I feel a very strong blow. The window pane breaks and something enters the house crashing into the living room wall. Sitting on the armchair I look at that "thing" in horror.
I get up, run to the terrace and jump from the fourth floor. A dull thud follows a shorter-than-expected flight.
I turn off the turntable. Music has got me bored. I open the refrigerator and take a sip of coke. I look at the bottle, the white waves on the red background, I grab it by the neck and slam it against the table, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
I have to pee. I head to the bathroom but I can't resist and I do it in the corridor against the phone cabinet. Who cares?
I have to go. I have an appointment at seven and I'm late. A huge butterfly brushes my face as I enter the bedroom. I take refuge behind the wardrobe and look for something to kill her with.
I put on my white shirt, blue sweater, blue jeans and brown Clarks. As usual.
I go out on the landing after having checked three times that the gas was turned off. I lock the door with three turns of the key but I'm not sure I've turned the gas off. I open and check everything again. OK. I close, I look out at the stairwell and decide to throw myself downstairs. My head, unfortunately, gets stuck between the iron bars between the second and first floors and comes off at the neck, rolling right in front of the Martinelli‘s door.
Finally I'm in the courtyard,[I get in the car and go out onto the street. It is a drizzly November day and a light mist surrounds all things. I hear a voice telling me: are you sure you've turned off the gas? That's enough!
I pretend nothing has happened and in the meantime I run over an old man who is crossing the street. Blood splatters on the pedestrian crossing and a child screams like a madman at the crushed head of the old man. The Video Club sign flashes intermittently. They haven't had it fixed yet. I think.
The trees are laden with leaves ready to fall. Soon they will fill the streets with all shades of yellow and brown. I like autumn. Things tend to fall and I let myself go too. I like the city with those colors, people with sweaters and corduroy jackets. It reminds me of the countryside, the scent of grass and wet earth. I turn and kiss Francesca on the lips. Gently. Then I slip my free hand under her skirt and into her panties. A feeling of warmth pervades me and for a moment I close my eyes. I hear her panting and arching against the seat. With one hand she presses on the door and with the other she squeezes my thigh.
We crash into a tree before turning into via Donizetti. From the hood of the car comes a thick gray smoke that mixes with the fog. The left front wheel, slightly off the ground, continues to turn.
I feel like smoking and I stop at the tobacconist‘s in Piazza S. Stefano. I leave the car double parked and enter. A pack of Camels please.
I leave and light a cigarette thinking of Francesca. Of her smooth lips and what I would do if she was there.
I would have taken her the way she likes it. But now she gets fucked by someone else so fuck you, you ugly bitch. Soon I would be seeing Barbara.
I feel a stabbing pain in my chest and my left arm stiffens. I stop on the side of the road as my heart goes crazy. Chest pain again and I find myself bloodless with the gear stick pressing on my stomach.
I find a parking space right in front of Nirvana. I see her in a corner kissing someone. He hugs her back and she sticks her tongue in his mouth. I cannot believe it.
“Hi.” She tells me. And she runs towards me smiling.
“I didn't see you. Where were you?”
Back there, sitting.
She looks at me spellbound, as if she is expecting something from me. I am a little reluctant but then I put my arm around her in turn and kiss her on the mouth. Her warm tongue slips between my teeth.
“Drink something?” I ask her.
“Yes, a negroni.” She goes away and goes back to him. I watch her as she approaches him from behind. She takes his glass, takes a sip and kisses him. The cold liquid mixes in their mouths.
I bring a drink. Barbara is sitting at a corner table next to two girls. I look at them before I sit down and one of them smiles.
“Are you happy to see me?” I ask her.
“Like you, I think ... are you?” She had an ice cube in her mouth and kept passing it between her teeth.
“Well, I am very happy to see you. So you too, guess??”
I'm already fed up with this push and pull. It got off to a bad start and I have no intention of fixing things.
“Who was the one before?” I ask provocatively.
“Who, sorry?” She stares at me.
“I don't know, I thought I saw you with someone when I arrived.” I just want to provoke her.
“Are you crazy? I was being good in a corner waiting for you.” She is nervous. You can see it a mile away. She keeps stirring the ice in her glass and struggles to look me in the eye.
A bus makes a mistake and crashes into the tables in the bar causing a massacre. I can't find her anymore. Ambulances drive madly, sounding sirens at a deafening volume. My fucking arm, where is my left arm? Blood drips onto the pavement forming a thick, sickening pool.
I finish the drink and put the glass on the table. I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. My chest starts to ache again.
“What’s the matter, are you sick?” She says.
“No, it's nothing. My usual anxiety attacks.”
“Come on honey, let's go to your house.” She looks at me with sympathy.
We get in the car and head towards my house.
But I can never feel comfortable. Chest pain again. The arm stops moving and a kind of electric shock rises up from my neck. But I ignore it and kiss her on the bare shoulder. Barbara strokes my chest and gently touches my nipples.
“Fuck…. Not there!”
I hit her and slam her against the glass. She starts to cry and the tears mingle with the blood running from her nose. She's already smeared my whole car, damn it! So I brake and I push her out of the car. As she screams, I screech away without looking back.
We finally get home. “Give me the keys and I’ll open the gate.” She says.
I hand her the keys and wait. I watch her as she opens it, with those precise, slow gestures of hers. She moves in slow motion. She doesn’t miss a movement. You would like to say that the gate could only have been opened in that way. The only possible way. I touch her as I pass her in the car and she gives a start. From the mirror I see that she stops for a moment to look at the ground. The only superfluous movement of whole performance.
Thing I always liked most was getting in the elevator with Barbara. As soon as the doors close, she looks at me and there is no need for me to tell her anything ....
“We have arrived.” Barbara says opening the elevator door.
“Let's go into the house.” I close the door behind me and turn on the light. I am happy to be in my home. I feel really good.
“Are you hungry?” I ask her.
She does not reply. She takes me by the hands and pulls me towards her. My head is spinning. Her eyes hypnotize me and I make my body adhere to hers. I feel her warmth against me.
Driiiin! The bell rings. I look around puzzled and go to the intercom.
"Who is it?" I say.
"Hi, It’s Barbara."
I turn to the window. I approach, open it ... and throw myself downstairs.
Bio:
Before starting writing, I was a designer in Milan and managed a restaurant in Marrakech. Now I live in Tuscany, in order to devote all my efforts to writing. Things I love to do besides writing: I love swimming, drawing and making music. I write songs that inspire me in writing and vice versa. I recently published a blog (Il foglio bianco) where you can listen to my stories, arranged as if they were short films. https://open.spotify.com/show/