming this way, so you better change the subject,” said Fury Girl, whose name could have been something like Marina? Martina?

“I am sorry, why is this one here?” asked Govi, looking very contrary, pointing at me.

“This one is here invited by her friends. Didn’t know it was a closed-door rehearsal,” I answered. I never liked that type of tone. I was never purposefully confrontational, but I also happened to grow up with Anna (and an array of very aggressive uncles and aunts), so I could hold my ground if needed.

Govi seemed taken aback and, simultaneously, impressed by the no-shit taken attitude.

“Right. And you are?”

“Alice, Giannelli.” I stuck out my hand formally for good measure.

Govi took it in his and seemed to do a double take on me: “Are you in 1-A?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You are coming with us to Prague. Us, you and 1-B.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t really know what else to add, or if the conversation was actually going anywhere.

“Good. I am looking forward to it, now.”

He turned, and walked away.

I turned to the trio behind me and opened my arms in a silent: “What was that about?”

Clara giggled: “I think you are about to know how good of a kisser Govi is, Ali. I am sure it will be a better performance than his Orestes.”