What a wonderful day. It was raining, it’s true, but Clara was radiant. After such a long time, someone had finally noticed her. Since she was a child, she loved writing. When she was asked: “So Clara, have you decided what do you want to do with your degree in literature? You will surely become a teacher! You will also have vacations, what more do you want?”. She looked at her interlocutor straight in the eye and, without the slightest hesitation, she answered: “I will be a writer”. And she was right to say so: one cannot become a writer. One can only be a writer. They looked at her with pity and with docility in the same way as one does when hopeful children talk about Santa Claus. But today was a great day: with her red coat and some sheets of paper in her hand, she got on the old orange tram and went to the back to admire the landscape she left behind her. It’s true, it was raining, but she had not put the sheets of paper in her bag. She held them firmly, like a bulwark that would protect her from the first snotty guy who would still lecture her on her choice to become a writer. She rested her forehead against the window and, through the raindrops falling inexorably, she wiped the steam from the window. This is always the case for writers: every image is inextricably linked with the word. Everything they see becomes a story. And then, she had turned around and started to observe the other passengers. “We could call him Luigi, yes, this name suits him well”. He is a tall, blond and handsome guy. He must not have slept tonight, perhaps he’s still a little drunk. Maybe he’s a slightly bohemian saxophonist, or maybe he’s just a party boy who’s still too dazed to realize that I’m staring at him with indiscretion. Let’s imagine the character of the saxophonist who’s a little bit lowlife, who is wearing untied shoes and has a packet of cigarettes that will soon fall out of his pocket. Ah, here’s another nice subject: a little old man who, in order to read the bold headlines of a newspaper and to shake his head, licks his right-hand index finger to try to turn the page. There could be many scenarios here, but how to connect it with our friend Luigi? No, it doesn’t work. Better that little brunette over there. She is shy, very pretty. She’s not used to going out at night, her parents still don’t want her to. Yet, they told her that right under her house, there will be a jazz concert where her best friend’s boyfriend plays. Her friend begs her not to leave her alone, and surprise, just that evening, her parents will be at a charity dinner on the other side of the region. And… ah wait but how many stops are missing? Ah well, two more, I can go on. After repeating once again to do it just for her and for her love for Duke Ellington, they enter the room. The light is suffused, the tables are set in front of the band that improvises and has fun. Then I put here a nice description of the place, of the various musicians etc.. Finally, our handsome Luigi notices the young girl who is keeping time with the music. He seems to know the girl. And she observes him, silently, whistling the chorus of the song and checking that there is no mistake. They examine each other. They barely exchange some smiles, which are still hidden by the role they decided to play and which now they have both to respect: Luigi, a great saxophonist; Clara, a great lover of good music. At the end of the song, they know perfectly well that they will have to introduce themselves, that one of them will have to invent some stupid excuse to approach the other. One more stop. So, let’s start again: he gets close to her and, while smiling, tells her: “Can I know the name of the girl who has been staring at me the whole time?”. Luigi, (who I’m now observing while his head is hanging from the left to the right directed by sleep) was really able to surprise her with a seduction tactic! However, she does not let herself be intimidated and, cunningly, she answers in this way: “You took the words out of my mouth: I would have known the name of the musician who controlled my leg in order to keep time with the music”. They smile. This is my stop. The papers in her right hand, the umbrella in her left, she reserves the stop by pressing the button with her elbow. She looks at the boy, then she turns around to look at the girl, she sighs. She gets off with a smile on her face. And as she tries to open the umbrella with one hand and, with the other hand, not to drop her little treasure, she says: “If only they knew they were in love”.
Pubblicato da Grandi Storielle
Siamo sei ragazze, Carola, Celia, Hannah, Livia, Morena e Sara che si sono conosciute in Erasmus a Chambéry e hanno ora deciso di mettere a disposizione la loro piccola ma grande arte per tutti. Visualizza più articoli