Rewind and Play

1997

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Alice

Early February doesn’t seem like the best time for a school trip. However, it turned out excellent, for a variety of different reasons.

Obviously, the true reason for a school trip in February is that they are extremely cheap. After all, what’s eleven hours on a bus to a bunch of teenagers?

On the way to Prague, we stopped for one night in Lintz, where, epically, a very angry concierge stopped some boys trying to get into some girls’ room exclaiming: “Linz to Mathausen – five minuten!”

Despite being ever so slightly on the other side of politically correct, everyone loved it and it quickly became the catchphrase of the trip.

After a 4 hour-detour through the dreary Czech countryside, we got to Prague and checked into an enormous hotel on the outskirts of the city. Everyone loved Prague; two of my classmates got tongue piercings and everyone was suitably horrified when, at the hotel restaurant, we were offered spaghetti as a side to a slab of meat. McDonald’s became quickly everyone’s best friend in those dire circumstances. Prague’s nightlife was not fantastic (everything closed very early in the evening, at least in the city centre), but the hotel bar stayed open until late and had very loud music, so if you squinted enough, it almost looked like a real night club. Not that anyone minded, anyway. We were delighted to be the only customers in the place, so we could basically act like we owned the place until the teachers decided they’d have enough and wanted to go to bed.

Then, night games would begin. They were normally quite innocent, two or three rooms merging into one big sleepover, but the excitement of combining boys and girls far, far away from home played an important role. The gossip in the mornings was always excellent: who this guy was rumoured to have slept (in what way was often unclear) with this or that one.

During the last of the three nights we stayed in the colossal hotel, Govi approached me and gifted me with one of the most spectacular making out sessions I could remember.

We did, then, almost become an item. Almost, because Govi was a well renowned scoundrel who used to have several girls on call at any point.

I did not mind being one of few because already, at the tender age of seventeen, I could recognise a toy boy when I saw one and, for that reason, I was very happy to take the experience (quite literally) and grab the ass when I was given the chance.

Govi was an exceedingly good looking, if a bit short, guy. I already knew that he wouldn’t be an actor anytime soon, but his friendship with the local Nick Carte made him kinda cool. I was just happy to make out with him until my lips were swollen and sore. Then, after trying for five minutes to have a conversation, I would leave him to go and gossip about him with Clara and Marta.

The two appreciated the real (and very practical) reason why I accepted “being used” by Govi, but could not stop themselves from teasing me mercilessly.

Samuel was still going out with “Vicky”, and I missed him, but I also didn’t want to be a bitch. So, I smiled and pretended to be happy for him. I was pretty sure he knew something was up, but, being as much of an actress as Govi, and this was as much effort as I was willing to make.

Shortly after coming back from the trip to Prague, it was Carnival’s week. On Fat Tuesday, we’d go to a ball (calling it a ball might be a bit on an overstatement, considering its location) at the Disco Cometa. All discos and clubs in the area would be holding both a kids’ ball in the afternoon and an adult one in the evening. Of course, it was a masquerade ball, so everyone would show up dressed up like a princess, Superman or whatever was in fashion that year.

I would be attending the night ball for the first time. Carnival was a fun night, so slightly below legal and barely legal youths were tolerated on the premises until a certain hour.

Marta was far too cool for this and anyway, she was off with her parents somewhere exotic.

Clara and myself were going to dress up like two old crones. This would allow us to spy upon everyone else in peace and generate some interest and mystery for good measure.

We were left at the entrance around half eight in the evening, with the promise that we would be out again to be collected by Luigi at half ten.

Once in, we admired the bold, sharp lines of the club and its dark corners. Of course, this was town business, so no one from San Giuliano, including Govi, would be in attendance. Clara was already loving the experience because she barely knew anyone and felt like she was in a truly exotic place.

It was quite early and the club was only half filled, mostly with teenagers at this point, all stuck in the limbo between the children and the adults’ party.

We went to get a Coke at the bar and then started doing rounds, saying hello to people we knew, laughing at their reactions when they recognised us, and trying to look old and mysterious to everyone else. With the exception of a twat who told me that my calves were too big and looked like they actually belonged to an old lady (“I always thought sports are ultimately bad for you,” laughed Clara once she had dragged me away from that guy), the evening had been quite fun.

On the dancefloor, we spotted a guy Clara was interested in (Giulio, heir to the bike shop empire in the village). We were spying him from a dark corner just behind a red sofa, when I felt a pinch in my side and a voice said next to my ear: “Hey, old woman.”

I turned around to see Samuel, all his curls slicked back and wearing what looked like a Roaring Twenties look, completed with a Borsalino hat. I regretted, for a split second, my decision of impersonating an old woman, when he looked like that.

He smirked knowingly, and went to pull up my mask. I slammed my hand over his: “No, Sami! Or the mystery of the old woman will be ruined for the evening! How did you know?”

“I just knew. I want to have a chat with my friend, not this ugly befana. Only you could think it’s funny to dress up like that.”

“I am starting to regret it, don’t worry. The other granny is Clara, by the way.”

“Hey Clara. Nice head scarf.”

“Bought it the other day at the market with my nephew, thanks.”

“It could only be the two of you. Can we talk?” This last sentence was directed at me. I was now starting to sweat profusely under the mask.

Before I could even ask her, Clara was already moving in the direction of the toilets waving a hand: “I will be back in five minutes.”

We sat on one of the sticky fake-leather red sofas far enough from dancefloor that we could hear one another.

“Are you going to take that off now?”

“Wait.” I looked around surreptitiously. I angled myself so that there was a column covering my back, and Samuel, who was sitting across from me, obscuring me from view as much as possible. Then I lifted my mask halfway, showing only my mouth and the tip of my nose. “This is as much as I want to sacrifice to the mystique of the old woman,” I remarked, importantly.

Samuel stretched forward and, seemingly without thinking, he skimmed his thumb over my lips: “Wow, you are sweaty.” Then he looked at his hand, horrified: “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me.”

I could still feel his touch and I was too flustered to be mortified for being sweaty: “And then you call me a weirdo. I missed you too, a hug would have been enough.”

Samuel wiped his hand on the striped trousers: “I’m so sorry, Ali. I did miss you too, though. I made you something. We haven’t talked a lot recently, but I did think of you, and whenever I did, I found a song. Will you have space in your granny bag for this?”

Samuel was taking a cassette out of his pocket.

I was delighted to discover that it was a mixtape. Not wanting to spend the next half an hour, to say the least, obsessing over it, because I’d need some time to listen and ponder in peace, I pretended I wasn’t as excited as I felt about it. I took it from Samuel’s hands and chucked it in my, indeed, enormous bag.

“Thanks Sami. I miss you too.”

I turned around one way, then the other, then, sounding much brisker than it was my intention, I asked: “Where’s your girl?”

“Wow, that was abrupt. She’s not here yet. But you sound pissed off at me, all of a sudden.”

My face, which had just started to cool down, grew hot again: “Sorry. I am not.” I bumped my knees against his, and his expression, which had turned annoyed, softened: “It’s the first time someone gives me a mixtape. I am such a loser that I normally make them for myself, except a couple of times, when I made one for Clara.”

“You are not a loser. You are anything but.”

It looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead he leaned forward, his thumb finding a way to my lips again, fingers on my cheek. “I really don’t like this mask,” he murmured.

It felt right, to have his thumb on my lips again. This was a more deliberate gesture, and I opened my mouth a fraction at the prolonged contact. Samuel’s eyes went to my lips, and he didn’t move his hand away.

This sudden shift in the air around us confused me. We had been sitting next to one another for many months now, talking about a lot of stuff. There had never been any tension. Right now, I was feeling like I was about to catch fire.

No amount of making out with Govi could prepare me for this. The, all things considered, quite innocuous contact was stirring up all sorts of reactions within.

Samuel leaned forward some more, eyes on mine, making me feel hotter and hotter by the second.

“Sam!”

His hand fell away quickly, and he moved back in one liquid movement. Vittoria was approaching, and she didn’t look happy.