One More Day Page 3

  There was a beautiful lady in the toy aisle who was buying something for her son and, to strike up a conversation, I told her I had a daughter I wanted to surprise. She was the one who suggested the bike.

  If I had been more talkative and more aggressive with Michela, the way I was with that mom, I would have gone to the party that night instead of running around the aisles of a supermarket.

  Something else I usually do at the supermarket is take a stroll in front of the cash registers before I do my shopping, in order to find the cutest cashier. That way, I know where to go to pay for my items. I never go for the shorter line. I always go for the most beautiful. The only time I preferred a male clerk to a cute girl was at the pharmacy, when I had to buy some medicine to help me go to the bathroom. Sometimes I get constipated. The girl was too cute and I was ashamed. I waited for the male pharmacist. He addressed me with a loud, “Yeeees?”

  I wasn’t ready and felt ashamed even though he was a man.

  “Do you have something to help the bowels… for my son?”

  “I’ll get you a micro-enema.”

  “Good.”

  Although, when I saw it, I realized it was too small, and that it wouldn’t have worked on me.

  “Look, come to think of it, I’ll get one for my dad as well, he has the same problem…”

  “I can give you a laxative syrup. Some lactulose.”

  “Ok.”

  The old lady next to me butted into our conversation, “That syrup is useless. Look, I’ve tried them all. The best thing is a nice enema, a 133 ml. one. That should do the trick. If that doesn’t work, I recommend the effervescent suppository, the ones my sister uses. They’ll clean you right out!”

  Although I wanted to keep it quiet and be discrete, at that point I found myself involved in a discussion about enemas, clysters, laxatives, and suppositories used to facilitate rectal digestion. When the pharmacist finally gave me the enema, he told me, “So, this is the one for grandpa…” looking at me as if he understood perfectly well it was for me.

  That evening, after “un-shopping” at the supermarket, I went out for a long walk. I doubled up on my remedies. As I walked I was thinking about Michela at the party. I pictured her laughing, joking, I could see her in tears, hugging her girlfriends. The party was missing a dork. He was out walking around the city.

  When I got home, I spent some time thinking about her with my forehead pressed against the windowpane. I remember it was cold, and it fogged up under my breath. It looked like a beating heart. That evening I fell asleep so late that my cell phone battery didn’t have time to recharge completely; I turned it on and there were no messages, because I had received them all before turning it off.

  When I go to bed late, and look at the time, I can already feel the fatigue of the next day. I know that I will be struggling after lunch, in need of a coffee.

  That morning, as I stepped on the tram I realized I was sad. My gaze didn’t know where to go, it was flapping around like a bird looking for a branch to perch on. Even the following mornings, during my daily commute on the tram, I felt a sense of restlessness.

  She used to be the greatest excitement of my day.

  During my lunch break I thought I could have gone to the airport to see her off, maybe using the glove as an excuse. I could have said I was the one who took it and that I had forgotten to give it back. But most of all, I regretted not asking her for her email. I decided to go there and ask her, or at least to put a boomerang in her pocket so she would come back to me. I went home to grab the glove and I ran to the airport, but by the time I got there, she must have already passed through security. I missed her.

  Then I noticed her flight was 50 minutes late. I thought about buying a ticket and leaving with her. I would have done anything to see her again now that she was leaving, while before yesterday I never made a single move. It felt like when somebody breaks up with you and you wake up, ready to do anything to get her back. Usually it’s too late. I stood there for a few minutes, staring at the timetable. It was as if that plane was taking away a part of me. It had the strange flavor of a missed opportunity. Then I left. As I was leaving the airport I saw her: she was sitting at the bar. An airbag went off in my heart. I was inflated with joy. I stood there looking at her for a few minutes then I approached her. When I was about ten yards away, I saw a man about my age coming from the counter, carrying two coffees. I had just enough time to turn around, make a quick right, and hide behind a wall. Inside my head, I heard the sound of nails on a blackboard. I left without looking back, because I was afraid she might see me, and only when I was far away did I turned around to look. They were laughing. I didn’t know what to do: wait, say hello as if I happened to be there, or leave. I was sad.

  I left the airport and I went straight to a huge super store. I “un-shopped” three carts’ worth of stuff. Then I called Silvia, “She’s not leaving by herself, she’s with a guy.”

  3

  Silvia

  A few years ago, Silvia and I made a promise, “If we don’t find the loves of our lives in the next five years, we’ll have a baby together.”

  About three years after that promise, Silvia met Carlo, and soon after they got married and had a child, a daughter, Margherita. Our friendship remained the same even after their wedding. In the beginning he was a little jealous, I think it was to be expected, but over time he understood our relationship and things returned to normal. It’s nice having a woman as a best friend. It’s different. Sometimes it’s better, sometimes it’s worse. For instance, if you go out drinking with a male friend and you meet a girl, you can always leave him there and take her home. You just have to say, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” Your guy friend will be happy for you. But everything’s different with female friends. It’s a problem leaving them for someone else, even among themselves. When you ask a girl you just met to leave with you, how many times have you heard her say, “I’d like to, but I can’t leave my friend alone.” Among men, the abandoned friend would never expect that; if anything he would add, “Go get her, tiger!”

  One day Silvia asked me what I thought about Carlo, and I told her that as long as she was I happy, I was happy. I said that because I really never liked him too much, or rather I never saw him as someone she could be happy with. I tried to become his friend; we went to see a few games together, but we never really clicked. So I remained Silvia’s friend. It’s not that hard to manage since Carlo is often away on business. He is a complete workaholic. He owns a textile company that often requires him to travel abroad. Silvia helps him a little in the office, but she’s mostly a mom. It was Carlo who insisted she quit her job and focus on their daughter.

  He loves to show off his wealth. He doesn’t carry a wallet, he keeps his money in a clip and flashes the big bills before getting to the small ones at the center: the ones he actually needs.

  He has a bunch of watches, more than one for every hour of the day. A bunch of sunglasses. Suits, jackets, various gadgets, and, naturally, cars. He also has a boat.A speedboat, to be precise. Typical of those who are more interested in getting there, rather than the journey.

  Since I know he likes it when people notice his things, whenever I see him I always compliment him on something he owns. It’s his way of feeling appreciated. I get a little kick out of making fun of him when I see him. “What a nice watch, what a nice pair of sunglasses, what a nice car.” What amazes me is that he thanks me.

  “What nice sunglasses you have, Carlo.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  I never understood why some people thank you when you compliment them on something they own. I’d like to tell them, “It’s not like you designed those glasses! What are you thanking me for? Wake uuuuup!”

  Silvia and I laugh about it. It’s not a matter of being mean. To me, Silvia is like a tightrope walker’s rope: when I’m happy I dance on it with a colorful umbrella, and when I’m sad I hold on to it for dear life.

  We even had a fling for a while, w
hen we first met, but we didn’t make a good couple. We didn’t work like that, but we found out we made great friends. Silvia and I are living proof that friendships between men and women are possible. But only after having made love. Actually, I think we would have been friends anyway but things are much clearer this way. We know that type of relationship wouldn’t work for us. Instead, as friends, we give each other unforgettable emotions and pure love. Silvia is one of the people I love.

  It wasn’t even that bad being with her, the only problem was that we were too much alike: we were two screws, two thorns, two keys.

  Anyway, three years ago she could have been the mother of my children and I the father of hers. In other words, the parents of ours.

  I met her at a bar. Cute, long hair, not too tall, but with a beautiful smile. You could tell she was funny because when she stopped talking her girlfriends laughed. I was with Silvio, super-engaged, and Luciano, who has different taste. Let’s say that if there is a group of people, Luciano goes after the male of the pack. Choosing Silvia was easy because her girlfriends weren’t that cute. When he saw them, Luciano said, “I wonder what they looked like before the head-on collision.”

  I immediately went over to strike up a conversation, “Sorry if I’m disturbing you, but today’s my birthday and I’d like to make a toast with you. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  Silvia looked at her friends, they smiled at her, she was probably seeking their approval; in any case, she grabbed the glass and toasted with me.

  “How old are you?”

  “It’s not polite to ask someone’s age,” I answered jokingly. “An even thirty.”

  Those were my first words with Silvia.

  That evening we chatted a lot.

  I quickly began the sequence of bullshit I always used to pick up women, but the more I talked, the less I was Giacomo the Conquistador and the more I became the ‘I’m-sincere-and-I-hope-you-like-me-for-what-I-am’ type.

  You could immediately tell she was a smart girl and after a few minutes I felt like an asshole, so much so that I turned myself in, “It’s not my birthday today, it’s just a line I use to pick up girls, to break the ice… Are you mad?”

  “No… It’s a good thing if it helps you overcome your shyness. Plus, if you’re an asshole, it’s best to know sooner rather than later.”

  “I’m not shy.”

  “We’ll see about that later.”

  She was very direct, very transparent. This is one of the reasons why, after we made love a few times, realizing there was no spark between us, she didn’t waste any time. She sat me down and told me that she liked me and that she understood that I liked her, but that we weren’t made for each other.

  I was thinking the same exact thing, but I would have never found the courage to tell her. If it were up to me, I would have pretended that everything was fine, then little by little I would have disappeared as per usual. If I had done that, I would have lost a wonderful person.

  I don’t know if it’s common practice among men to say nothing if it’s clear things are going well; I know for sure that it’s something I do all the time. Pretending that everything was going perfectly well had always been one of my talents.

  A few nights after Michela had left, I went to Silvia’s for dinner. The three of us ate together: Margherita, Silvia, and I. Later on I tucked the girl in: she didn’t want to sleep, but after crying a bit she fell asleep.

  Silvia and I moved to the couch and talked for a long time. It was a nice evening. With her, this was often the case. Before telling her all the details about what I had seen at the airport, we talked about her and Carlo.

  “The other night we went to dinner and, besides the usual group, we were joined by Patrizia and Pietro.”

  “Patrizia and Pietro?”

  “Yes, Pietro, Alessandro’s friend.The one he always plays tennis with.”

  “Oh, I see… Why were they there?”

  “Because Patrizia is friends with Giorgio’s wife.”

  “Giorgio who?... Never mind, it doesn’t matter, get to the point. Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because she kept hugging him, holding his hand, and calling him ‘love’… And I envied them a lot. They had what I’ve always dreamed of having, and never manage to get. My marriage is a failure.”

  Her relationship with Carlo was in crisis at the time. Actually, it had been that way for a while. Over the previous year and a half Silvia had tried everything to salvage their marriage, but now she realized that there was nothing she could do. She had waited in silence to see whether it was a passing thing, she had tried on more than one occasion to raise the issue and put all the cards on the table, but it was completely impossible to talk to him. He would downplay things and he would always say there was nothing wrong between them and that she shouldn’t worry if things had changed a bit. It was normal and all marriages were like that.

  “Have you tried to talk to him recently?”

  I already knew the answer because Silvia is not the kind of person who keeps things inside for the sake of peace.

  “In a thousand different ways, but it’s impossible. His reactions are completely absurd, they throw me off and that’s that. We even talked about it the other night, but the next morning he acted as if nothing happened. Everything went back to normal. He’s like a brick wall. Since we talk about it so much, he must think I’m just venting and he doesn’t take me seriously, but the other night I managed to tell him everything I wanted to say for the first time. I even told him that I don’t love him anymore and that the only reason why I’m still here is because of Margherita.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said that he still loves me and that it is normal for couples to go through a crisis. First he humiliates me and criticizes my every move then he says he loves me. From one extreme to the other.”

  “When he criticizes and humiliates you, he does it because he’s small, and so he wants to make everyone else small too.”

  “The other day he even came in close to kiss me and I pushed him away, telling him I didn’t want him. Giacomo, you know this, I told you before, we haven’t made love in eight months. I can’t do it. I don’t love him anymore and I feel that I’ll never be able to love him again. And I hate it when he says it’s normal. I hate it. When he’s away on business, I’m happy. Happy to be home without him. As soon as he tells me he has to leave, I immediately check the calendar to see when. It’s easier to go to bed if I know I’m by myself.”

  “How much longer are you going to stay here with him?”

  “I don’t know. It won’t be easy to leave him. Margherita loves her dad, she adores him, and I don’t have the heart to separate them. How could I ask her not to wake up under the same roof as her dad? What alternative do I have, should I leave both of them? Impossible. I feel it would be selfish to leave. It’s a step I’m not willing to take, because I’m afraid my daughter would hate me for having made that decision. And she is my whole life. I always thought staying in this broken relationship would be better. That out of the two scenarios, this is the easier one to face. But lately I’m not so sure anymore. I don’t think I can take it.”

  “Silvia, I think it’s time. The first time we talked about this was over a year ago. You’ve been trying to save this marriage all along. I don’t know how you do it, or where you find the strength. You’re with a man who doesn’t listen to you and who probably doesn’t even listen to himself. That’s how he likes it. Since you’ve been together, and since Margherita was born, your life changed completely. What changed for him? Perhaps something from the financial point of view, but he kept on doing his thing, as he did before. Period. Until now it has worked out because you have accepted everything. For the sake of making a family you gave up everything. You took on all the responsibilities, and as long as you keep doing it, why should he let you go? The problems started when you began demanding more of his attention, more participation on his part, even when it came to y
our daughter, not only yourself, and he doesn’t like it. The last time you brought this up, he bought you a watch. This is his way of participating. Take all the time you need to leave without any remorse, but make sure you do it. I think it would be better for Margherita, too. Having a mother who’s unhappy doesn’t really set the best example, and don’t think she doesn’t notice. Children understand everything.”

  “I know, I know. You know what she told me the other day as I was tucking her in? ‘Mom, why don’t you laugh anymore?’ I managed to hold back until I left her room and then I cried my eyes out. You know how many times I have cried over the last few months? I even started to have anxiety attacks. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t go back to sleep, I have trouble breathing. It’s never happened before. Margherita is the only one who gives me the strength to go on. All it takes is one word or one hug. She tells me, “Mom, I love you,” and my heart crumbles.

  Her eyes were watery.

  “I’m tired, Giacomo. I’m really tired, exhausted, upset.”

  We hugged and she cried. To cheer her up a bit I asked her how she manages to reject him when he wants to make love to her.

  “He doesn’t even try anymore. It hurt the last time, since I really didn’t want him. I tried to make it as quick as possible and didn't try to stop him. Let’s change the subject… let’s talk about Michela. I never thought you would have gone all the way to the airport for her. No matter what happens, you did good. I thought that maybe the guy she was with could have been a co-worker.”

  “No, no… he was too affectionate. He even kissed her on the forehead before he sat down.”

  “The forehead is not the mouth. What are you going to do, let everything end like this?”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I’ve been telling you for weeks to ask her out for coffee, and you didn’t do it. Now that she’s left, when you get on the tram you’re sad she’s not there. You spend your days thinking about her. Maybe you should try to figure out why she has this effect on you. Surely she’s not the only woman who’s ever approached you. If you’re so into her, there must be a reason. Don’t give up so quickly. We’ve being talking about her for over two months now.”