Notoriously Beautiful

12

Dinner For Two

(Saturday)
The second best day of the week. I hear a knock on the door, not the gate. Marco is here to pick me up in his Jeep. I still don't know where we were going, but I don't really care. I know it's going to be nice no matter what.
"Heyyy", I say as I wave my hand in the air.
I brought my dark purple bag that's just the right size, I'm wearing my dark purple sandals with the little green gems on the front, the bag and the shoes match perfectly, I mean duh. I'm pretty much a fashion queen. I'm wearing my shirt that's split in four sections each a different color, the top right is blue, top left is pink, bottom right is light green, and the bottom left is dark yellow. It has a little collar thing like button down shirts have. For pants, I'm wearing black jeans.
"Ciao bella," Marco says.
"You look absolutely amazing," he says.
I look at him, he's wearing a dark purple button down, with black pants, and he's got a light jacket on, so I can't see wether the shirt is long sleeve or short.
"We are matching," I say.
"The purple, yes. We match perfectly," he says.
(Double meaning alert!)
I get in the passenger seat, and adjust the chair position, his brother must have sat here last because the seat is back all the way, and down all the way. I can barely see through the windshield, I'm just too short.
"A regular green tree, with its brown bark, with its amazing presence. In a world of industry, in a world of agriculture, in a rural town or in a wealthy city, they are still green, and they are still trees," Marco says, on our car ride to the mystery destination.
"Isn't it crazy how I know that a tree can't grow infinitely large, just as I can imagine it growing infinitely large," I say back.
"There is a fine line between imagining and insanity. I for one have learned the difference. Believe it or not, was a tough lesson to learn, when I was just a young boy. My imagination was so wild." Marco says, smiling. I could tell he was thinking back to his past.
I'm not exactly sure how that talk started, but it was interesting. It's a crazy idea, to think that a simple thing like a tree species can be found in so many places around the world.
Marco has only one hand on the wheel which annoys me so much. I want to take his other hand and put it on the wheel, where should be.
"What does your left hand have to do that's so important, that it can't be on the wheel?" I ask.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot" he says.
"Forgot what," I say.
"That your an American from the city. I have to follow every single rule in the driving book," he says, trying to annoy me.
"I think I just forgot everything for a second. Eexcept you," he whispers, barely saying the words.
Maybe he didn't even say that, maybe I just heard what I wanted to hear. I have to know.
"What did you say?" I ask.
"What did you hear?" He says.
I leave it at that.
"This hand is VERY important, you should know," he says.
"Oh yeah, really?" I say.
"Oh yeah, definitely. Look what it can do," he says. He takes his hand and places is on my head and rubs my hair, and makes it all messy. I should mention he's doing it while driving.
I grab his hand off my head and throw it back to his side of the car.
"Stop the car," I say.
"WHAT, you're THAT mad?" He says. I can tell he thinks it's funny but to me it's not.
He stops the car, gets out, and comes to my side of the car. He opens my door, bends down and attempts to kiss my forehead. Instead he bangs the top of his head on the car, and I start laughing.
"Oh my gosh, ha, are you, ha ha, are you okay?" I ask.
"Wow, that made you laugh," he asks.
"Maybe a little," I say.
"Step our bella," he says.
I get out of the car, and he pulls me away from the car.
"What do you want," I say, then I continue, "you know what, if you think you can just mess up my hair, that took fifty minutes of my day to make it look good, then you can just bring me back home, and maybe I'll find another person who respects my hair, and I'll go on a date with them instead!" I say.
He just looks at me, his eyes said I'm so, so, so, so, so, so sorry. I turned around, because I didn't want him to see me laughing.
"Are you, wait a second, are you laughing?" He says.
He spins me around and catches the mischievous smile on my face.
"You WERE laughing!" He says.
He hugs me really tight, but even that's funny because I'm so short that he's practically hugging my neck. Not like strangling me, but— I guess it's a little confusing.
Wait, oh wow, this is better. He picks me up, my arms are around his shoulders and my legs are wrapped around his waist.
"Am I lifting someone, I can't really tell. Hello, anyone?" He jokes.
I'm not an unhealthy underweight, but I'm rather thin, and since I'm short, even my girl friends can pick me up without a problem.
"Alright, I got the point," I say.
"Oh wow, bella. You're hanging from my body?" He says.
"That sounded weird, um, put me down, please," I say.
"Okay," he says, but instead he picks me up even higher, putting me on top of his shoulders.
"Ahhhhh, oh my gosh I'm going to fall, please put me down," I say.
Finally he puts me down, we are both just laughing subtly and we go back to sit in the car, and we keep driving.
We arrive at our destination, I look around, trying to see if I can recognize where we are. I can't, but there are many stores, along the side of the streets. Marco gets out of the car, and comes around to open my door.
"Thank you," I say, politely.
He doesn't say anything back, but he winks, and I understand, that was his way of saying your welcome. Charming, that's the one word I'd use to describe him. Charming, it's perfect for him, but more than just that. Maybe warm, both perfect words.
We step inside of a restaurant, a man approaches us.
"Marco, vieni," he says, the man tells Marco to come as he walks towards a table, we skip past a short line but still a line, of people waiting to be seated.
"Marco, all these people, are before us," I say in a whisper.
"Follow me bella, my friend has set up something for us," he says.
I feel bad cutting the line at first, but I guess those people didn't make reservations. Marco did though, to be prepared is to be responsible. That's what I think. When someone looks to the future, when they have a plan, that means they want their life to go somewhere. Ambition.
We sit down at a table in the center of the outside seating area of the restaurant. It is beautifully decorated, there are candles hanging from these posts, they are trapped inside of glass circular pieces. I kept trying to see if they were electric or real. I can't tell.
"You like this place," he asks me.
"I do, it's very beautiful. Thank you for taking me here," I say reaching to the other side of the table, for his hand.
He took my hand and examined it.
"It's so small," he jokes, because my hand is quite big.
"Stop it," I say laughing, and I pull my hand back to my side of the table.
"It's beautiful, I'm only joking," he responds, reassuringly.
"One of my best friends, the man who brought us to the table, Samuele. I grew up with him. I want you to meet him, he'll come back soon," Marco says.
"I'll be happy to meet him," I smile.
"So, do you work?" He asks.
"Yes, I'm a nurse. I actually work at the hospital in Nizza di Sicilia now," I say. I am very proud, I can hear my excitement in my own voice.
"A nurse, very nice," he says.
"I know your mother thinks I'm just a taxi driver but I'm actually not," he says.
My heart sinks to the bottom of the Mediterranean. My mom DID say that, and he DID hear that.
That's all I hear, I feel so bad that he even remembered that, that means that he was hurt by that. I'm so upset.
"Listen, I'm so sorry about that. My mom, she," I say. I can't find the right words.
"No, no," he says, shaking his hands around in the air.
"You misunderstood me, I just wanted to say that, I own a pizzeria. My brother and I, but I taxi drive sometimes, because I love to drive, and by simply driving to places, that I would have driven to anyway, I make a little extra money," he says.
"A pizzeria, how...Italian of you," I laugh. " well anyway that's very nice. Maybe I'll come sometime," I say.
"Maybe I'll take you sometime," he says grinning.
How is it that he knows exactly what to say, and what to do? It feels as if we share the same soul, and inhabit different bodies. The feeling is actually a little off putting, could we be like, romance novel main characters. Is that how I could categorize Marco and I?
(snort) I snort laugh at my thoughts, and I notice he's laughing at my laugh, and then I laugh at him laughing at my ugly snort laugh.
"Definitely," I answer.
"Alright, what do you want to order? The octopus is very, very good. So is the branzino fish,"he says.
"What are YOU getting?" I ask.
"It doesn't work like that with me," he says shaking his finger.
"Then how does it work?" I ask sarcastically.
"Why do women always want to follow men? We've got half the brain that you have, and we use our muscle to settle our differences," he laughs.
I laugh as well,
"You should know, I'm not one of those 'women' you talk of. I actually don't usually follow anyone," I cross my arms.
"Ohhhh, I see," he says, lifting his eyebrows and repeating after me, in crossing his arms.
I feel like he is not taking me seriously at this point. I am feeling like that. My nonna always told me I am small but mighty. I am a great leader, and I don't just follow men. I do the opposite most of the time.
"I actually never follow other people, I just wanted to be polite. I want the octopus," I say.
"Brava, ora chi siamo," he says. (Good, now we're getting somewhere)
I feel better now, I realize his point wasn't to tell me I couldn't be a leader because I am a girl, it's because he wanted me to show what I am a strong, independent woman. Not that I need to prove anything to him but—I don't know. In this case I didn't really show off. He tricked me into taking a test, but I can't seem to understand if I passed or failed. I think I passed. I always do.
The night goes on and it's getting better each minute.
The waiter brings our food, we eat, we laugh, and we connect. Now Samuele approaches us, he has a baby face, his skin is soft and his face is very, very round.
"Samuele, qui che Katarina," Marco says. (Samuele, here is Katerina).
"E così bello conoscerti cara," Samuele says. (It is so nice to meet you dear).
He is so kind to me. He asks me if I'd like to learn how to make tomato sauce with him and his mother. Of course he invites Marco too.
I tell him I want to learn as much as I can in my lifetime. Of course, I'm in Sicily, I need to know how to make fresh sauce! So we made plans for the Friday that is to come. Samuele is going to come to pick up both Marco and I with his truck because his mother's house was a little far away. An hour or so, to get to San Saba.
"It's a town by the water, when you enter the town it's like you're entering the past somehow," Samuele says.
"It's absolutely spectacular, the century old buildings in that town have been maintained all this time. Fields and fields of wet grass, following fields and fields of trees and such," Marco says in agreement.
"It sounds wonderful. Next Friday then," I say waving as we get up and leave the restaurant.