The Girl from Borgo by Sybil Fix

Author:Sybil Fix
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2018-06-01T12:34:12+00:00

At some point after Andrea and Maria got together, and Mariachiara and Pierpaolo, too, Teo filled my heart, unforgettably.

There are few women of my age in Cetona and surroundings who don’t think of Teo as a great love of theirs—if they were lucky. It may not have been, in reality, a great love: It may have been merely a week of passion, or a kiss, or a ride on his wasp-yellow BMW motorcycle.

But when it came to Teodoro, a thread of something—anything—was enough to weave yarns of imaginary romance that would fill one’s heart for years. He was a beautiful guy, not perfect but more beautiful because of it. Skinny and tall, he walked chest forward, a bit bow-legged, cigarette in hand, shirt collar turned up. He had a sexy gaze and he looked the world in the eyes, straight on, with his greenish eyes flecked with gold, daring and pissy. And this pissed people off about Teo yet made him supremely attractive to everyone. In a mostly conventional population, Teo stuck out for his bravado and confidence and his way of living that said, I don’t give a fuck what you think, though he did, deep inside, and in a town like Cetona that can be a tough battle for the sensitive of heart.

And Teo was that too—sensitive—in spite of the swagger and the ease with which he seemed to live. A life junky, so to speak. He flew about like a butterfly sniffing out the best pollen, the brightest colors, the most vibrant energy, wherever they may be, and he had an electrifying presence that made him the kind of guy that everyone seeks, whose light everyone wanted to bask in.

He came and went on motorcycles and cars always at great speed—he loved speed—and he approached the tortuous curves of the roads around Cetona with the same attitude he approached women: that he didn’t give a fuck. He thought that with enough skill and charm he would master them, and tame them, and make them his. And he did. We were all his lovers and friends, the whole town, it seems, his sycophants and geishas, following him around here and there, wherever he wanted to go—and for him nothing was too far or out of reach.

As for me and him, we kissed in phone booths and parked in country lanes at night and made love and smoked cigarettes and listened to great music—Dire Straits, America, and Italy’s Pino Daniele. Over the years the fondness never waned in spite of great distance and even marriages. When I returned through the years, we went up to la Rocca and drank beers dangling our feet over the wall of the Cittadella looking down on the lights of the piazza like it was a Christmas manger. Sometimes we kissed and sometimes we cried, and sometimes we pissed each other off and didn’t speak for a year. I don’t remember that Teo and I ever had an official relationship that opened and closed,

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