Call Me Beautiful

The light air was nice. The small buildings with their pastel paint and red roofs were tantalizing, the cobble streets just the same. But I knew just by looking at the rickety bus that had brought us here, this town was a dull place, void of any excitement. Old couples walked the streets, reminiscing about days of old. Middle aged men sat outside of a dimly lit pub, smoking stubby cigarettes and joked about the newcomers who had just arrived off the bus. What does one do around here? I asked my cousin, of whom we would be staying with for the coming week, this very same question.

“Not much. But, you’re lucky you came in the summer, come winter time, this place is duller than a prison cell,”

“Oh, kind words, caro,” my overbearing aunt conjured as she squeezed her son’s cheeks. A sigh escaped Paul’s mouth as he went back to his television watching.

“Why don’t you take Bellarie to meet your friends? I heard the Pearlmans have a new housemate, apparently he’s very handsome,” she winked at me. If only she knew the half of it, but she couldn’t. If ever my parents found out. Ha! What a sight that would be! My cousin looked back at me, sighed again, “We’ll go into town tonight. Don’t bother me until then,”

My mother and uncle caught up on years of lost time on the back patio, their words bland compared to the vibrancy of the new world around me. The yard was large, lush greens spread across the ground, blooming fruit trees hung in the air, their orange and yellow fruit a bright disparity against the pale blue sky. While boring, the town sure did have a charming beauty to it. Far down the road, happy yells hollered, the sound of young people having fun. Oh to be them.

I sat outside contemplating what to do for hours, all the while eavesdropping on my mother. At dusk, my cousin clambered down the staircase, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he mumbled.

“You don’t seem too happy to see your friends,” I mentioned as he passed by me to the rack of rusty bikes near a stone shed.

“It’s not that, just don’t bother me tonight. I don’t know how my friends will like you, you’re American, they don’t take kindly to foreigners,” he pulled a bland purple bike from the row and passed it to me. I was hesitant to mention that he too was born in America, it was only five years ago that he had moved to this part of Italy.

As we rode to town, we were silent. Even in the fading sunlight, the town’s beauty seeped through, greens and yellows from the roadside fields painted the ground. The closer we rode to the town, the more lively it became. Small crowds of kids ran about the streets, chasing each other as if it were the last thing they’d do, all the while, gaggles of young adults hung around dark buildings smoking and singing merrily to the tune of the summer breeze. What a complete contrast from the town’s midday face.

“Where are we going?” I questioned as we passed several quaint restaurants and a large statue placed in the center of the town square.

“It’s a dance spot, it’s the only place in town that people our age can go to have fun,” My cousin spoke over the noise of increasingly loud music.

As we pulled up to the area and placed our bikes on the rack, a group of kids around our age waved to my cousin.

“Paul, come here,” A girl with wavy brown hair exclaimed as she grinned and turned to a boy near her.

“Who’s that?” I said as I pointed in their direction. “Oh, him, he’s the Pearlman’s son, Elio, he lives up the street from us,” my cousin walked towards the group. I’d been asking about the girl, but the boy he’d mentioned caught my eye. He looked lanky, slouched over next to the girl who’d called Paul to her. He wasn’t the least bit interested in the conversation that was going on at the table, instead, he watched a couple slow dance. He looked sad, almost angry. Perhaps the girl in the couple had been his? She was very beautiful, with her curvy frame and dark curls, she looked like a sculpture. He lit up a cigarette and continued to watch them.

“Bellaire, come sit with us,” one of Paul’s friends called me over. He must have told him my name.

“You can call me Bella,” I said as I slid in at the end of the table and sat back quietly, taking in the scene. On the small concrete dancefloor, a few couples danced to the slow music, content with their laggy moves, focused completely on the person in their arms.

“To be him,” one of the boys at the table sighed. His focus, along with many others, were on the handsome couple with the sculpture girl.

“Who are they?” I whispered to my cousin. “She’s Chaira,” he points to the girl, “and he’s the Pearlman’s new house mate. Some scholar from the states, I’m not sure of his name,” he went back to the conversation he’d been having with one of his friends.

“To be her,” a girl sighed. At a closer look, the man Chaira was dancing with was handsome. He was tall and brudish, and his light blonde hair, likely bleached from the Italian sun, gleamed under the colorful fluorescent lights. He showed all signs of love, except for those in his eyes. His vibrant blue eyes were cold, so cold in fact, it chilled me to the bone. He liked the girl he was with, but he longed for someone else, I could tell. A relationship back home possibly? Or, a girl in the crowd? I’d likely never know the answer.

The couples continued to slow dance until, seemingly out of nowhere, the restless DJ switched the song to something much more up beat. As if expecting the sudden change, those without a dance partner grabbed hold of their friends and slipped onto the dance floor. Mangled feet bounced together as the beat quickened, and the once solemn Pearlman was now bouncing around with the girl who had called Paul over. Perhaps I had been wrong about him?

I stayed back at the table while the others danced. Even Paul seemed to be having a good time. I would join them, but I was still wary of my cousin’s warnings of hostility, though perhaps this was just my excuse, as I had always been a horrible dancer.

“Not a dancer, aye?” A girl around my age had snuck up on me.

“No, not really,” I replied halfheartedly, my focus still on Paul and a new girl he had decided to dance with.

“Well, neither are they,” she pointed to the group, their movements increasingly more slurred. The tall American looked almost as if he couldn’t hear the music, his movements were so off beat. I shifted my focus to the girl. She was tall, and very attractive. She had light brown hair, deep green eyes, and a stern look that said “dance with me”. She stuck out a hand. I quickly grabbed hold, as I feared she would take back her hand, realizing what she had done. With long steps, she pulled me to the dance floor.

My heart quickened as we neared the formation of young people in the epicenter of the comotion. There, I saw Paul awkwardly close to a young woman, trying with all his might to get her to dance with him. Fool. All it takes is an extended hand.

“What’s your name, new girl?” the green eyed girl asked as she bounced up and down to the beat of the music. Her moves were swifter than most, perhaps she hadn’t had as much to drink.

“I’m Bella, Paul’s cousin,” I shouted over the blaring music.

“Well, Bella, Paul’s cousin, are you going to dance?” she grabbed hold of my shoulders.

“I don’t da-” she cut me off and spun me around with her delicate fingers.

“Well, you do now,” she spun me again, and pulled me into a tight embrace. “I’m Giada. Nice to meet you,” she spoke into my ear, her voice soft, yet fierce.

Together we danced to the rhythm of the music, to the soft beat of vibrant lights, to the tune of the Italian heat. How could one feel they have known someone their entire life, when in solemn, desolate reality, they’ve only known them for less than an hour? A step here, a story told. A twirl there, a decade of ballet lessons. In one swift motion, one that would regularly go undetected, a lifetime of adventure procured. We basked in the warm upbeat songs of the night, never wanting to return to the frozen cascades of mother’s questions or father’s worries.

Once the night turned early morning however, and all who were left at the dance floor were stragglers and lost youth, we decided to leave.

“What’s open this time of night?” I asked, clinging to Giada’s outreached arm.

“Not much, but enough,” she replied, a smile clinging to her lips. As we walked down the cracked cobble streets, and passed no one but a singular child riding a bike far too large for him, I rested my head on Giada’s shoulder. No one would see us, we would be fine. My fear, however, too early conjured in my youth, seeped through, I could tell.

“You shouldn’t worry, no one awake cares,” she looked at me with her large green eyes.

“My mother will, and then she’ll tell my father and I’ll be stuck in a mental ward for my entire life,” I’d remarked.

“Then I’ll come visit you. Besides, don’t worry about the future, be with me tonight,” and I was. We continued down the street to a dimly lit pub. Inside sat young folks playing a game of poker. As we neared, the giddy sounds of laughter emerged along with the smell of warm food and half smoked cigarettes, a smell I’d become quite acclimated to over the past hours.

“Welcome to Geanie’s,” Giada held open the slatted wooden door for me. Inside, it was stiflingly hot, the night’s cool air seemingly vanished.

“Welcome, Giada, and who’s this?” an elderly man who’s name I would come to know as Luca, called from behind the store counter. Behind him, the poker game became rowdy.

“This is Bella, she’s from the states,” I loosened my grip on her arm as Luca walked nearer.

“Well, welcome Bella,” Luca winked at Giada, and cleared off a table cluttered with glasses.

“Actually, Luca, we’d like to sit with them,” Giada pointed to the large table with the poker players. Luca gave a concerned look, then, a wry smile.

“Up to you, dear,” he placed two more seats around the already crowded table.

“Well, gentlemen, it seems we’ve gained two more players,” one of the men said. Upon a closer, though seemingly useless inspection, I noticed the man was the same one from the handsome couple at the dance square.

“Oh, we’re no players, we’ve only come to talk,” Giada conveyed. I sat down in the chair nearest her, surveying the area. The rest of the men were all older, in their late thirties at least. Some chatted in broken English, or in Italian all together. They didn’t seem the least bit interested in us.

“Well they may not talk to you, but I will. I’m Oliver, nice to meet you,” the man stuck out his hand for us to shake. I was hesitant, but Giada went right in grasping his hand with the very same one she’d used to ask me to dance. Cherish that hand, Oliver, I know I will.

“I’m Giada, this is Bella,” she spoke, her smooth voice a quaint contrast to the gruffness of the men around us.

“She’s a quiet one, isn’t she?” Oliver pointed in my direction. I sank a bit lower into my chair as I felt my cheeks burn a poisonous red. I knew it was obvious, I’d always been quiet. Only here however, in this sweltering hot, obnoxiously loud pub, had I been noticed as quiet through this part of my stay. Back at my cousins, and even at the dance square, my quietness was welcomed. Less pressure for people to talk to me, just how I liked it.

“Well, Bella, where are you from?” he asked, holding up his hand to decline joining into another round of poker. The other men at the table sighed and continued to play.

“Nebraska, back in the states,” I said quietly as I fidgeted with my belt loop.

“Ah, a fellow American, I recognize the accent, though, I can’t say I’ve ever been to the Midwest myself,” he sipped a small glass filled with an amber liquid.

“Not many have, there’s not much to do if I’m being completely honest,” I sighed as Giada put an arm around my shoulder. “You’re used to the boredness then,” she giggled and put a hand through her sweaty hair.

“Don’t be so hard on this little town, I’d say it has a wonderful night life,” Oliver exclaimed.

“Aye yes, night life, but the days are far too dull for my liking,” Giada mock yawned.

“Why don’t you come to the Pearlman’s place tomorrow? They love guests, and the volleyball court is always open. Besides, I’d like more friends before my stay is up. Unfortunately, I don’t think the Pearlman’s son likes me much,” Oliver sighed.

“Oh I’m sure he likes you plenty, he’s just quiet. I’ve known the kid for years,”

“Well, less about him, where do you live, Giada?”

“Just down the street from the Pearlman’s, my parents own the property closest to the main road,”

In this statement, one so simple it should have passed unnoticed, I realized how little I truly knew of Giada. She was an angel, it seemed, sent from the heavens to fly me away. A grace so unknown to me, so unfamiliar, that the second she reached for my hand, I was stuck. Stuck in a land of “should I’s” and “how could I not’s”, a constant barrage of contradictions, of rights and wrongs. But these weren’t facts. Nothing more than my own unknowingness of how the world of human connections worked. It was true, she was a supreme being disguised as an Italian girl, one of whom I could never truly know.

“Great dancing tonight by the way, Chaira’s a lucky girl,”

“Ah, I don’t think so. It seems she’s the most unlucky girl in the world,” Oliver sipped at his drink a bit more, staring at the floor for only a second, quickly returning to his cordial self to hide his dismay, but a second was long enough. I could see he felt for someone besides Chaira. I saw it in the way he danced with her, how he looked far away when she stared at him. Perhaps it was obvious, and Giada was just being kind? Or, perhaps, that keen sense of feeling my mother said I had, projected onto more people than just myself.

We stayed at the pub for what felt like hours. We talked with the other men at the table as well as Oliver. Some only spoke Italian, however, which made translating for Giada quite interesting. She’d talk with them, and laugh at their jokes all the while telling me I wouldn’t understand, “inside jokes” she’d said. We laughed as the men played another round of poker. It was rowdy as they passed around cards and wagered small bills to bet. Oliver was clever and had won a hand or two. He was slight, a keen sense of what to say and when to say it. When I mentioned this to him, he replied with an “if only you knew”. Of this I decided not to over think, as I’d had some to drink, and my mind was starting to become loopy.

“What a night,” I’d said once most of the men had left the pub.

“Ah, she speaks!” Giada teased. I’d smiled at her and blushed just a bit, hopefully not too noticeable.

“My god, is that the time? It’s nearly four o’clock!” Oliver adjusted his watch and raised his hand for Luca to bring his tab.

“No need, Mr. Oliver, Marcello paid for everyone’s drinks tonight,” Luca continued to wipe down the table.

“An angel in disguise,” Oliver grinned and trudged to the door under a slew of alcohol induced dizziness. Little did he know, Marcello wasn’t the only hidden angel. “Later,” he spoke, and he was gone.

“I thought they’d never leave,” Luca grinned. “Stay as long as you’d like, dears, but I’m going to leave soon. Just remember to lock the door on your way out,” he grabbed his cap and placed it on his head.

“No worries, Luca, we’ll be leaving,” Giada grabbed me in her long arms and we proceeded to walk home in our sultry state.

The night had cooled to early morning, giving everything a fresh layer of dew. At first, we walked in silence, Giada and I, but then, our thudding footsteps faded to words of praise towards one another until we reached my cousin’s front door.

“Stay with me,” I cooed to her, my eyes beginning to droop with tiredness.

“I can’t. Sleep, my Bella, I will see you later today,” She whispered as she wrapped me in a warm hug.

“Your Bella?” I conjured.

“My Bella,” she brought her face close to mine and proceeded to kiss me lightly on the lips. She then turned away and slipped down the porch steps and sluncked out of sight.

My heart began to slow its pace, a beat I hadn’t even realized had quickened. I opened the front door and stood in the darkness of the early morning, feeling more of the world in a sudden new warmth. It was almost as if Giada was with me, her presence lingering in every breath I took, every slight movement I made. It was here where I once felt so alone, I felt a sense of company.

Somewhere in the darkness, my aunt’s large air conditioning system came to life. There was a rustling from the large sitting room, and a lamp clicked on. Suddenly the light became a darkness in my mind, as it illuminated my mother’s sour face.

“Where on god’s Earth have you been? I’ve stayed up all night waiting for you.” She spat. She didn’t stand up from the sofa, but her upright position proved her statement.

“I was with some friends,” I whispered, the night’s happiness drained from my face.

“Friends?” Mother’s face turned to an awkward, all knowing smile. How could you have friends? “Paul said he couldn’t find you at the dance square, he told me he looked for hours,” I knew this statement wasn’t true, Paul had left with his friends much earlier than Giada and I, he was upset that the young woman wouldn’t dance with him.

“I was worried for you,” she explained, but I knew this to also be untrue. She was only upset that she’d looked bad in front of her brother and his family, she always had to seem perfect, didn’t she.

“Don’t you ever talk, girl?” She rose from her seat and strutted to me with prideful steps. “You will report to me before you leave, and you will have a curfew. I’ll figure out the details later. Now, goodnight, or should I say good morning,” with that she took a few short steps to the staircase and was out of sight. Oh how quickly summer turns cold.