Page 17 of Two Chances With You

“But I don’t like mint as a flavor at all.”

“Come on now. First you didn’t want one at all, and now you’re complaining about the flavor! You really are a piece of work. Anyway, go ahead and try it. You’ll see, you’ll like it.”

“Don’t you think I know whether or not I like something?”

“Now you’re just digging your heels in. Come on, I know you better than that.”

She unwrapped my popsicle and gave it a couple of licks. Then she handed it to me, after tasting it for herself. “Yummm…Yours is delicious.”

“Then why don’t you just take mine?”

“No, now I want the orange-flavored one.” And she licked her popsicle, looking at me and laughing. And then she got a little risquébecause her popsicle was melting fast, so she put the whole thing in her mouth. And she laughed.

And then Babi was absolutely determined again to taste mine. “Come on, let me have just a little,” and she said it like that on purpose, laughing, and she rubbed up against me, and we were leaning against the motorcycle, and I spread my legs, and she slipped in between them, and we kissed.

The popsicles started to melt, trailing along the palms of our hands and down our arms. And every so often our tongues darted to catch a bit of orange, a bit of mint. On our hands, between our fingers, down our wrists and all along our forearms. Soft. Sweet.

Babi seemed like a little girl. She was wearing a long, light blue beach wrap, dotted with a darker pattern. It was wrapped around her waist. She was wearing light blue sandals, too, and a two-piece swimsuit, also light blue. She was wearing a long necklace with round white seashells, some bigger and some smaller. They bounced and wedged themselves between her warm breasts. She kissed me on the neck.

“Ouch!” She had just intentionally laid her popsicle on my stomach.

“Poor little thing, ouch…” She laughed at me, mockingly. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Was itcowd??”

I stiffened my muscles, and then she was really enjoying herself. She slid her popsicle over my abs, one after the other. But I took my revenge. “Here, try a little minty freshness on your hips.”

“Ouch.”

And on we went, painting each other with daubs of orange and mint on our backs, the nape of our necks, our legs, and then right between her breasts. The popsicle broke. A piece slipped in under the hem of her swimsuit.

“Hey, you dummy, it’s cold!”

“Of course it’s cold. It’s a popsicle!”

And we laughed. Lost in a chilly kiss under the hot sun. And in our mouths, orange met mint as we sweetly joined.

“Come on, Babi. Come with me.”

“Come with you where?”

“Come with me…”

I looked first to the right and then to the left, and then I hurried across the road, pulling her after me, and she ran, practically tripping, yanking her sandals off the blisteringly hot asphalt. We left the sea and the road, and we climbed up and up, high up on the dunes. And we kept running inland. Then, not far from a campsite occupied by tourists, we stopped. There, concealed in the low underbrush, between the arid greenery, on the practically rarefied sand, beneath a peeping-tom sun, I lay down on her beach wrap. Then we were flat on the ground. And she lay down on me, out of her swimsuit, all mine now. And in the heat, drops of sweat slid down over us, conveyed by streams of ash-blond hair, vanishing over her already bronzed belly, lower and lower down still, among her darker curls, and farther down still, among mine…

And that sweet pleasure was all ours. Babi moved on top of me, up and down, slowly. Then she let her head fall back, smiling into the sun. Happy to be loved. Beautiful in all that light. Mint. Orange. Mint. Orange. Mint…

That’s it. I’m out of there. Out of the memories. Out of the past. But I’m also out of my mind. Sooner or later the things you’ve left behind will catch up with you. And the stupidest things, when you’re in love, are things that you remember as the loveliest ones. Because their simplicity is incomparable.

And I feel like screaming. In all this silence that’s torturing me. Stop. Enough. Leave me alone. Put it all back where it belongs. There. Lock it up. Double-lock it. At the bottom of your heart, tucked away, hidden around the corner. In that garden. A few flowers, a little shade, and then nothing but pain and sorrow. Put them there, well concealed, make sure of it, trust me, where they can’t hurt, where no one can see them. Where you can’t see them. That’s it. Buried again.

There now. That’s better. Much better. And I drive away slowly. Via Pinciana, Via Paisiello, straight toward Piazza Euclide. There’s no one out on the streets. A police car is parked in front of the embassy. One cop’s asleep. The other one’s reading something.

I accelerate. I pass the stoplight, then go down along Via Antonelli. I feel the cool wind caressing my face. I shut my eyes for a moment, and it feels as if I’m flying. I take a deep breath. Nice. Sweet. Sweet as a watermelon. No, sweeter. I turn down Corso Francia. It’s the middle of the night. I speed up along the viaduct. Now it’s practically cold. A few seagulls rise up into the air from the Tiber. They peer over the bridge. And then, shyly, they seem to wave. Then they dive down again, down to the river water. They let out soft cries, a plea, a request. Tiny, suffocated cries, almost as if they were afraid of waking someone up.

I downshift and turn up Via di Vigna Stelluti. Then I start laughing to myself.

Chapter 6

Half-asleep, half-awake, I hear the sounds of my brother, Paolo, in the kitchen. He’s moving things around, trying not to make any noise. I can tell from the way he sets plates down on the table and shuts the drawers. My brother is every bit as considerate as my mother.

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