short distance.
When the breakfast is over, we immediately go to work, knowing that today the working day will be short and at lunch time we will be able to escape for a shopping afternoon together. Luckily, the night rain gave way to the sun, leaving behind only some spare clouds. At 1
p.m. we are out, like a clockwork, ready to take the car in order to spend the afternoon at the Outlet to do some shopping taking advantage on the sales. In the car we were blasting Claudio Baglioni, singing with the windows down like two teenagers free from any concern. At the first false note, we burst out laughing, while we discern in the distance the wheat fields with bales ordered in a row. They’re beautiful to see, I’ve always managed to picture me behind them, laid down in their shadow, looking at the sky, waiting for some plane passing by and leaving its white trail that cuts the blue. I would invent stories on its passengers and on the journeys which will take them far away, maybe in some exotic place or in an unknown city After a few silent minutes, Camilla goes back to seriousness and starts for the first time to take seriously my non-affair. ‘You’re the one who must make the next move, the game must go on in two. He gave you a signal, he wants to continue in a different manner, but without dive immediately into a real acquaintance. Now you’re the one who must keep leading the game in an equal romantic and mysterious way.
In short, not banal. It would be too easy to go there and thank him…’
She’s right, the little move of the flower is designed to change course, to choose which path to follow, and it must be done in a creative way in order to keep that veil of mystery that for quite some time makes us look at each other with passion but without going further, without
saying a single word. We don’t even know our names, and this has been enough until today. Now it needs to be decided if we want to go on in a different way or close the door. Maybe he’ll be the one to regret his move, today he ran away as ever. Maybe tomorrow he will not even show up. ‘You need to make a change into your life, maybe the mysterious watcher could be the man for you and if he’s not, you need to start living again and finding someone to share your life with.’
Camilla continues with her serious tone. A great desire to play comes alive in me, a desire to break the rules and to dare, even if this means losing everything. I start to laugh while the wind strongly enters from the window and throws my hair on my face: ‘Ok, let’s play’.
Arrived at the shopping magic world, this is how we like to name those massive haute couture low-cost outlets, we start to go around the various windows without much conviction, until we stop in a little bakery where we decided to eat something, given the fact that we didn’t even had lunch. A slice of chocolate cake and a coffee for me, while my friend limits itself to a whole wheat croissant and an orange juice, since she needs to keep the scale under control. Camilla is a beautiful woman who with her girth gives a sense of serenity and a pleasant sight when she goes by. Always all dressed up, without a hair out of place, she’s the type of woman who makes man turning in the street, despite a bit of extra weight well-proportioned on her harmonious body.
A new excitement involved the two of us in the play with the stranger, so we both start to think of my next move. Usually, he enters the bar, goes to the counter where he has breakfast standing, and then he immediately goes away. What could it be my next move to
concentrate in those few instants and without even have a precise spot in which take action, as he has been able to do with our table? The only thing that I know is that I want to leave him a tangible sign too, maybe linking to the daisy in order to make him understand that I am undoubtedly the sender. In the bakery I have an epiphany: I notice in the window a green chocolate box within there’s a beautiful white and yellow sketch of a daisy. Therefore, I add the box of chocolates to our bill and I start to think about how to have it delivered to him, maybe with the usual coffee that he orders every morning. I feel like a teenager, I went back to the high school times when the most beautiful side of a love story was exactly the one before the declaration. The nights spent with friends thinking of if this or that boy could be ‘in love’ with us or dreaming of the first kiss in front of a pizza and a glass of Coca Cola, when a simple ‘Hi’ started to assume three thousand meanings that we analysed one by one. Times when the heart was racing even when eyes met, and the excitement was about the idea of going together to the same party, standing by and hoping on his first move.
Almost forty years old, I am back to be an unexperienced teenager who discovers love for the first time, with a crazy desire to play. I feel like I’m reborn, I came back to life and I am no more afraid to feel something for someone. It seems absurd, but that little flower has been enough to shake me up so much to make me realise that have been wasting my time and that I had to go back to make my clock go round and round. I come back home that is already late, so I decide to stop to eat a slice of pizza at the pizza place down the street. When I enter the restaurant, there’s anyone, not even the owner who I overhear moving
in the kitchen, probably baking the last pizzas of the evening. The door points out my entering and few moments later I see him looking out onto the door in front of the still burning big ovens. We greet and shortly after we sit together at the colourful wooden tables, chatting while my pizza is firing. He offers me a beer and starts to make small talking about all the strange and funny customers who came to the restaurant during the day. It’s always amusing to hear him speak, because I know that he’s always prone to exaggerate his tales, enriching them by not exactly real details that make everything more colourful and interesting. Generally, he always has a comic base, so speaking with him always ends up in loud laughter that attract bystanders who overhear us from the street. I eat quickly, with a great desire to remove my shoes and soak my feel in hot water. We have been walking so much that, despite the cold of this day, my feet are so swollen that I can barely walk.
Once I got home and I throw away my shoes, I jump on the bed straight away with my trusted computer searching some information about my mysterious smiling friend. Maybe I can discover something about him linked to our café, a website, a Facebook page. I log in with my username and I start to search. Not a trace of him, it would have been too good to find a comment by him so that I could have finally discovered his name and snooping around his social networks home, at least on the public sections. Thinking about the fact that maybe he could have had the same idea, I start by pressing like on the café Fan Page and browsing numerous pictures, I comment a random one, just to leave a sign. Once it has been published, I look at the picture appearing next to my comment. A miserable close-up, loaded
haphazardly a long time ago. I immediately hurry up looking for a new photo where I look better, and I change my profile picture. Now I feel more relaxed and I childishly hope that he is online too and seeing me, could feel the desire of texting me.
For about ten minutes I stare off the screen, waiting for a sign that doesn’t come. I refresh the page over and over, I log in and out thinking that maybe the connections is not exactly perfect, and in the end I turn it off, but only after I have turned the Facebook notifications on my mobile phone, just in case the mysterious men chooses to look for me and texts me tonight. Before I was hoping that our non-affair could never change a thing, but now the idea of a connection became obsessive and irrational.
Tomorrow it’s