Having a life and losing it overseas
I slam the taxi door, hoping to have enough money to pay for the fare. In the middle of the night, the taxi driver moans about his job while I try not to think, not to look at what I am leaving behind.
Our dinner tonight was supposed to be perfect. Leonardo came all the way from New York. It had been two hundred and three days since I last saw his seductive smile, two hundred and three days since we last got lost into each other’s eyes, two hundred and three days since our bodies were so close to each other’s.I picked him up from the airport: it was such a long and warm hug. His sweet vanilla perfume pervaded my nostrils; it was still so familiar, although I hadn’t smelled it in a long time. I look more beautiful, he said, and I blushed. He is always been so good with words. It was probably the way he talked to me that made me fall for him, everything he said sounded like angelic music to my ears. Underneath our winter duvet, we made love. We could not waste a single moment, we knew that this magic would not last too long; soon he would be back to his journalist job in New York while I would start counting down the days to his return, again. It had become my favourite hobby. I did try to keep myself busy with other things, but I always ended up crossing the days on the calendar, as they went by, with a red marker. He lived his life while I waited for mine to come back from America. “I’ll take you out for dinner tonight”, he gently whispered in my ear after he showered. I was amazed by all his attentions as, usually, all we did was spending time in our small love nest, watching films and discussing the last book we read. We rarely went out, and I was fine with it, as long as he was by my side. At the restaurant, we ordered chestnut cream gnocchetti, a sirloin steak and even a dessert. I felt so pleasantly spoilt and I wondered why we never indulged these small joys. Everything was going surprisingly well when, suddenly, told me that he slept with someone. Several times.Damn it.I got up and he tried to stop me, holding my wrist tight in his hand. “I wanted to be honest with you, it was a mistake. I love you”, he cried while everyone in the restaurant stared at us. I could no longer see the man I used to love. I could only see tears, struggling to come out of my blue eyes, those eyes that he once described as “a sea he would have loved to swim in forever”. That sea, always quiet during all these years, was now stormy. My eyes were full of an, until now, unknown hatred. Breaking free from his grasp, I calmly called a taxi and I run away, without looking back at him for the very last time.
Now he will go back to New York and, in a few months, his life will be back to normal, with his job and his new woman, without me.
Now I will go back to the house that used to be ours and I don’t know what my routine will consist of in a few months. I don’t know if I will be alone, if I will still be here or elsewhere. I don’t know if I will manage to put my life back together after Leonardo. I do not know.