Letters to Harry (h.s.)

one

Friday, 11th of June, 1971
Lucca, Tuscany

Caterina Bianchi

It was June of 1971 when I first met him, I had just turned 17. I caught sight of him the first day of my break, the first day I was back in Italy. It was a normal summer day for me.

"Caterina! Be careful, for God's sake!" My father yells. Walking while reading has never been one of my fortes. Once again, I have knocked over one of the many pots, lined against the patio floor.

"Sorry dad!" I lay my book on the glass table and hurry over to the injured pot. Picking up the shattered pieces, I run to the bins and throw it in there. I rush back to finish cleaning up the scattered dirt before my mother made her appearance outside.

"She will notice," my father mumbles from his comfortable chair placed at the head of the table.

"She will do no such thing," I mumble while moving the rest of the pots, trying to diminish the empty space in the center.

Feeling accomplished with my work, I sit at the table and return to my book, Pride and Prejudice.

"You're a walking hazard," father laughs, interrupting me from a rather intense scene between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, but does not look up from the novel that was placed in his hands.

"The term is clumsy," He laughs and I try to focus on my book once again, but am interrupted by the rest of my family, sitting around the table. I am glad to see that breakfast has also been served.

Filling my plate with not one, but two croissants, and my mug with the freshly made cappuccino. My mother looks at my plate, in a judgmental manner I assume. Feeling unbothered by this action, I began to eat the first of my croissant.

"If you keep eating like that you're going to get fat, it's not very ladylike," Marina remarks, filling her plate with a handful of grapes and only half a croissant. I shrug and open my book, to try to read at least a few more lines.

"I think a lady can eat whatever she wants," replies Aurora. At only 12, she expressed herself as a feminist.

"Thank you, Aurora," I smile and stick my tongue out at Marina, who sat across from me. I don't re-open my book until I was sure that I would not be bothered anymore. We spend almost every morning if our Italian summers in this manner, everyone enwrapped in their own interests.

"Do the pots look ... different to you as well, Lorenzo?" My mother asks, giving the pots a deep and very confused stare.

I silently plead my father not to mention my walking accident, my eyes begged him not too.

"They look the same to me," He winks at me and continues to read his book.

"Hmm..." My mother takes a drink of her mug and averts her eyes from the plants.

After breakfast, I do not hesitate to grab my white tote bag and head out the door of our villa. I stop by the large mirror upon the entrance. My eyes travel down my blue button-up dress, making sure that every button was done. Checking my tote bag once again, making sure I had my book, wallet, water, and hat, I make my way to my bicycle that was leaning against the wall.

I rode past the grapevines, past the Moretti's and the Russo's. This was amongst my greatest of joys, there was nothing I loved more than being able to be free. Away from my family, as awful as that sounded, away from our home. It had been months since I did this, and it was only the third day of summer vacation. I was incredibly excited for the number of days that I would be able to share this joy with.