Notoriously Beautiful

3

Teatro Antico di Taormina

"I'm ready, where are we going?" I ask.
"Well, we can go to Teatro Antico, if you would like, just look at it from the outside, and we can go around the piazza" Marco says.
"What is that, Teatro Antico?" I ask.
"It used to be like the colosseum, used for gladiatorial fights, but now they do concerts sometimes. It looks beautiful from the outside, it has been there for hundreds, maybe thousands of years," Marco answers.
"That sounds wonderful, thank you for coming. I really need to see something, and get out of this house,"I say, putting my hand on my head, realizing that I am sweating.
"Also I have a question," I say.
"Ask anything, Katerina," he says, putting me in a trance for a minute.
His jaw is defined, andi can tell when he clenches after every sentence.
I think he can't be older than thirty, I force myself not to look into his eyes anymore. They are too entracing, and mesmerizing, so I ask the question.
"Mar, or Marco? What do you want me to call you," I say smirking.
He laughs and looks at the floor, and then back into my eyes. I still can't look into his eyes completely, instead I awkwardly look at his shirt, and then his hair.
"Whatever you'd like bella," he says.
"Your name is so beautiful, why did your parents choose it for you," he asks.
"My mom named me after my nonna Katerina. I was raised by her and my mom," I say, glancing at the floor. I don't want tears to well in my eyes so I force myself not to think about her.
He nods,
"I would love to meet her one day," he says smiling.
I can't say she is dead, it's impossible to say, so I just smile and nod.
"Let's go, we can talk in the car, I want to be back soon to help my mom unpack those boxes," I say.
"If it's not a good time or, or if you want me to help you guys unpack instead of going—," he starts.
I stop him, "it's fine Marco. Don't worry let's go," I say.
I get in his car, it is very clean, I like that, I put my seat belt on and I hear him laugh a little, as he grins.
"I'm not allowed to be safe without you laughing at me," I joke.
"No, it's not the actual seat belt, it's the idea of the seat belt," he says, still grinning.
"I once heard a story about drive, and about courage. A story so powerful it brings tears to my eyes when I think of it," I say.
I don't know why I decided to tell him the story but I did, and it felt so good.
"Tell me Katerina," he says, his voice smooth, and rough at the same time.
"There was a man who was in love with a woman, he told her, I know there's a God above, because He created a woman so perfect just for me. Isn't that so beautiful?" I say, as we drive to Taormina.
"I think the point that your making is, there is always a reason to love. Whether it be to love your perfect soulmate, or your grandmother. Love is stronger than hate, hate is also strong that is why it is balanced with love," he says, as he was clearly contemplating the story I told him.
"Exactly, you're exactly right Marco. Except you're totally wrong," I say.
"I understand completely— wait what?" he says as the car slows to a stop.
"My nonna Katerina died, Marco," I say out of nowhere.
"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry. Was it recent?" he asks.
"Yeah, but I don't know why I said that, it doesn't matter, she was old, she died peacefully. Well the real reason why I said that is because that story of the man and the woman, that was like my nonna and I. Not in a weird way, I don't know we were just great together. She loved to teach and I loved to learn," I say, as my eyes glisten.
He puts his arm on my shoulder. He looks like he is about to say something but he does not.
Why am I so comfortable talking to him?
"I can't see through the mist, but I know that she's there," I say, slightly smiling.
"That's quite beautiful, I believe that she's there too. There's just a fog between the world of the living and of the dead," Marco says.
"What did you say?"
"There's only a fog between the world of the living and of the dead," Marco says again.
"That's amazing. Did you just say those words and boom, or did you read that in part of a poem or something?"
He's laughing, it's so sweet, the laugh. His teeth are almost perfect, he definitely doesn't smoke.
"One thing she always told me was to live my life, to not be held down by tragic events, I want to listen to her. Let's go live life Marco," I say, smiling.
"Your wish is my command, bella," he says, smiling yet another adorable smile.
I think that he is going to turn into a Genie, and that I will have to rub a magic lamp to be granted my wishes.
"Thank you, you're so sweet, I just can't figure out why," I say. When I get out of the car, I curtsey, and he gives his arm out to me as if I was a princess at a ball.
"That's just my personality," he says.
A princess, just like my Nonna and mom used to say.
"Princesses have to be good leaders," they'd always say. I tried so hard to be a good leader in school. I tried to set good examples for the younger students throughout middle school and high school. I was always the teacher's pet, and some kids didn't like me for that, but I didn't care. All I did was be kind to the teachers and the students, that's why everyone liked me subconsciously.
"Those kids are just envious of how great a leader you are. They are envious of the good guy, remember?" my nonna would tell me.
Whatever the reason was, I tried my best not to hold a grudge against those kids. Good leaders don't hold grudges. They think strategically though. For example, I wouldn't dislike those people, or criticize them for talking about me, because that would make me as bad as them. However, I wouldn't trust them anymore, as I would with true, loving, and loyal friends.
"Bella, this way," Marco says, directing us towards the vast circular border, of what? I can not see.
"Wow, how beautiful," I say.
I see all the tables set up with people selling different small items. At one table a woman wearing a yellow sash is selling necklaces and bracelets. On another table there is a man and a woman selling magnets, of Sicily. Those weren't the only two. There are at least 20 other tables, all touching from the start of the block to the end of it.
There is music playing loudly, but I can't tell where it was coming from. It is 11:00AM. I look up and I see a massive building. It's not a New York City skyscraper, but it sure is something. It is beige, with patches of darker colors almost grayish, it looks so old, almost like it should be in a museum, but it probably wouldn't fit. It is so beautiful.
"It is the Teatro Antico," Marco says.
"I figured, but I like the clarification." I say laughing into my hands.
I think I almost hear him say "I'm glad you like it," but I'm not sure I hear him correctly.
The half hour drive is much longer here, than it is in America, and I'm not sure why.
"We can't go inside, I don't think," he says, looking for someone.
But who?
I see him ramble with a man by an entrance leading to somewhere. I don't know where.
"Tickets," he waves two pieces of paper with small writing on them, in my face.
"Tickets," I repeat.