Uffa
alright, let's kiss
I accidentally amputated a still-fresh branch of the red geranium by the entrance. By the wooden door of the entrance, so dusty and draped in cobwebs. The geraniums feel like an alive addition—a bright and spritely duo of red and pink, adorning either side of the otherwise forgotten about front door. Who has time to clean the front door—not I—though I spose I should—I think to myself, I spose if I have time to write about the front door’s saddening sight, I may even have time to clean it. But we haven’t gotten there yet—to that point in time. I write these words standing up, with my phone in my right pocket. I can feel the speaker exhaling music into the linen of my trousers. The adopted geranium cutting is behind the wall of my laptop screen. Mostly everything around me is dark, bar the computer, bar the dusk outside, spilling quietly into the room. I’m drinking sparkling water with ice and lemon. I’ve just returned from a date and found myself in dire need of hydration. So I ate an apple. Then water. Then I made myself dinner, consisting of fagioli borlotti mixed with tuna and diced onion, plus a carrot plus a cuke plus cherry tomatoes. I finished everything off with blueberries. Body said: Water element. I said: Okay.
We had hydrated on the date. We found a fountain along our path and we refilled his water bottle and I chugged, crouching by the fountain. We stood at the top of the mountain and pointed at things we liked and asked things like Would you live there and Do you like this smell and Doesn’t that look like an animal, resting? Do you see its spine? Do you feel it breathing?
We had hydrated on the date, but not enough, and it was hot out, and we kissed in the cable car in mid-air, and that was hot, and we had hydrated but not enough. I leaned against the railing of the birdcage-esque cable car and felt him hard on my inner thigh whilst his tongue met mine with eagerness.
We had hydrated but it was hot out and we’d walked up up to the top of the mountain and we’d looked at things and breathed in the fresh air and we’d let ourselves enjoy being enveloped by silence. If I inhale deeply I can smell a bit of what I smelled then, whatever scent lingering on him now lingered on me. I am still sweaty from this day of heat and walking and kissing. It was my first time kissing in the mid, open-air.
I write to you full of water and around me there’s darkness, yet I can see dusk reflecting off the jar of sparkling water. Soon I’ll pick it up and have a sip, no a gulp, a big gulp, and another, and it’ll just be me here. Standing alone in the middle of my space, music exhaling against my trousers, music gasping for air in between kisses in the cable car, music wiping sweat off its trembling upper lip—
Watering the garden is a real thing that I do. It doesn’t require thinking about boys. Men. Of too pointy a tongue or the kiss in the cable car or the fact that when he touched me there I didn’t feel very much at all. Though you might do so anyway, The Thinking, about the boys—the one who smokes outside the supermarket and the one whose freshly cut beard left nervous black blades scattered around my right shoulder.
My friend tells me that I was made to be loved
He writes me Ciao Isa ti pensavo e spero tu stia bene1
My nonno tells me to be quiet because the swallows are coming to drink from the pool and my noisiness and movement are scaring them off. I shake off the annoyance and remind myself I’ll miss everything about him when he’s gone. Yes, I’ll miss him telling me to be quiet. I’ll miss him telling me not to fan myself even though it’s so hot out. The swallows, Isa, they’re coming to have a drink. Vengono a bere, smettila, sta ferma.2 Uffa.3 What’s a girl to do? Not fan herself when it’s hot out? Le rondini, Isa.4 Okay, nonno.
Uffa.
My nonna hands me three zucchine that she’s grown in the garden, the big round ones. They are fat and happy. They have wisdom to share. I chop them and sauté them the way she told me to but they don’t turn out as deliciously as when she makes them (uffa). But I eat their seeds. And I eat their wisdom. And I say Thanks so much could I get the bill please. And they say The bill? What’re you on about this isn’t a restaurant this is your life and also we’re seeds we don’t usually talk but right now we’re talking to you from your belly and I’m afraid this is something we’re going to have to charge you for. And I say Oh right yeah um could I pay by card please I haven’t got any cash on me and the seeds roll their seedy little eyes and whip out their little card machine and I tap my card on the screen and they ask Do you want your receipt emailed to you and I say no thanks thanks goodbye then bye-bye then bye, and I leave, I leave and I never look back.
I dropped the stracchino5 on the way to the table. I was thinking about whether or not I should tell my grandparents that I recently kissed a man. I peeled the melone and my nonna cut the fat off of a slab of prosciutto and she muttered porca zozza6 under her breath whilst my nonno counted the plates on the table and asked me three times in a row Ma quanti siamo?7
Siamo in quattro,8 nonno.
Tieni, piccola,9 my nonna says to me, as she hands me the plate with the now-lean prosciutto. Sono due tipi diversi,10 she says, pointing to the two different-ish piles of prosciutto, separated by a tiny little fork.
I wipe the stracchino water off the red floor and wonder why I want to gossip with my grandparents about my love life. I wipe the stracchino water off the red floor and the tissue looks a little bit red and I wonder oh what is on this floor? How strange? Is the red really so eager to go? I dropped the stracchino because I was thinking about kissing and I was thinking about hands and I pace around and I plop myself down at my place at the table and to my right there are pink calla lilies and when my uncle comes in he says O, eccola la strega!11 And when I kiss him on the cheek I notice his cheeks are hot and I notice his back is hot and I ask him Come stai and he says, Ehhhh.
Lover Brings Me A Smoothie The Morning After
Him: What did you think of your smoothie this morning?
Me: I thought it was
Me: Weird
Me: Was I grateful that you made it for me Yes Did I enjoy drinking it in the sunshine Yes Did I think it was nowhere near sweet enough Yes But was I so appreciative of the fact that you brought me a glass of this smoothie and that I got to enjoy it in the sunshine Yes Was it not at all sweet bordering on savoury Yes. Yes it was
Me: I thought it was granular
Me: and bitty
Me: but I knew it was good for me.
Him: I want to be good for you.
Glossary
Ciao Isa ti pensavo e spero tu stia bene — Hi Isa I was thinking of you and hope you’re well
Vengono a bere, smettila, sta ferma. — They’re coming to drink, stop it, stay still.
Uffa — ugh
Le rondini, Isa — the swallows, Isa
stracchino — a type of Italian cheese
porca zozza — Italian slang that could mean damn it / for goodness’ sake / bloody hell depending on context
Ma quanti siamo? — How many are we?
Siamo in quattro — There are four of us
Tieni, piccola — Here you go, little one
Sono due tipi diversi — they are two different types
O, eccola la strega! — Oh, here’s the witch!