power; rather he credited the events in his favour to his courageous decision to quit smoking. And he had made that decision prompted by Damien’s encouragement. Something in his mind had changed.
In re-reading the letter, in Massimo’s head happened the same thing that happened to Damien. Just like two people sitting in a movie theatre at the same time, watching two different movies, in two different theatres at the same cinema: Memory Cinema.
Following his father’s death, when Massimo was just eighteen years old, the world had become a hostile place to him. Finishing school and graduating as a surveyor had involved considerable sacrifices. His father was the only one who had a steady job, but he didn’t even accrue the minimum of his pension contributions, while his mother, a housewife who did a little domestic work here and there, was able to earn just enough money for their daily expenses. They needed to pay their mortgage. When they signed the papers with the bank for the purchase of the apartment, they didn’t even consider insurance in case of death. “Who'll kill me?” Massimo’s father asked. But in the 90s, cancer killed a lot of people.
So Massimo had to find an evening job and found one in a bar in the historic centre of Florence. One of those bars that closed at two in the morning, if all went well. Therefore, he worked the shift from seven p.m. to two a.m., got home at two thirty in the morning, slept five hours and went to school. After lunch, he napped for an hour, studied, had a snack and ran off, back to the bar. When he was twenty years old, he was so skinny, he seemed ill.Immediately after graduation things seemed to get better. An established engineering agency was looking for a technical designer and Massimo found his ideal job for ten years. Then came the moment when his pride beat his rationality. He decided to take the plunge and open his own Studio as a Surveyor and try to become a self-employed professional. And that’s when his problems began. The construction crisis, the few customers who paid him, did so late or at a very low price; the weight of bureaucracy, the thousands of complex rules which limited his project ideas and, finally, his mother was stricken with Alzheimer’s disease. This combination of circumstances triggered a steady and progressive dissatisfaction in Massimo, which turned into a state of depression, from which, however, he now seemed to be slowly coming out of.The decision to quit smoking and the fact that he was succeeding; his meeting with Sonia, (and the fact that he liked her!); having found a new world, the “VAPE” world, which led to new acquaintances, such as Damien’s shop and other Vapers that he had met in the meanwhile; these events were, in Massimo’s mind, giving a new sense to his life. Maybe it wasn’t that bad at all.
In his room, when he turned off the light and went to sleep it was pitch dark.
Unlike Sonia, he preferred to sleep in absolute darkness. Two years of evening work at the bar made him adopt these sleep habits. After the natural light of day, and the artificial lights of the long night at the bar, once he got home, it was nice to be able to close his eyes and stay in the dark. It was also nice to open his eyes for a second and still be in the dark. He had few hours to rest at night, and those few hours had to be “night.” Deep night.
But until then he had never felt that unsteadiness, in his sleep; that feeling of being precariously balanced on the edge of a rock, like a very high trampoline on a black and wavy sea, which he felt but couldn’t see, because it was totally immersed in the dark night, no moon, no stars.
He could distinctly hear the roar of the waves, he felt his face being whipped by the wind and he knew that his body was wavering on an unstable surface, insecure over that horrible abyss.
He couldn’t open his eyes. He was trying to move the muscles of his eyelids, which were so heavy they overcame all his efforts. He was aware of the fact that, if he opened his eyes, he would still be in the dark, but in his room. He knew it, therefore he was between sleep and wakefulness, but he felt as though he was hypnotized. Surrendering to that feeling, he felt the urge to let himself fall into space, for he realized that it would be an imaginary jump, and he was sure that through that leap he would finally wake up. But could he be sure of it?
At last, a man from behind took his hand, held it and miraculously pulled him back, saving him from falling off the cliff. Massimo didn’t have time to see his face because he woke up.
Good news doesn’t always herald good dreams. And even the opposite isn’t true.
Part five (Giorgio)
When Sonia went back to sleep, that same Saturday, her nightmare was soon followed by other thoughts and dreams, luckily less troubling, and it vanished like a vague and clouded memory.
Sunday morning she woke up in a good mood, and she switched the alarm button on to radio mode, already tuned to her favourite frequency: Radio Italia solo Musica Italiana [a radio channel which plays only Italian music]. In doing so, she felt the usual satisfaction, for she beat the clock, anticipating the ring. Maybe she had never even heard that sound, except for the first time, in order to set the volume.
Sonia had an inner timer, if she had to get up at a certain hour; she did it automatically, as if she had set within herself a very reliable and accurate mental alarm.
The radio seemed to make fun of her, for at that moment they were playing Venditti’s song: “...What a nice Sunday, spent at home waiting, but the phone won’t ring anymore, and your boyfriend ran off...”
“That’s not true, my boyfriend will call me, you can be sure of that!” Said Sonia, yawning.
As a matter of fact, she didn’t have time to finish her breakfast and the phone rang, contrary to the singer Venditti’s predictions.
“Good morning!” Giorgio greeted her from the other end.
“Hi Giogiò, did you sleep well?” Answered Sonia, almost choking on the toasted bread she was chewing.
“Yes... I’m leaving the house now; I’ll be at your place in twenty minutes, start inflating the wheels of your bike!”
“Hmm... No, I’ll wait for you. I don’t feel like pumping so early in the morning!” She laughed mischievously.
“Hahahaha! It wouldn’t hurt you! All right, I’m on my way!” He hung up, already excited.
Twenty minutes for Giorgio were five minutes for Sonia. A ridiculously short time to dress, put her make-up on, make her bed and clear away the breakfast table. The morning was sunny. Being so warm already at that hour in the morning, she could wear a pair of khaki-coloured shorts, a green polo, of a fairly consistent fabric, so her breasts wouldn’t show, a pair of tennis shoes and a colourful clip to hold her hair back. A little eye shadow to contrast with her brown eyes, a dab of foundation and mascara, a coat of lip gloss, a spray of Bulgari perfume on her neck, wrists and she was ready.
Her bike was on the terrace. She checked the condition of the wheels and they seemed okay. She had already prepared a couple of sandwiches and drinks and put the parcel in her front basket.
She pulled the bike onto the landing, while Giorgio rang the intercom.
“Giorgio, can you come up and get my bike please?” Sonia pleaded as she opened the door.
With his athletic physique, Giorgio climbed the four flights of stairs taking the steps two by two. His lock of long golden blond hair, swayed at every hop. He wore sportswear, shorts and a white shirt with an unbuttoned Korean collar, ankle socks, running shoes, and on his wrist a gold Rolex. He had locked his Mountain Bike to the light pole in the street. “Just to put the lock on, (Sonia thought), it must have taken him five minutes”, knowing him, the lock and his precious Giant bike.
Sonia could smell the scent of the Armani fragrance Acqua di Giò, while he was still on the third flight of stairs.
Giorgio knew how to dress, but always exaggerated with perfumes, deodorants and aftershaves. Anyhow he had no intention to save on such products. His parents were the owners of one of the most sought after perfume shop in Florence.
They made a lot of money. Giorgio was used to a worldly life since he was a boy, for he grew up between private parties in prestigious villas, fashion shows where his father’s company logo was omnipresent