Authors: Manuela Pigna
Andrea
is huffing, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater almost to the elbows, moving
around carelessly on the other side of the foosball table. He’s glancing at me
every so often, but when I unbutton my cardigan he straightens up and stops
everything, until he’s totally immobile. He stares at my hands which slowly
free the small buttons, and from time to time lifts his eyes to observe my
face. They’re the only thing that moves – his eyes – and if you hadn’t seen this
small sign of life, you’d have a hard time believing he was breathing.
“Ready?”
And I really do try hard to contain the happiness in my voice.
Andrea
stirs himself and lowers his head over the foosball. I launch the little ball
and we begin. In less than a minute I’ve made two goals.
“Yeah,
but at least make an effort, otherwise there isn’t even any satisfaction…” I
reproach him.
“Yeah
Andre, at least make an effort…” I hear Nic chime in, having shown up in that
precise moment.
I
look up and see Andrea glare at Nic, who is watching the foosball. “A practice
match that stands alone?”
“Yes,
and we’ve bet on it so don’t distract me…” Says Andrea letting the ball go.
I
notice quickly that he’s trying harder and it takes me a while to make another
four goals. In the meantime, he’s managed to get two on me as well. It’s at
this point that Nic, who’s following and commenting the game from my side of
the foosball table, says, “It looks like I’ll have to distract her a little if
you want to have some chance!”
“Don’t
you dare!” I warn him without taking my eyes off the game. Initially he doesn’t
do anything and I forget about his presence again. After a little, though, I
feel a tickle on my neck and I start to tap myself with my hand as I play. I
hear a giggle and turn around, finding Nic’s face two centimeters away,
chuckling while he blows softly to trip me up.
“Quit
it right now!”
He
laughs and moves away. I turn back to the game, but almost immediately feel
light fingers on my neck again. “Nic I’ll rip your fingers off with my teeth,
I’m warning you!”
With
each of my comments Andrea jerks his head up and looks at Nic. In one of these
instances I make another goal. “That isn’t valid!” Says Andrea with a black
look.
“It
certainly is valid,” I counter, putting my hands on my hips. “It’s your fault
if you get distracted while the game is going on.”
Andrea
grinds his teeth, takes another ball and throws it down violently – I make a
goal almost immediately. We’re at seven to three and I still feel calm enough.
Nic, however, keeps bugging me, always on my neck without really touching me. I
manage to play more or less, even if with difficulty, and to make another goal.
Andrea makes another goal just after mine, and for a few minutes there is silence
while we both concentrate. All of a sudden I feel something under my arms. I
jerk back my left arm and Andrea makes a goal. I hear Nic laugh and I turn
towards him.
“You’re
ticklish!” He exclaims with an idiotic face.
I
turn towards Andrea. “This isn’t fair!”
He
looks at me with a smirk. “It’s your fault if you get distracted while the game
is going on!”
“You’re
a baby!” I yell in his face in a very adult way while I take a ball and throw
it forcefully into the field.
Nothing
will distract me now, nothing. I must absolutely win.
Nic
blows, sighs, whispers in my ear. He doesn’t stay still for an instant, and he
touches me. Everything very innocent to be clear - he puts his hands on my hips,
my shoulders, etc. The only problem is that I hate to be touched. I hate it.
But I want to win and the only thing I do is occasionally make mild death
threats, without taking my hands off the foosball table. I’ve made another goal
and am now at nine. I only have to make one more and I’ll win.
Andrea
concentrates, but looks up from time to time. He mostly looks at Nic, and while
the latter laughs more or less continually, he is dead serious. He actually has
a look that you’d say was almost angry. Andrea is like that. He takes every
little challenge seriously.
Suddenly
I feel Nic’s hands brush my stomach. I twist to get them off of me while I
continue to play, but he doesn’t take them away, instead he begins to move them
slowly up until he stops just under my breasts. I yell a desperate, “Nic!”, at
the top of my lungs, before becoming aware that he would never do something
like that. This is enough for Andrea to look up, take in the scene in front of
him and jerk up, opening his mouth. I make a goal. The tenth. I straighten up
with a jump too and yell, this time for joy, “I won!”
Nic
is beside me now, not behind me anymore. Andrea stares at us again with his
mouth open and I begin to jump up and down in place and yell, “I won! I won!”
And to laugh. Finally I can get even! The happiness and satisfaction I feel in
this moment… indescribable!
Linda
and Marco join us to see what’s happening, while Nic turns me around and hugs
me. I embrace him jumping. “I won!” Then I break away, move back and tell him,
“If I’d lost, you’d be dead.”
Andrea
doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even complain about the last goal I made in
his moment of total distraction. He’s gripping the handles of the foosball
until his knuckles turn white.
I
laugh in his face. “It’s hard to lose, eh!”
I
grab my cardigan and slip it on. “So, which week shall we do? Starting
tomorrow?”
“No,
not this week,” he answers, rigid.
“No,
right. I want some time to plan it well too. I’ll let you know which week we’ll
do.”
“What’s
happening?” Asks Linda, now to my right.
“If
you come with me to the bathroom I’ll summarize it for you.” And before leaving
the room I turn to Andrea again with a triumphant smile.
In
the bathroom I go over what’s just happened for Linda. She remains quiet, her
arms resting on the door while I’m peeing. “What is it?”
She
shakes her head. “Have you seen how he looks at you?”
“Who?”
“Andrea.”
“How
does he look at me? Like his lab experiment?” I ask, laughing, still giddy over
my victory.
Linda
shakes her head. “I don’t think that someone would have that look on his face
if someone else hugged his lab experiment…”
“What
are you saying?”
“When
you and Nic hugged…” Says Linda with a thoughtful look, “for a second I was
really afraid he’d throw over the foosball table with one hand to come and pull
you apart…”
I
look at her for a moment in silence, mouth open, and then burst out laughing
hard. “Oh, Linda!” I say between laughs, “What does Marco have you smoking?”
“Hmm,”
is Linda’s comment.
Shortly
after our return to the room I leave. Linda stays over at the twins’ house to
sleep and Andrea is still lying on the couch when I exit the game room. He has
barely spoken since his defeat, while I’m happier than I’ve been for a long
time.
12.
I’m
proud of what I’ve planned. This week I’m going to have lots of fun.
It’s
the third week of June and Andrea and I have made a mutual agreement to make
this my “Week of Power”. I chose it because Saturday evening there will be the
traditional summer party at the cafè and I already have something special in
mind. Moreover, he didn’t have anything in particular to do and would be free.
At my complete disposal. Just thinking these words makes me smile.
The
Week of Power starts at midnight on Saturday and will end at midnight the
following Saturday. Today is Sunday, the first day, and I’m waiting for him to
arrive. I’ve prepared a marathon of romantic movies with lots of popcorn and
iced-tea. The marathon starts after lunch at one-thirty, and will last until
late at night. The films I’ve chosen are
Dirty Dancing
,
Pretty Woman
,
P.S. I Love You,
Romeo + Juliet,
The Diary of Bridget Jones
,
Disney’s
Sleeping Beauty
and
Beauty and the Beast,
and
Legends
of the Fall
to finish up.
Since
it’s Sunday, my mother is around and seeing me prepare everything asked me
earlier, “Is Linda coming over?”
“No,
a boy I know is coming over.”
“And
since when do you have male friends?”
Sooner
or later I’ll go to live by myself. “Now I have one.”
“The
single twin?”
“No.”
“Figures…”
I hear her mutter.
My
mother has softened, seeing me get slimmer. Now, when I go out, she even
compliments me sometimes and I see a happiness in her eyes that makes me more
irritated than her pathetic comments from before. I get the urge to immediately
regain a couple of kilos, like that, just to wipe that smile off her face. I
can understand that guys don’t like whales, that appearance counts too, that
attraction is influenced by appearance, etc. etc. I can accept that and see the
point. But she’s my mother…
My mother
… Her love should be unconditional.
Always.
When
the doorbell rings, she’s so disinterested that she doesn’t even feel like
opening the door. Better.
I
run on bare feet towards the door and open it with a thirty-two tooth smile. Andrea
stops on the doorstep with his hands in his pockets. He has on a pair of
light-colored jeans, a little ripped on the upper-thigh, and a white T-shirt
which enhances that touch of tan he already has, even though summer has just
started. He hasn’t shaved and his hair is all uncombed and a little wet. He’s
probably just had a shower after those four or five hours of running Sunday
morning. He has a good smell, something fresh and mint. He absolutely takes
your breath away.
“Are
you ready?”
“No,
but it’s the same,” he answers smiling. “May I?” He says taking a step in the
house.
“Over
here,” I gesture him towards the living room, passing the kitchen without
entering.
My
mother is cleaning up and I haven’t got any desire to introduce them. Just the
same, hearing the deep voice, she must be curious anyway, because she looks out
the door with a rag in her hand as we pass. Luckily I’m in front, so Andrea’s
bulk doesn’t prevent me from seeing her face when she sets eyes on him for the
first time. I feel like laughing - she has her mouth gaping and she can’t seem
to close it, her eyes are wide open and her hands frozen to the rag, which
after a couple of seconds falls soundlessly to the floor.
I
giggle. This week is off to a fantastic start.
Andrea
passes me and introduces himself. “Good morning ma’am. Pleased to meet you, I’m
Andrea.”
My
mother automatically takes his offered hand, lifts her head up as high as
practically everyone has to with him, and for the first time I can remember,
stutters, “P-pleased to meet you.”
She
even forgets to say her name. Another giggle pops out spontaneously and she
turns to me with an odd look. It almost looks like… respect. I’m not completely
sure, because I’ve never seen it before. I no longer feel like laughing. “Let’s
go Andrea, there’s no time to lose, we have a bunch of movies to see,” I say
icily.
It’s
not that I, in a certain sense, didn’t enjoy seeing her so surprised and
without words for once, but she’s my mother… Am I asking too much to want her
to admire me and respect me and love me in spite of how much I weigh or how
beautiful the guy I bring home is?
“Why
are you mad all of a sudden?” He asks me in a low voice once he sits on the
sofa.
“Forget
it…” And when I see his chin stiffen in an expression that by now I know all
too well, I roll my eyes and huff, but say, “Let’s say that there’s bad blood
between me and my mother. Please,” I look in his eyes and join my hands as
though in prayer. “Please, please… let’s not talk about painful things. This is
my Week of Power and you’re here to watch romantic movies all day… Humor me,
and most of all, respect our agreement.”
He
instantly relaxes and turns to look at the pile of DVDs on the coffee table in
front of the TV. “They’re all romantic movies?” He asks lifting an eyebrow.
I
laugh, calm again. “Uh-huh.”
I
see him go pale. Seriously. He’s lost a little color. “Oh my God…” He actually
whispers.
I
laugh because if there’s something that makes me happy it’s annoying him,
really annoying him. And to make him pay for all the work he made me do, both
on the training field and – most of all – forcing me to tell him certain
things.
I
put on the first movie,
Dirty Dancing
. And to worsen the situation, I
say every line a second before the actors do. By the third film he’s
semi-reclining with his long legs touching the coffee table and a hand on his
forehead.
“If
you fall asleep, we’ll start the film from the beginning,” I warn him and he
jerks around with his eyes wide open. I, sitting up with my legs crossed on the
sofa, smile sadistically.
During
P.S. I Love You
I weep desperately, as I always do when I watch this
movie, and I hear him complain every time he passes me a Kleenex to dry my nose
and eyes.
He
astonishes me instead, when Mark Darcy appears for the first time on the screen
while
Bridget Jones
is playing, saying, “Darcy? Darcy as in Austen’s Mr.
Darcy?”
I
spin around. “Yes, it’s actually a homage to him… What do you know about
Austen’s Darcy?”
He
shrugs. “Nothing.”
I
pause the film. “Andrea…” He doesn’t look at me. “Have you read
Pride and Prejudice
?”
He
reddens.
I
burst out laughing. “I can’t believe it! When? Why didn’t you tell me
anything?”
“I
don’t know why you like that book… For me Elizabeth is something of an
opportunist, she only likes Darcy because he’s rich…”
I
stare at him with my mouth open in an exaggerated way for two full minutes and
I laugh, even harder, while he turns even redder. I stretch out on the sofa and
move my feet as though I were swimming in the air.
“Olly?”
I continue with my act. “Quit it Olly,” he warns me, but I don’t listen to him.
“If you don’t knock it off right now I’m leaving.” Nothing doing. So he stands
up and I stop, kneeling on the sofa and grabbing onto one of his arms. “Don’t
you dare!”
“Then
quit it and we’ll continue. Already it’s bad enough, at least don’t make it
worse…”
I
don’t say anything, but as soon as he lies on the sofa again I start the movie.
“Too bad though… I would have really liked to analyze Austen with you…” I
whisper.
While
Bridget Jones
is still on, by now evening, my mother reappears for the
first time all afternoon. She has stayed in her bedroom, or at least upstairs,
without ever showing herself. I really have no idea what she was doing, but it
was like being in the house alone.
She
comes nearer with a smile, still wearing her house tracksuit, with a pony tail
and without makeup. “Guys, would you like something to eat?”
I
pause the film and say nothing. I observe her without answering, but feel
Andrea move. “Olly, what do you want to eat?” He asks me after a few seconds.
I
turn to him. “Dunno. Pizza?” I ask looking at him. “We have to eat something
practical and without knives and forks because we have to eat here, on the
sofa. We can’t stop, otherwise we’ll really finish too late…”
Andrea
shrugs his shoulders.
“If
you want I’ll prepare you something,” my mother intervenes, and her voice
carries my gaze back to her. “If you don’t feel like pizza, I can make you
some sandwiches. The kind you can eat on the sofa.”
I
look at her through narrowed eyes. Who is this woman? Where is the harpy that
is my mother? I suddenly shake myself and turn towards Andrea. “You choose.”
He
shrugs. “It’s the same to me.”
I
roll my eyes skyward and then, without really meeting my mother’s eyes, a
little tersely decree, “Well, I prefer pizza.”
She
stays standing beside the sofa in silence for a little, then she says, “Ok.”
I
hear her move and go to busy herself in the kitchen, probably to prepare her
dinner. I go and get the house telephone in the corridor, and before returning
to the sofa, I don’t even know why, I look in the kitchen door. With a little
embarrassment I ask, “Would you like pizza too?”
She
has her back to me. She’s taking the clean dishes out of the dishwasher. I see
her shake her head before hearing her say, “No, no thank you.”
She
doesn’t turn around and I wait for just a second before going back in front of
the TV.
“What
kind of pizza do you want?” I ask with false cheer.
“Tuna
and onion,” Andrea replies quickly, looking at me intensely.
He
stares at me the entire time of the brief phone call, and also stares at me
when it’s finished and he should be directing his attention to the screen.
“What
is it?” I ask him, exasperated by his scrutiny.
He
shakes his head and then turns towards the TV sighing, “Nothing.”
I
wait another moment, while he watches Bridget Jones’s face stopped. I continue
to look at him without restarting the movie until he turns towards me again. When
his eyes meet mine, I ask him in a low voice, “What?”
He
looks at me, lowers his eyes and then lifts them. Slowly he begins, “Your
mother…”
I
jerk my head up involuntarily, preparing myself for anything that might come.
He
notes my reaction, but doesn’t comment. “Your mother,” he begins again in a low
voice so he won’t be heard from the nearby kitchen, “was being nice.”
I
shrug.
“She
offered to make us something, it was nice of her.”
“And
so?”
“And
so… nothing. You could have answered her in a better way.”
As
soon as he finishes the sentence I straighten up, suddenly furious. I get a
little closer and when I answer, my voice is a whisper, “Don’t you dare tell me
how I have to answer my mother.”
He
looks at me in silence.
“You
don’t know anything, not anything!” I see him swallow. “The fact that I told you
a couple of episodes from my life doesn’t mean that you know everything about
my past, about what I feel and, most of all, it doesn’t give you the right to
pass judgement on how I behave or what I say to my mother.” I pause. “And when
I confessed some of the ugly facts about my life at the lake, it seemed as
though you understood my feelings… almost as though you shared them.”
“I
didn’t want to pass judgement about anything, I just wanted to say-”
“Or
maybe now that you’ve seen her,” I interrupt him rudely, still speaking low but
with an unmistakable touch of bitterness, “You like her and have softened right
away. Now that you’ve seen that she’s a beautiful woman, thin and blond-”
I
stop myself suddenly because one of his hands is on my face. With his palm he
takes my cheek and passes his thumb under my chin, arriving at the other cheek.
His face is very close. His look is furious and when he speaks, his voice is
just above a murmur, but still seems lethal. “You don’t know
anything
about what I like or don’t like in a woman.”
Now
it’s my turn to swallow.
“Maybe
I shouldn’t have made that comment, but you, for your part, shouldn’t allow
yourself to make insinuations about my behavior, thinking that I’m so stupid
that I’d change opinion about someone on the basis of their physical
appearance.”
I
swallow again, staring at him close-mouthed.
We
remain like that and I see him open his mouth, but I won’t find out what he was
going to say because we hear the doorbell and the immediate commotion in the
kitchen, the sound of quick steps, the voice of my mother, “Guys, the pizza is
here.”
Andrea
and I jerk apart and turn around. My mother is looking at us with her mouth
open. But as soon as we notice, she closes her mouth and runs to open the door.