A Veil of Glass and Rain (20 page)

I tried to give it to her. “My parents are the

same. They can't stay away from one another.

They're photographers, you know, like your

parents.”

She nodded.

I continued. “When I was your age, I noticed

that every time one of them went away,

working, the one who had to stay at home with

me was very sad. So I told them that they

should work and travel together like they used

to, before I was born.”

“Who takes care of you when they're away?”

Brina asked.

“My grandparents, and aunts and uncles,

and even some friends of my family.”

“You're lucky. I only have my parents. And

their only friends are your parents.” She

shrugged. She was trying really hard not to cry.

I wanted so much to hold her. But she

seemed so frail. I was afraid to crush her.

“You have me, fur-ball. You'll always have

me,” I promised her.

She threw herself in my arms then. I

clutched her trembling little frame against my

chest. I became her fortress. I became her

shelter. I became her family.

I must cling to what I know. Otherwise I'll go

mad.

I was born in New York city.

My father is American. My mother is British.

My dad's parents died when I was a kid.

They were very old. They went to sleep,

holding one another, and they didn't wake up.

My father is older than my mother. But I'm

sure that when his time comes, my mum will

go with him

My British grandparents are different.

They're rational and resilient. Of that I'm

grateful. I need people like them in my life.

And so does Brina.

Yellow is my favorite color. It's the color of

lemons. It's the color of the sun.

Brina, the most important person in my life,

smells like lemon and a day spent basking in

the sun.

The day Brina wrapped herself around my

heart, she was wearing a yellow sundress. We

were in a park. She thought I was asleep. She

kissed me.

I remember the humid grass underneath my

back. And I recall the smell of sweat and

exhaustion drenching my clothes and my skin.

Suddenly the unpleasant odors faded away,

replaced with the bitter scent of lemon. Then I

tasted sweet caramel across my lips, in my

mouth, on my tongue. She was kissing me. Her

small breasts and her hard nipples brushed

along my arm. Little mewls of delight escaped

her throat. I felt that tentative and yet sensual

kiss everywhere. I had to force myself to

remain still and quiet.

In the end I failed. I issued a small grunt.

And Brina ran away. She left me behind with

the hard-on from hell. The little minx.

Everything changed then. Not only because

of the kiss. Nine months later David died. It

was April. David and I were in the south of

France.

The car accident stole his life and crashed

my existence. Surviving was both a gift and a

curse. I was grateful. But I also had a huge

responsibility. I had a life to live in the

smartest way possible.

I turned into Mr. Judicious. I began to plan

everything in advance. No more rush moves.

No more rush decisions.

I started to outline my future with Brina. I

wanted her back for good. But I had to move

carefully. She was still too young for me. I was

ready to wait for her, of course. The other

women weren't appealing anymore. She was

the one I craved.

Then Neal and Felia Medwin, David's

siblings, entered into my well designed

picture. They messed up all my programs.

My goal was to attend a college in Rome. I

had already found out about a couple of good

American universities located in the eternal

city. It was perfect. But Neal, David's older

brother, called me and told me that he needed

help with his little sister, Felia.

At the time, they were both living in

London. Neal was finishing Drama school. Felia

was studying music and hanging out with the

wrong crowd. She spent her nights drinking and

partying. And she spent her weekends

traveling across Europe to drink and party in

all the main European cities.

Her parents didn't know what to do, so Neal

took control of the situation. He dropped his

courses, asked his rich family for a ridiculously

large amount of money, and began to buy all

the clubs in Europe his sister loved, along with

small apartments.

It sounds crazy but it's true. And in a way it

worked.

Felia went on with her crazy partying, but

at least she did it in her brother's clubs. And

she slept in the apartments her brother

owned. She actually seemed to like the idea.

Probably all she wanted was to feel cuddled,

protected and loved.

I decided to finish my studies in London

because David's siblings needed me. David was

like a brother to me. I became a brother to

them. But living with the Medwins was like

sharing a stage with two experienced

comedians. Neal and Felia wore masks made of

irony and detachment every day. They were

their unbreakable shields against pain and

memories. They never took them off, not even

for me. I understood their reasons, but at the

same time I was hurt. I was always there for

them, and I never hid my emotions from them.

Neal and Felia needed me. But they never

really let me in.

Even when I was taking care and worrying

about David's family, I never stopped thinking

about Brina. Even when she was avoiding me.

Even was I was mad at her. I never stopped

wanting her. I never stopped loving her.

At some point the Medwin siblings had to let

me go. Neal's father, a famous businessman

with a lot of connections, helped me find a job

and a place to live in Rome.

Neal and Felia reluctantly supported my

decision. And they resented Brina.

My girl knows about all this.

I told her the entire story. I had to. I had to

make her understand.

Brina overheard my conversation with Neal

and Felia. She heard their harsh comments.

We fought. She was so hurt. I wanted her

forgiveness and I wanted to heal her. I fucked

her with my tongue and my mouth. I needed

her surrender. I needed to posses her essence.

She gave everything to me.

Later, we talked and she forgave me. Our

life together went back to normal. I thought

we were fine. I was wrong.

I am a very responsible guy.

Every year, though, on the day of my best

friend's death, I let myself go. I get drunk. I

fuck nameless girls, and then I forget about

them.

My purpose is to avoid memories and sleep.

Because the nightmares come, when I fall

asleep. It only happens on that particular

night, it only happens once a year, but it's

enough to destroy my sanity.

In those horrible dreams I'm the one driving

the car. Davis sits in the passenger seat. And

Brina sits in the back. Our lips move, but there

are no words and there are no sounds. At first,

I don't look at the road in front of me. The

moment I do, I hear the sounds and the voices:

The loud noise of metal bending and glass

shattering, and deafening screams. I close my

eyes then. When I open them, I find myself in

the middle of a green field. I'm surrounded by

broken dummies. I walk toward them, and I

realize that they're not dummies, they're real

people. They're the broken bodies of David and

Brina.

Fucking nightmares.

This year, on that damn day, I was with

Brina. And I used her. I lost myself in her body.

And she accepted my harshness and my

desperation. Then she gave me her love. And

she healed my soul with her voice and her

music.

Her scent, her moans, her cries of pleasure

still linger in our home. The memory of her

soft and warm cunt squeezing and kissing my

cock makes me groan.

Another hard-on from hell.

I pay attention to the radio. It hums bitter-

sweet blues tunes.

The rain outside beats a slow tempo.

I lay on a garden of deep-purple sheets and

yellow pillows. I draw in the scent of lemon,

cinnamon and sweat. I lick my dry lips. I

swallow the taste of restless sleep and the

memory of Brina's musky essence.

I miss my friend.

I crave my lover.

The dread of being left behind, of being

forgotten for good, claws at my entrails.

I'm mad at my friend.

I hate my lover.

I gave her my heart and she sliced it. I gave

her a beautiful garden and she refused it.

The falling rain and the deep-purple sheets

evoke the thought of a flower with dark-pink

petals and of intimate folds unraveling with

wet arousal.

My lips part on a muted groan. My hips buck

upward as my hand grasps and palms my cock.

My climax is an agonizing release. My cry is

tainted with defeat.

She needs silence. She needs time. All I

need is her. Six weeks sound like an eternity.

I wanted her to go to Berlin, sample the

unknown, meet new people. But I planned to

be a part of that experience. And I will be. I'm

not giving up. Still, I'll try to give her the

distance she asked for. I love her. I'd do

anything for her.

It's been eleven days since she left. It's time

for me to man up. I will not disappoint her.

Brina wants me to have huge arms and

embrace the world. She's working to achieve

the same goal. Because a beautiful and closed

garden is not enough. We have to be better

than our parents.

My phone is crowded with text messages from

Clém and from Enrico, my colleague and

friend. Clém invites me, repeatedly, to see her

theater show. Enrico wants to know if I'm still

alive.

Well, I miss Brina, my breath, my love. But

I'm still here. And I need people, friends,

voices. They keep me sane. They will not allow

me to crumble.

I call Clém and accept her invitation.

Then I call Enrico.

“Hey, man. Do you want to go see a theater

show tonight? The director is Clémentine,

Brina's friend. Do you remember her? Yes, she's

still single. Yes, my friend, I'm still alive.”

My name is Eagan Sherard. I'm twenty-five

years old. I'm a good guy. I'm also an architect.

At night, and whenever I can, I design the

house I'm going to share with Brina. I don't

know where we will build it yet. But I do know

that it will be our home, our refuge, our

cradle.

20.

BRINA

I miss him.

Brina, in Italian, means “frost”.

My parents chose the name for me because,

on the day I was born, a thin veil of ice coated

the windows, while the flowers and leaves in

our garden were covered with frozen drops.

My parents, Margherita and Jean, met when

they were in their twenties. They were both

orphans. Their bond was immediate and

strong.

Sadness and loneliness killed Margherita's

parents.

My grandfather was a mechanic. After he

married my grandmother, he lost his job.

Unfortunately, he was unable to find work in

Italy, so he left. He managed to obtain a

position in the north of France.

His wife was an elementary school teacher.

She had a steady and secure occupation that

she was unwilling to risk, therefore she and

Margherita remained in Italy.

My grandparents firmly believed in the

strength of their bond.

According to my mother, however, their

love was also fierce and desperate. And it was

nourished by constant physical touch. The

distance became unbearable.

My grandmother, gradually and inexorably,

wilted and languished, like a flower deprived

of water and sun.

Margherita was forced to contact her father

and tell him about his wife dire conditions.

When he arrived home, it was too late. His

wife was gone. He didn't utter a word to his

crying daughter. He just went to sleep and he

never woke up.