A Semester Abroad (18 page)

“I must return home for a while. I’ll go south in a couple of weeks.” He nodded to himself. “I’ll feel better. I will feel more up.”

I sighed. It made me sad to think of him having to go home. I wondered if I would see him again when he returned. I wondered if he had gotten tired of me. I wouldn’t blame him.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Then he looked at me and smiled. The smile was startling. Perhaps he was better at changing the subject or mood than I was.

“You must never say sorry. You must never say thank you and never say sorry. Friends do not do this.” I didn’t detect irony in the word friends,
amici,
but perhaps in this language, I missed the subtlety.

“Okay,” I said. I looked over at Olivia. Dino motioned for us to come over to their table.

Later, we danced again, all four of us. It was different. There were still a lot of people on the dance floor, but we allowed some space between each other somehow. I was expecting Olivia and Dino to be closer than they were.

“Did we ruin the mood?” I yelled in quick English to Olivia over the music. She shook her head.

“I’m not sure what he wants. He’s confusing.” She faced away from Dino when she said this. His English wasn’t bad. “We’ll talk about this later.”

When the club closed, we piled back in the Alfa Romeo. This time Olivia got to sit in the front with Dino. She finally understood the terror that was Dino’s driving. When she turned around to look at me, I warned her about getting whiplash.

Gaetano said little to me in the backseat. When we dropped Olivia off, he got into the front seat. I closed my eyes and dozed a bit, the jerky zigzags of Dino’s
macchina
lulled me to sleep.

“
Bella,
” I heard Gaetano’s voice from the front seat. He didn’t touch me. “We’re here.”

They drove me to my door. Late at night, you could do this. You weren’t supposed to drive cars into the streets of Siena past the walls, but you could sometimes. It was frowned upon but done anyway.

I leaned up in the seat to thank Dino. “Let me know if you want Olivia’s number.”

“I already have it.
Ciao bella
.”

Gaetano got out of the car to let me out of the back. He kept his arms on the door and the roof of the car, so I had to lean in to him to kiss him.

“So when will you go to the south?”

“In a few weeks.” The way he said this, quick and dismissive, made me think he wanted me to just go away.

“Should I call you?”

“Do what you want,
tesoro
.” Still his treasure.

“Then I will call you.”

“Okay.
Ciao bella
.”

“
Ciao, ciao, ciao
.”

Back in my room, I felt
un po’ giu
, a little down, like Gaetano. Maybe I should have cut it off. Maybe I should just give in. He doesn’t know what he would be getting into with me, I thought. He wouldn’t want it. He cared too much. It’s not good to care too much. Shit.

I remembered how one time back at school when the Stalker girl was waiting down the hall for the boy that was never coming out, Kaitlin shook her head.

“I know, it’s ridiculous,” I said when we were back in our room. I was, at the time, firmly in control of my emotions and relationships.

“She reminds me of someone who can’t get out of her own way,” Kaitlin said. I didn’t really understand that expression then, but I got it now and I wished I knew how to say something like it in Italian to explain to Gaetano why I just couldn’t get involved with him. I couldn’t get out of my own way. And I didn’t want to get in his.

“You aren’t going to be able to just ignore me,” Jonas said. He said this after I stepped through the distance of his dancing circle. It was before either of us understood the strength of my will or how deep my hurt could go. “You can’t do this, not after all this.”

“But you can go back to her?” I asked, my mouth a thin hard line. “You’ll touch her like you touch me.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Right,
you
haven’t. So I will. I’ll make it easy.”

“It’s not easy.”

“No, it isn’t, but I’d like to be spared your little soap opera.” It was hard to be that cold to him. I turned to the window and looked at his face in the glass, looked at him watching me so I wouldn’t have to see what my words had done to his eyes.

Sometimes we looked at each other’s reflections in windows or mirrors when we were smiling too much. We could never understand how well we got along.

My memory was not to be trusted. This was another rule I made. I must never trust my memory. It could not have been either as good or as bad as I remembered. It was impossible for me to remember it in pieces. If I could separate out the pieces I would be okay. I could do things to make me okay.

No, no I would never be okay. Even the pieces hurt.

I remembered sitting on the bus and making him laugh. I remembered his face exploding with a smile, body convulsing, rolling his head around in happiness. What did I say? Something stupid? Something wonderful? It didn’t matter. I cannot imagine that I had the power to do that to him, to anyone. To have that power over someone else. Surely if I’d had it, we wouldn’t be apart. None of that can be true.

But if I get his face smiling I have to see everything. I have to have it tinged with hurt. I did some bad things, too. I must not remember those.

I am not a violent person.

Finals week for my first Italian semester came when I would be taking midterms at college in America. Afterward I had a whole week off to go visit Kaitlin in Paris. For the whole week, I studied hard for the final.

There would be multiple choice and written essay questions. There would the requisite Italian oral examination attended by both Signora Laza and another professor. The oral test would be given to two students at a time.

Normally, I would ask Gaetano to help me study. I counted on his help, but I called him only once since the night at the club. He made no attempt to see me.

Instead I spent a couple of afternoons studying with Lucy at her apartment outside the walls. Lucy was a far superior student. She had no fear about the language. She was willing to say things. She let herself make mistakes. She learned more that way.

At her house, she made us cups of espresso and in return I bought her packs of Dunhill Lights. Lucy was much more sedate than the rest of the girls on the program. She was almost twenty-eight and mature. I was flattered that someone like Lucy enjoyed my company. It was a bit of a privilege that I had another person to help me escape my apartment.

At Lucy’s house we ate plates of fresh vegetables and the saltless Tuscan bread with tangy cheese made from sheep’s milk. One afternoon Lucy whipped up a crepe. There was always wine. This was the special excess of living in Italy–that there was always wine.

Lucy hinted about her past wildness, but those days were over she told me. Lucy alluded to all this through a cloud of cigarette smoke, but never gave away too much. All I knew was that this was not her first time in Europe. I liked her mystery and felt flattered that I might be the one to someday figure it out.

On the Tuesday before the final, Signora Laza came up to me as I was getting ready to go for the
pausa
. Most of the class was already out the door. As always, I tensed up in her presence. I lived in constant fear that Signora Laza would tell me that I couldn’t speak the language and never would be able to.

“Have you been studying for the final?”

“Yes,” I said, hesitantly. I felt my underarms begin to sweat. “A lot.”

“I suggest you study very hard.”

“Okay,” I said. My tongue was thick in my mouth.

“I’m not sure you are going to pass.”

“Okay.” What was I supposed to say to that? Signora Laza nodded and buttoned up her coat.

“I’ll see you in the café.”

“Okay,” I said again. I pretended I still had to collect something before
pausa
so I would not have to walk out with Signora Laza and hear more about how I was going to fail the final. I never failed a class in my life. My parents were disappointed when I got a 3.0 in my first semester of college. Now Signora Laza thought I wasn’t going to pass
. Way to inspire confidence, Signora Laza.

Shit.

That afternoon, I didn’t take a nap. After I made lunch, I began studying furiously. I managed to commandeer the dining room table, so that Lisa had to work around me. She finally gave up and went to sit at the desk in the foyer.

Michelle and Janine also had finals, but neither one of them were too nervous about it. Michelle was doing surprisingly well, just learning the basics from scratch and from Duccio. It was not in Janine’s nature to care. Lisa, on the other hand, was holding out hope that she would be so fluent during her oral exam that they would automatically skip her a level.

When Michelle came home, she immediately burst into tears. I got up to meet her at the doorway of the dining room. We hugged.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Is it Duccio?”

“No, it’s my grandmother. She’s been sick, you know.” I didn’t.

“Is she okay?” I asked.

“No, she doesn’t have much time. If I want to see her again, it’s now or never.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. I squeezed her arm.

“I’ve been at the office at the
università
all afternoon trying to book a flight, so I can just go home since we already have a break. I got my
professore
to give me the exam early and I’ve got to take it tomorrow and then I catch a flight out of Pisa at four. Jesus, this is going to be a hell of a night.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother. I’m going to be up all night, too, if that’s any consolation. My
professoressa
told me she doubts I’m going to pass.” After I said it, I wondered if I should have. It wasn’t at all comparable to Michelle’s problem. But Michelle was smiling.

“Are you serious? Do you want to pull an old school all-nighter with me?”

“
Assolutamente, bella
.”

“Okay.”

We stayed up the entire night studying. I made room for Michelle on the dining room table. I didn’t give a shit what Lisa thought when she came in to forage for pastries on the shelf.
Non mi fregga niente
. Lisa looked over at us.

“What?” I asked.

“Can I have one of your biscotti?”

“Sure,” I said. I wondered if Lisa was the food thief, if Lisa would take it whether we were there or not.

When Janine came home, Michelle told her the whole story of her grandmother, the final and how she had to go home.

“That sucks,” said Janine tugging a strand of Michelle’s hair. “When are you coming back?”

“Sometime after spring break.”

“So does that mean everyone is leaving me for the break?” Janine said, her voice starting to grow to a whine.

“I’ll be here for part of it,” shouted Lisa from the hall.

“Great,” Janine said, openly rude.

“I thought your friend from school was coming here for the week,” I said.

“That fucking bitch, she can’t be relied on for anything,” Janine’s eyes were narrowing. Her pretty face was becoming bitter. She added, “Just like Michelle.”

“Um, I don’t think I can really help it that my grandmother is going to die.” Michelle caught a bit of an attitude herself.

“Yeah, I know, hon. I’m sorry.” Janine also was taken aback by Michelle’s snap. She smoothed Michelle’s hair and then leaned over to give her a big hug. I looked back down at a list of verb tenses.

“Do you want to get a drink or something?” Janine asked in a poor attempt to be sincere. Again Michelle grew incredulous.

“J, I just told you I have to study all night because I’m taking the test tomorrow.”

“Okay, fine, I was just asking.” Janine turned her attention to me. “Why are you being such a nerd, Gab? You can always be counted on for a drink.”

I swallowed before answering. “I’m just trying to get an early start on things. I want to pass.”

“Isn’t anyone any fun anymore?” Janine yelled this at the ceiling.

“I could get a drink,” Lisa called from the foyer. The three of us stared at each other with wide eyes. It was unbelievable. Was Lisa really going to go out? On a school night?

“Thanks a lot, guys,” Janine whispered. Then she said louder. “Let’s go in, like, an hour, Lise.”

Lise?
They got ready to go. It was quite a scene. Lisa was following Janine around as Janine belittled her appearance with excuses of giving her a makeover. She lent “Lise” her perfume and clothes.

“Okay, you nerds, how do I look?” Janine stood before us in a midriff-baring halter and a tight short denim skirt, her stiletto boots adding a couple of inches to her height.

“I believe there’s a word in Italian I just learned, let me see…” Michelle said flipping through the text. “Oh yes, here it is.
Putana
.”

All three of us laughed. Janine pretended to kick her leg at Michelle, so we could see that she was not wearing any underwear. Then they were gone and Michelle and I got a lot of studying done.