Page 58 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
When I sit down and settle into the seat, I watch Roberto at the bar. He’s objectively very good-looking. I’m flattered that he might have asked me on a date. Cropped light brown hair gelled with military precision, bright blue eyes. I immediately think about my own hair and how messy the wind has made it. I wonder if the difference in our hair indicates something fundamental about us. When he gets the drinks, he slaps the bar loudly and, turning towards me, I notice that he’s not afraid to look at me as he walks with our drinks. He flashes me a smile and keeps eye contact for the entire walk from the bar to the table. I think about how, if it was me, I would be looking down at the glasses.
‘Here we are!’ Roberto says excitedly.
‘Here we are!’ I repeat, because I genuinely have nothing else to say.
‘Did you find the place alright?’
I try not to roll my eyes. As if he doesn’t know that I know this place.
‘Yeah. Luckily it’s right near my house.’
‘Oh, is that right?’ he says and then licks his upper lip where beads of white wine have lingered. His tongue protrudes like the amputated tentacle of an octopus, squirming frantically one last time before it realizes it’s been severed from the rest of its body. I find this grotesque and try to imagine his tongue coming anywhere near my face, but I feel myself wanting to shudder. I try not to think about Theo instead. But by resisting thinking of him, I’ve arguably already thought about him more intensely than if I’d just thought the thought. Theo’s tongue. How I found it sexy when it peeked out to moisten his lips while he was talking. I hadn’t known tongues could be sexy. I wanted it all over me. I try to look at Roberto’s tongue with the same perspective, but it’s still revolting.
‘Yeah, I think you knew that, though.’
Roberto snorts into his glass. I must be funny!
‘Alright, you got me,’ Roberto says sheepishly. ‘I figured you’d be more inclined to say yes if you didn’t have to ask for a ride.’
I pause. ‘How do you know I can’t drive?’
He looks at me like I’ve asked a dumb question. ‘Magdalen, everyone knows you can’t drive,’ he says, emphasizing everyone as if people living on the outskirts of Pisa were aware of my driving inability.
‘Oh,’ I say fairly bluntly.
‘Yeah, so I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.’ Roberto says the last word slowly, as if he’s trying to seduce me with phonetics.
‘That was very generous of you, Roberto.’
‘It was nothing.’
An awkward silence settles between us and I know it’s my turn to say something, but I have nothing to add to this dialogue.
‘You know, you were really quiet back in secondary school,’ Roberto adds nonchalantly.
I sigh, annoyed but understanding there’s not much else people remember me by. ‘Yeah, I guess I still am.’
Goosebumps begin to form on my arm, and I wish I had brought a sweater. A wool jacket. A fucking parka.
‘Why is that? You’re so pretty.’
My face heats. I realize I am deeply offended by his obtuse correlation between beauty and confidence.
But maybe I heard him wrong. Taking a huge sip of beer, I try to reword the statement, figuring out if I missed a word because of the chatter around me.
If he didn’t think I was pretty, would my shyness make sense to him? My brain searches for a way to understand this, but I’m just disgusted by how different we already are. I think of Theo again. How he would obviously know the two are not mutually exclusive. He would scoff, roll his eyes, and say something smart. He’d have an anecdote lined up that would seamlessly prove his point. Right now, I can’t think of anything to say and it makes me frustrated with my own intellect.
‘Maybe I’m shy because I know how gorgeous I am.’
Roberto stares at me for a moment.
‘And because I’m so gorgeous, I have no need to try to talk to people who I know are less than I am.’
Years ago, when Anika forced me to go to a daytime party with her in Torino, I asked her how she was so good at talking to strangers. ‘I just don’t think of them as real people,’ she’d said. I always thought about that afterwards, but could never get myself to think with the same indifference. But I loved it. ‘They’re just a part of my story,’ she said resolutely, and paddled off to the boys with their spritzes, flipping her hair.
Looking at Roberto now, I finally begin to feel as Anika does. Whether I strip naked in front of him or throw my drink, it won’t matter. He is not real to my story. I know this with certainty. In a week, in two months, in ten years, Roberto will be a nameless face with cropped hair who I went to a bar with.
‘Ha, yeah, I guess that could be it,’ Roberto answers with no conviction. He has no prepared comeback and it doesn’t make me any happier than if he did. The first date I’ve ever been on has been ruined by someone who’s not even here.
