When I was a kid, I had a short story book where the main character at the end of each story said, “Sometimes what you don’t expect happens”
It came back to me the other day.
I was walking around in the rain with a man and without thinking I told him what I was feeling at the time even though it was not easy and it was not pleasant. But it was true. And he asks me, “Is that what you hear?”. Then he was silent for a while thinking. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t struggling. He thought. Then something strange happened: we didn’t talk about it anymore but we laughed, so much and we were together a few more hours. When we split up, he said, “Thanks for a good night”.
On the way home I was all messed up. He didn’t treat me like I was crazy, emotional or hysterical. He didn’t tell me I was wrong. He didn’t justify himself. He didn’t comfort me. But something had happened. But what?
I was walking in the rain and I thought how many times a man answered me: “No, you’re wrong to feel like that”! “No, don’t worry, I care”, “Come on! How can you say that?”. Which basically means, “Stop saying things that don’t make sense.” And I guess I was stupid. I thought so. Comfort and consolation to maintain tranquility. And like a curse the next morning you wake up with three extra pounds, all on your ass and you don’t know where they come from ‘how to make them go away until you really do the crazy hysterics, you drop everything, you go away suddenly and the other thinks: “Do you see that I was right to think you crazy?”. And maybe in addition to crazy you’ve earned the feeling of being bad… but the three kilos too go away as they came, suddenly.
I walk in the rain. “Is this what you feel?”. No judgment. No reprimand. No prompt or pre-packaged response. No consolation. No sweetness made just to get over it. Man! Who are you? And who am I now?
“Thanks for a nice evening”. No “We’ll talk tomorrow”, “We’ll go out in the next few days?” “What are you doing on Saturday?”. No certainty, no tranquility, no everyday life.
I turn the key in the lock and smell the smell of my house, alone. As I take off my jacket I cross my face in the mirror of the entrance and thoughts slide down like raindrops from the raincoat. I’m all red. Maybe that’s how you should feel: tomato red on a rainy day.
Gioia Piazzi
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