Colour

“I’ll pay for a coffee and a croissant. Thank you.”

I don’t like the morning shift, 6-12, too much sleep and traffic, too cold.

I’m still sleeping but something catches my attention, something that is wrong with this morning still without light. The color of this lady’s umbrella strikes me, all orange. Of the small ones, to put in the bag, orange also the handle and the lace.

Well, maybe today I should start the day like this. How would it be if… in my life I could give a color to everything important.

So what color would my work be, what color could have my degree, the color of when I was a child and the color of the girls or girls in my life. Then maybe I could get to the end of the line thinking about her color.

I’m heading towards 105, the bus I drive today.

If I think about work then I would put a nice orange stripe, like this lady’s umbrella.

Orange bus, once they were all orange, much better than the grey/red one now.

As well as orange traffic lights, step or not step, I do not step, they are too cumbersome.

But you can blow me, I don’t care, even the sound of the horn is orange!

Or orange light “booked stop” that appears on the console while I drive.

Excuse me, when do you leave?

In five minutes.

Thank you.

The 105 makes Capolinea to Centocelle Park and goes all the way to Termini, then back for the same route.

And a brush of orange is fine, also to remind me of the first day of work, I drove 63 from Via Rossellini (Parco Talenti) to Piazza di Monte Savello in front of Tiberina Island, it was obviously all orange!

It’s on, 6 o’clock.

“Excuse me, I should go to the Gemelli, where do I want to get off?”

It’s the lady with the orange umbrella. Wonder why she goes to the Gemelli. But she doesn’t seem worried, maybe it’s just for a routine check.

“Look out lady must get off at Porta Maggiore and go on foot to the metro Manzoni, then get off at Battistini and take the 146 that brings you in front of the Gemelli.”

“Thank you very much.”

“And what a lady, we would miss.”

Orange is also my lunch box, the backpack of that gentleman who crosses out the strips, the shoes of the boy all cold at the stop.

Today the weather for bad weather, orange alert in Rome.

Stop booked. Casilina/Tor de’ Schiavi

“Excuse me, but is this good for Clodio Square?”

“No, you must take the 545 that brings you to Tiburtina station, take them 495 to Valle Aurelia!”

“Thank you!”

Stop booked. Casilina/Tor Pignattara

What color could the degree be?

What do I know… purple, like the cover of my thesis, light green on the desks in the library, white shirt and black suit for the day of the master’s degree, like Le Iene by Tarantino.

I say two colors, just black and white.

Because then there is the black and white of the pages of the books I studied, the black and white photos hanging in the corridor leading to the teachers’ room, the black and white of the blackboard of the auditorium, those that flow upwards.

Stop booked. Pigneto.

“Excuse me, do you open the door?”

“Yes, sure lady with black bag and coat, white scarf.”

…

“No mom wait, I don’t want the gray bike, I want the yellow car, the baby’s car.”

Nearby is the Piazza dei Condottieri, where my parents used to take me to the rides on Sunday afternoon when I was a child.

Surely the colors of when I was a child are yellow and white!

Yellow ride car.

The leather ball I played with on my grandmother’s playground was white with yellow stripes. My BMX was all white too, with yellow dumbbells.

My aunt gave me the shirt of Roma, it was white, yellow and red!

Stop booked. Casilina/P.le Labicano

It’s student time. Orange and yellow hair. Black shoes or of unlikely colors.

I think of Bianca and Gemma, the girls in my life.

Bianca is younger, she’s in elementary school, while Gemma is now grown and goes to high school.

White is the purple, while Gemma is the green!

Bianca loves princesses and there is always a little bit of purple in the rhinestones, in the long dresses, in the makeup. He also has a purple diary and purple shoes that light up when he walks.

Sometimes he says, “Uncle, we’re going to the park on our bike?” Obviously purple.

Stop reserved. Principe Eugenio/Manzoni

After Termini the bus is empty. The last to get off is the usual gentleman with a cane who thanks me for waiting patiently.

…

“You have the eyes green as two mountain lakes.”

When she was little, Gemma’s mother always said that to her.

Gemma laughed at this phrase, then growing up she complained because it was a children’s sentence.

But she remained green for me, like her costume at the sea, like walks in pine forest where the sky is green.

The sign of that goldsmith is green, as well as the shop of Benetton.

Stop reserved. Ponte Casilino

“If you take the Nomentana from the Raccordo, arrive at Piazza Sempione, then go straight on and there is a newspaper stand at the height of the Guardia di Finanza. Meet me there, 8:30 p.m..”

It was the first date. I would say it seems yesterday but it is not so.

The newsstand doesn’t exist anymore.

Stop booked. Casilina/Tor de’ Schiavi

“Excuse me, is there a strike tomorrow?”

“You madam should be confirmed, from 9 to 13.”

…

Everything was a match with the color of his eyes, they were fine with everything.

Celeste with brown coat, black boots and pearl grey knit.

Girl who crosses with celestial trolley, obviously I let her pass.

Centocelle park. Terminus.

There’s no one left.

I get off the bus to go get a degree… a black coffee in a white cup.

I walk on gray asphalt and light my Roma shirt… a white cigarette with the yellow filter, use red lighter.

I walk by a green tree, mountain pond, out of the yellow car, that is, from the yellow door, a white-haired woman with a leather ball, beige coat and brown shoes.

I look up, few white clouds BMX on a heavenly background you, what peace today.

What color is peace?

Walter Di Mauro