Rewind and Play

2014

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Samuel

“Motherfucker!”

Alice looks out of the big glass window in my shop.

“Language, Giannelli!”

“It just started to snow, Sami!”

“I do have eyes, so I noticed. And?”

“They’ve been talking about this for weeks and today, the day we want to go for paint, today is the day it snows?!”

“It’s ok, nothing might come of it, and even if it does snow, we will be back in Castelnuovo before it gets really bad.”

“But I want to start painting!”

“And you will, you impatient woman. You will have all the paint you need this afternoon, unloaded at Il Cavallino.”

I approached Alice.

We have been keeping our distance, this morning. The only contact was the slightly stilted hug we shared when Alice arrived, at the appointed time, at Black Star.

We are now standing in front of the window, looking out into a spectacle of small flakes floating down lazily from the sky.

It’s just started, but it looks like what the TV has been predicting for weeks is finally happening. They are forecasting almost half a meter of snow between now and the day after tomorrow, a record. The village has not seen such a thing since that time, in the Nineties, when almost a meter of snow had fallen over Castelnuovo. I remember I had to walk all the way to my nan’s house, because it was absolutely impossible to even move the car from the driveway. Everything stopped. It had been magical.

I don’t feel too strongly about snow, but I do remember Alice loves it.

I don’t think they see snow often in Madrid.  If the frown I can see on her face now is anything to go by, she’d be happy not to see it at all today. It’s quite cute, the way she is trying to will the sky to do her bidding by giving it an unfriendly look.

No, I am not going to think about cute stuff today.

We are going to the paint shop where I normally buy my supplies, so she can get what she needs for Il Cavallino at a fraction of the retail price. However, the shop is at least one hour away from Castelnuovo by car, and we need to go together because I will be the one making the purchase.

We also still have to nail down a time when we can go through my financial formulas. I am not great at keeping my focus, especially not on something so lifeless as a computer.

I understand she probably doesn’t want to be with me much, after the recent events.  

Which is a fair point.

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. Problem is, even during my own fucking wedding party, I did not feel like I was completely there, sharing the celebrations in this fancy restaurant Vittoria had picked. There was a little corner of myself that was cringing away from it all, wanting to be somewhere else. With someone else.

I have been guilt-ridden since I met Alice again, really. Because I don’t seem to be able to control myself, or my thoughts, or my hands. Everything in me screams that I just made a big mistake.

Rationally, this is just physical attraction, enhanced by the fact that things, between Vittoria and me, have been less than ideal, in the last year or so.

I cling desperately to rationality, trying to clear the fog in my brain. We are going to be friendly with one another, and that’s it. We were friends, once, and we will be friends again.

Despite the way things ended, or didn’t end, I should say, between us. Teeny tiny elephant in the room which neither of us has had the balls to mention as of yet.

We have been texting a little these two weeks. Just standard stuff, and making plans for Il Cavallino. Alice hopes that by doing it up a little, it would help both the customers and Daniela and Gio to give it another chance.

But we haven’t spoken about anything else. Not my wedding, which I even struggle to mention to myself, if I’m honest, not stuff that happened when we were younger. And, for all these reasons, today I am a bit more guarded with Alice, there’s a bit more distance between us. I am sure she notices and she doesn’t mind; in fact, I’m pretty sure she’s relieved too.

At this very moment, we are standing shoulder to shoulder, almost, but not quite, touching. Despite everything, our bodies seem to lean toward one another, that puzzling familiarity between us always there. Alice’s shoulder brushes mine ever so slightly and, suddenly, everything that is sensitive converges to that small spot in my body.

Clearing my throat, I step away and move closer to the window, placing a hand against the cold glass.

“Are you sure it’s safe to move around today? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, Sami.”

“Hey, it’s my closing day as well, and I don’t have any painting jobs. It’s my pleasure to help you out and don’t worry, you are going to pay me back with your services.”

I glance back and see Alice blushing.

Well, this is not going to be easy. 

I shake my head. That’s the problem, there. I can’t turn off the flirty banter, but neither can she: “And here I was trying to be good. Coffee?”

“Yes please.”

After a short while, I place two small paper cups on the counter with a flourish: “Milady.”

Alice drinks from the cup with relish: “This coffee is yum. Thanks. And thanks for helping out.”

“Would you stop thanking me? I do it because I want to, not because you are pointing a gun at my head. I might like you, you know.”

“I have an inkling you might. But then you always have. I felt chosen when you sat next to me on the bus that morning.” She sketches a bow.

I can only smile and shrug: “You seemed like you weren’t going to bust my balls, so you were a perfectly reasonable choice at the time. Little did I know you were a music know-it-all and a chatterbox.”

“You never complained. You even made me a mixtape, for fuck’s sake.”

“Wash that mouth of yours, Giannelli, you swear worse than a sailor.”

“Pots and kettles.”

I suppose at some point we should talk like the adults we are supposed to be about the night at the Cometa, but it’s clear we both want to cling to this sense of comfort a little while longer and we keep talking about nothing for a little while longer.

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We get into Anna’s car, which Alice has taken over for the day, a battered Ford Ka in which I barely fit, to Alice’s unrestrained hilarity. Fortunately, we are only going to get some paint, or we would have had trouble fitting everything in. She starts driving and, in the meantime, I take out my phone, scrolling through my favourite albums.

“All right, do you know Sufjan Stevens?”

Alice breaks suddenly, stopping in the middle the tiny street we are currently on. I almost bump my head on the windshield: “Woman, what have I said? And, have you forgotten how to drive when in you were living in Madrid?

“What was your question again?”

“If you know Sufjan Stevens.”

She looks at me with a suspicious expression that makes me chuckle: “I haven’t asked if you are a secret fan of Adolf Hitler. I mean his moustache rocked but he was a baddie… Have you lost your comprehension skills too over the last couple of minutes?”

“He is my favourite.”

“Who, Sufjan?”

“Yep.”

“Ok, and what’s so extraordinary that two people who like music like him? Fifteen years ago, we had a very similar taste.”

“It’s disturbing.”

“Why?”

“He is quite niche. Quite niche.”

“You are losing me here, Giannelli.”

“It’s… I don’t stumble on people who know him, not to mention like him.”

“Your point being…”

Alice is quiet for a bit.

I try to figure out what’s going on in that quick mind of hers. Is it good, or bad, that we still like the same things? Surely it must be good. But then, it’s possibly bad. Because she is single, and I am not. Because if this was a different point in time, I would have already…

Not going down that road. But fuck me if it’s not hard.

My dating life, before Vittoria, had been appalling. I seemed to have a magnet for weird people. My relationships never lasted long, and not for lack of trying. I tried to date outside of Castelnuovo, but that, if anything, went even worse.

The last relationship before Vittoria had started very well. We went on several weekends away but, slowly, I discovered she was a manipulative, jealous, asshole who was constantly making me feel guilty for stuff I had never done.

That’s the main reason why, when I reconnected with Vittoria, I settled in. I have never dated anymore more “normal” than her.  We fell into a nice, quiet routine pretty quickly, and we never argued, so I thought “that’s it.”

Back to this moment, Alice is still looking out at the flakes falling from the sky, eyebrows knitted together.

Alice never stops talking, so something must be going through her mind when all I get is: “It’s a bit freaky, isn’t it?”

I don’t want to delve into this, because I think I know what she’s thinking. If I got into this, I would be operating contrary to what I swore myself I wouldn’t do this morning.

“Great minds think alike, Ali,” I end up remarking mildly, noncommittally.

Unsurprisingly, Alice decides to move on: “Ok, let’s see how alike we think about Sufjan. Favourite album.”

She resumes driving, at a slow speed because the snow is starting to fall slightly more thickly now, making the road slippery.

“The Age of Adz. Because it’s crazy. Of course, Illinoise, but what I am waiting for is his next one, it should come out next year. Can I put on The Age of Adz? What are your thoughts?”

Alice shakes her head slightly, mystified: “Of course you can. And yeah… I think exactly the same as you. I am looking forward to the next album, he never stops surprising me. A bit like you.”

Music starts playing, and I decide to steer the conversation towards safer shores: “By the way, I haven’t asked, what a poor professional I am. How’s the tattoo coming along?”

“It’s still as beautiful as the day you made it for me. See, another thing for me to thank you for, and I’ve been in Castelnuovo for what? Two minutes?”

I make a “give it to me” gesture and Alice takes the hand off the gearbox to present her arm.

Gently, I push up a little the sleeve of her coat and jumper. Despite everything, my thumb lingers a little too long on her skin, stroking the inside of the wrist and the lines I left there.

I comment, in the most professional voice I can muster: “Looks perfect, no need to touch it up again.”

“You were touching me up very well, thank you very much,” the words escape Alice’s mouth, then she claps her now free hand over it, and, finally, she just laughs and shakes her head.

A laugh escapes me, too. At least, we find ourselves in the same, stupidly shaky, boat, but we have preserved our sense of humour.

Just like that, the tension shatters.

I lean my chin on my hand and, looking out of the window to the increasingly white world: “That missing filter of yours will bring you nothing but trouble, Giannelli. But you know what? I prefer it that way.”