When September is wearing out

I'm always sad at the end of something. Just one more day and September will be over. I've already mentioned that it's been exceptionally sweet to me this year. It's been full of events, full of thoughts, full of feelings. A lot of people I love have their birthdays in September which is such a blessing! I'd rather not mention the amazing colors of the leaves in September for it's way too trite. But I can't help dwelling on the color of the sky. Have you ever noticed how dramatically the sky changes in September? Just three weeks ago in West Wittering it was still summer-like and low. Now it's much higher and azure and so very fragile looking. The summer's been too quick again. I've just been re-reading some posts on another blog of mine and I happened on one which had been written just before I met you. Such a weird feeling. You've still no idea of what's exactly going on with me about you. And I've still no idea of what's best to do and not to do to break the proverbial ice. You do know, don't you, that when you're madly in love, whatever you do seems to be desperately wrong? It's the end of September and for both of us it's been full of events, full of thoughts, full of feelings. We'd better not rush things. We'd better live our own lives for the time being. I hear South Cal is sweltering again? Do come this side of the pond if you ever need to cool down. You know, you're always welcome. And have a nice day, as Tuesday's just begun with you. 

Random thoughts

Just saw Tasya van Ree's new video "Blood is thicker than water". So good! So fresh! So talented! Amber and Whitney are amazing! Made me think of my beach holiday in West Wittering, Sussex just three weeks ago. There's nothing on the face of this planet which I love more than the sea. It doesn't matter which and where. When I feel lazy and in the mood for heat, I usually go to the Mediterranean. My favorite ever spot is on the Tyrrhenian coast not far from Rome. I used to spend innumerable hours and days there. Reading, writing, swimming, eating ice-cream, watching the sunsets, forgetting about everything, believing things were gonna work out the way I wanted to. I'm never miserable near the sea. Never. This summer I was too heartbroken to head to Italy and decided to stay at the English seaside. I know this seems like a very strange kind of logic, but that's just me. The sea in England smells different compared to that of hotter countries. Even its very salt is different - in England it's much finer. The water is cold, sometimes shockingly cold. But strange as it may seem again, it was exactly what I needed. I swam every day, sometimes for as long as an hour in one go. I shivered and trembled when out of the water and had to immediately put on my hoody. Did the clear cold water of the English channel help to cure my heart? Time will show. One thing is for sure, it switches off all the random thoughts and the only thing you're likely to have on your mind is: how do I survive in these insane waves when the tide is coming? And that's good. Because if I'd stayed in the city just a little longer, if I'd checked on my email 200 times a day I might have well flown off the handle! I'm much better now, thank you! Thank you for your unawareness. Thank you for making me stronger even without knowing it. Thank you and I'm not being sarcastic. A year ago I couldn't imagine what I'd be going through now. And there are no regrets, naturally. They never work.

The promice I can't keep

I promised myself many a time I would never ever again fall in love with someone who is allegedly involved with someone else and at a distance. I've broken my word. I fell madly in love. Something that began with a chance encounter at the end of April has grown to be an uncomfortable, controversial, torturing, but still a wonderful feeling to experience. I couldn't imagine in my wildest fantasies that you and I would happen to be invisibly connected by such a great number of coincidences - too meaningful to be ignored. Although there's nothing much I can do about the situation apart from keeping my cool and never letting you know the inmost so far. I don't know what's going to happen next to you and to me. I'm not sure whether I want to see you this side of the pond right now. I can only hope one day we concur in time and not only. And I hate myself for doing it. I hate myself for being weak, for being unable to put a stop to it, for being unable to accept things as they are. How do I kill that annoying mocking bird in my head, ah?!  

That day in September

Yesterday was unusually, lullingly warm with us. In the afternoon I caught a bus to get to work for the two classed I was due to give. I felt hot and had to put off my jacket. The bright sun dazzled through the windowpane. I pressed "shuffle" in my iPod to mix the songs. And when that girl got on the bus I was listening to Kirsten Price's "Magic tree" and I even remember the line in the lyrics "Knocking on hard wood like I know you should, You'll be shakin' on the kitchen floor". Okay, there she was and she sat next to me: utterly bad tasted, wearing cheap jeans, dark purple high boots, long black tee shirt, fake leather jacket; on top of that she was poorly made up with Amy Winehouse's worst day thick black eye lining. And in spite of all that she was an absolute goddess with her finely shaped nose and delicate facial features. I wondered if she realized that. I wondered if such thoughts ever came through her mind. When I got out of the bus I remembered it was my friend Kate's birthday. I dialed her number and for the seven minutes I walk from the bus stop to work we were chuckling on how weird it feels that it's her second birthday in a row when we end up in two different parts of the globe. Thank you September 21! It was a good day for us. Hope it was good for you too!

The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things

It is. No matter how pretentious it sounds. It is deceitful. You texted me last Friday saying you'd missed me badly and wanted to see me for a coffee. I worked till 8 pm and couldn't do anything about it. I asked if you'd mind to see me after 8. You didn't know. Our schedules are pretty conflicting this autumn. I wanted to see you. I tried to shift my late class, but in vain. At about half past four the strangest thing happened: the late class canceled itself, quite unpredictably. I phoned you. You said you'd be free in half an hour. We met at five sharp and our casual embrace was probably a fraction of a second longer than usual. You said you'd missed me. You said it felt as if you hadn't seen me at all since I came back. I felt so too. I felt there was a little more tension between us than before. You wanted a scarf. That blue, striped Indian scarf which you'd seen a couple of days before. I said we should go and get it. We did. And dropped for a pizza into a restaurant nearby. It tries its best to come across as Italian. It was raining when we went out. The first proper autumn rain after two weeks of nervous dryness. Quiet, ingratiating. I didn't have my umbrella and we sheltered under yours. We talked and laughed of silly little things and it felt great for the tension had finally disappeared. The damp warmth was blissful. The leaves murmured above our heads. And I kept on thinking of the startling, huge, awkward, fluctuating feeling I've nurtured towards you in the past four years. And I couldn't help admitting to myself how agonizingly in love I am with someone else. I told you, didn't I, the human heart is so deceitful. 

My cousin Paul

That time Paul and I met in one of the cafés around the Duomo. I don't actually like the place for you can hardly have a quiet talk over a cup of coffee there with all the tourists rushing about. Thanks goodness it was not exactly the high season. But Paul is Paul. He adores luxury, he loves posh places and he absolutely despises the industrial outskirts of Milan. In my opinion Milan is far more theatrical than Venice even. It hardly exists behind the small coin of its very dramatic downtown.

One of Paul's favorite spots in the downtown is an elegant café in the Gallery of Vittorio Emmanuelle II – just across from an eloquent sign reading in looped silver letters “Fratelli Prada”.

“My God, Paul!” I exclaimed when he raised from his chair to greet me “have I just seen a McDonald's over the corner?!”

“You're desperate, sweetheart! But don't mock it straightaway! Seen its colors?!” Paul gave me a big kiss on each cheek, “You look fabulous!”

I was waiting for the proverbial “I haven't seen you for ages!” and was even ready to respond he is such a bastard being “that busy all the time”, but he was smart enough not to mention it.

“What shall I order you, darling?”

“Something nice. Actually, you should know better, you live here, don't you?”

“Due macchiati e due cornetti,” he said to the waiter.

“Con la crema o con la marmellata?” the guy must have not noticed how concentrated on each other we were to mind the fillings in the pastry.

“Okay, you tell me now what you are doing in Milan,” Paul began in his usual suave tone.

“Isn't it you who's supposed to begin?”

“I might well do that, if you wish. As you probably know, I bought a flat here. But I can't say I've already managed to figure out what for.”

“Do you really feel like settling down here?”

“Who knows? After all I found something I really like doing in the fashion industry. I tell you, it feels like something I fancy doing!”

“I fancy doing! You sound like a limey!”

“I was a limey once, wasn't I? In fact, we both were! Do you ever think about that time in Oxford?”

“I think a lot about it. It was not that bad at the end of the day.”

“You mean it? Don't you think we all tend to idealize the past no matter how miserable it was?”

“Could be so. The past always seems smoother than the tormented present.”

“Aren't you happy now?”

“Not as I used to be.”

“What happened? It's somehow connected with this escape to Europe, isn't it?”

“I lost a child, Paul.”

“Oh my God, Liz, I didn't know! When?”

“In the spring. I thought I was going to lose my mind.”

“What was the term?”

“Ten weeks. John was really depressed as well. We've been through such hard times. So we decided to take time off.”

“I see. How long are you planning to stay?”

“John's working on some research. Guess we're gonna stay for at least a year. I don't care about it.”

“Are you working on anything?”

“Yeah, I’m doing some writing. At least I’m trying as hard as I can, ‘cos it feels awful to do nothing, apart from leafing over and over my miserable experience. And I’m also working on some lectures, although I still can't bring myself to come back to the university.”

“I think you'd better not rush with that.”

“It's so good seeing you, Paul. I missed you awfully!”

“I missed you too! We should get together more often. Though I’m going away soon.”

“What? A business trip of some sort?”

“Yeah, I’m meeting up some guys in London.”

“Really? Say “hello” to my beloved Soho, will you? You travel a lot?”

“Seems so. Do drop in some time, will you? I'll leave you the address. It's within walking distance from here.”

“Everything is within walking distance in Milan we dwell in. Okay, I will. For sure. Is Thomas here with you? (I stressed letter “a” as usual)”

“Thomas (he stressed letter “o” as usual) is here with me! We're forever together!”

“I bet!” I paused. “Don't you think it feels strange? I mean, I've been here a couple of times before and we stayed at some hotel and now we're staying at that strange flat where I want to change every single thing because it's not mine! It's so not mine!”

“Even John?”

“John's not a thing, he cannot be changed! And why are you forever mocking him? Is it your jealousy speaking?”

“Who wouldn't be jealous of you?”

“C’mon, stop it, Paul!”

“Neither Jane nor I was ever so important for anyone in the family as you were and are and will always be!”

“Stop it, Paul! That's not true! That's not fair! And you shouldn't be telling me all this!”

“Maybe they are just deep-rooted childish frustrations. I should have probably overcome those bats long ago, but you know it's a damn hard thing to do!”

“Paul, have you ever thought what my life's really about? Have you ever put yourself in my shoes? There's nothing fabulously special about my life and you wouldn't be able to survive some of the things I live with! Do you really think that when a late child in the family is pampered by all the kin much to the jealousy of her brother and sister, do you really think it makes the child happy? No way, Paul! No fucking way!”

“Don't go so mad about it!”

“I try my best not to!”

“I’m sorry if I touched a raw nerve with this.”

“You did! Indeed you did!”

“Please,” he took my hand, “can I walk you home now? I really want to!”

I looked at him, at his clear blue eyes and wondered why, in spite of really loving each other we were never ever able to have normal, healthy brother-sister relationships; or, to be more exact, cousin-cousin relationship.

“Thank you, Paul. But I'd rather drop into a couple of places on Via Montenapoleone before going home. You don't fancy carrying my shopping bags, do you?”

“You always had enough money at your disposal to spend it elegantly!” he smiled one of his most charming smiles and I instantly got what he was driving at.

We both stood up and hugged.

“Take care of yourself, Lizzy. I'll see you when I come back from London.”

“Have a safe journey,” I replied somewhat dryly for I still couldn't bring myself to forget Paul's silly attack on me and to be my usual loving self with him.

Needless to say I didn't go shopping then. It was just an excuse not to walk home with Paul. I roamed about Duomo a bit. Had a drink at one of the bars (it was 4 p.m. already and I thought I did have the right to have a drink) and strolled home.

I strolled very slowly the too-short-for-thinking distance and once at home (John was still at work, naturally) I made myself a cup of coffee, settled on the sofa near the window in the so-called living-room, glanced at the neon “Geox” sign just opposite our home and began recollecting my “Oxford period”.

When I'm in a NYC state of mind

In a fortnight I returned to New York.

The morning I flew was chilly and cloudy. The sea was all foaming, sluggish, dull olive, under a delicate haze. Subtle hints here and there of the inevitable change of the season.

Suitcases packed. Grandma and grandpa kissing good-bye. Miles and miles of French countryside from the windows of Sud Express. Paris. Charles de Gaulle. Nine hours among the clouds. La Guardia. Another world.

Indian summer reigned on Manhattan in its ultimate gorgeousness. New Yorkers were coming back to the city from the Hamptons. And I, as never before, enjoyed the merry bustle of the Madison Square and Broadway and Park Avenue. It even seemed at times that my wounds were healing, although I knew that the poison was still in. I went shopping buying new clothes and shoes and in the pleasant fuss of it hardly noticed the arrival of the fall. The cool wind from the coast prompted at times that the season would click soon, until, at last, shy rain at night quietly whispered that a new season had officially begun.

It was my first fall at university then. Paying due tribute to the presence of the itchy French genes I went on studying the Romance languages at the philological department of Cornell.