To The Ocean And Back (Part 1 of a Luca Series)

Portorosso

May 28th 1968, 5:46 AM

Most artists thrive either at midnight where the moon is at its highest or early in the morning when the sun barely peaks its head over the horizon. Painters. Writers. Performers. Even though the most famous ones draw in millions of people, it's only in the fragile quiet hours of the day where one can think and breathe and create.

And early in the morning was perfect for Alberto Scorfano to read what Ms. Marcovaldo wrote about the drawing he had given Giulia to give to her mother.

The young man sat up on the fickle wooden planks that was the the treehouse. He rolled his shoulders, twisted to the left and to the right, and let out the biggest, unfiltered yawn that he possibly could. He came up with the theory that the louder and longer the yawn was, the less tired you would be during the day. It was a scientific fact, he was sure of it. There were new discoveries being made every day so naturally his theory ended up lost under the new emerging ones.

After he was done stretching, he turned to see the ocean through the leaves. It was placid, the waves barely coming to a crescendo. Meaning, it was a perfect place for Alberto to read his critique.

He stood on his haunches when he heard light snoring coming from beside him. Then the reality of who it was crashed into Alberto's senses, making him smile and almost laugh that Luca Paguro, his best friend in Porotosso, in the ocean, heck even the world, was curled like a pill bug, sleeping under the brown covers. Luca's eye magnifiers were crooked over his closed lids, one lens hovering below his eye, the other pressed against his forehead.

Recalling the fragility of those things, Alberto moved as slowly as he could to take off Luca's glasses. The wood creaked under his bare feet and he winced whenever Luca mumbled something in his sleep or stopped snoring only to start up again. The treehouse definitely needed to be upgraded. Sooner or later, both of them would simply just end up falling through the worn wood and the thought of Luca getting hurt unsettled Alberto.

"Almost there," Alberto whispered to himself, poking out his tongue. His pointer fingers grazed the rims and his thumbs caught the bottom of them. He imagined feathers, angel hair pasta, Machiavelli's fur-if he thought of soft things than he could be soft. Another theory that was sure to be in the newspapers any time soon. Slowly, he eased the eye magnifiers off of Luca's forehead, holding his breath as he did so. Just when he deemed the mission to be a success, a lock of Luca's curly hair entangled itself around one of the stems.

"Oh, give me a break." Nothing to it. Flexing his fingers, Alberto unwound the coil of hair and it fell limply back into the mess of brown curls.

Alberto let out a breath and set his glasses gingerly beside Luca's head. He checked to make sure his best friend was still in Dreamland. As far as he could tell, Luca was still fully asleep.

Huh. Hmm. Ok, Alberto wasn't a creep despite the number of times Giulia called him that. Once, she caught him taking a bite of a whole stick of butter and she boldly claimed that he was a creep. He raised no argument there. Another time, when he turned sixteen and he was stuffed with Massimo's triple layered fudge cake, he stated that he wanted every kind of knife in the world so that he could see the different kinds of faces his enemies made when they saw the blades. Hey, it was the sugar talking. Yet Giulia still called him a "Certifiable Creep."

But if a creep meant watching your best friend sleep, then...well...smack him with a sack of potatoes and call him Pocahontas, he was a creep. As hard as he tried to tear his gaze away, Alberto couldn't stop staring at Luca's face, his pale skin muted slightly under the blue predawn light. He took in his mouth that was slightly open and was letting out a small pool of spit. His brown curls were like whisked chocolate, falling over his ears and forehead. And his eyelashes were like tiny veils. Were eyelashes supposed to be that....nice looking? Ok, everything about Luca was nice, but his eyelashes were long and curled at the ends. How many times had they fell and rose whenever he blinked? How many times did Luca's thumb brush them when he caught something in his eye.