Page 39 of Psycho

Oscar brings our food, and she looks up at him sweetly, speaking her thanks.

We start eating, and she speaks with a far-away gaze to her eyes. She’s looking directly at me, but she’s lost in the past.

“My mom used to make this every Sunday. Before I lost her. We were happy, and she was always smiling. I would watch her cook, while she sang her favorite song at the top of her lungs.”

I can’t help but be drawn into her musings.

“What song?”

She smiles softly.

“Bella Ciao. Do you know it?”

I do know it, but I shake my head.

She sings quietly, as her embarrassment shows on her skin, turning her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink.

“O Bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao.”

Anastasia giggles, as her cheeks turn from pink to crimson.

“Your name is Russian, but you’re Italian?”

She tilts her head to the side, and gazes at me for a moment, before she responds.

“It actually comes from the Greek word anastasis, which means resurrection.”

Shrugging her shoulders before continuing, she looks at me pointedly, and it feels like her statement means more than the words she says.

“It’s just a name. Like Massimo.”

Rolling her eyes, she says, “Or Psycho. You could live without it. If you decided your name was William, it wouldn’t change the person you are. People become far too attached to names, and it’s insignificant. It’s the least important thing about any person.”

The sadness in her eyes makes me think of my father, even though it’s a completely different situation. He’s dead, and her mother is lost.

“Is she under medical care?”

She wipes a tear from her cheek, and nods slowly.

“Yes, but she won’t take her medication. My mother eats only enough to survive. There’s little they can do for her. If she stops eating altogether, they can put a tube in her stomach, but all they can do is keep her breathing. Sometimes I wonder if I’m helping by keeping her alive? What’s the point, if you’re going to live like that? She isn’t even living. Only existing.”

I swallow down a bite of my scallops, as I watch her eat her food.

“She wasn’t always like this, though? It sounds like you have good memories of her from your childhood.”

A sad expression crosses her face, as she sighs heavily, like the weight of the world is resting on her beautiful shoulders.

“When my father was alive, it wasn’t like this. The day he died, I think she did too. At least the part that matters. The heart. The soul. After we buried him, she never recovered.”

I think of my mother, and the constant traveling she has done. We all think it’s her way of coping with the loss of my father, but I prefer that over a lifeless existence.

“If you give me her address, I’ll send a specialist to see her.”

I already have her mother’s information, but I don’t feel the need to tell her that.

She tilts her head back, and stares at me with an emotion filled gaze.

“Seriously? Why? Why would you do that?”

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