Frozen Butterflies by Simona Grossi

Author:Simona Grossi [Grossi, Simona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780999882535
Publisher: Pipes & Clouds
Published: 2018-08-08T04:00:00+00:00

About Andrew

I ordered pizza and returned to my apartment to read and take notes for the interview. The streets were crowded, busy, noisy. I was alone. There was an old radio in my apartment. I checked to make sure it worked, and I tuned it to a jazz station. The jazz slowly silenced the noise so I could finally start reading.

The narrative of Lies was built around short dialogues, and the drawings were intense, evocative. Like his journal, Lies described Andrew’s first meeting with Emily in that café. In his drawings, she looked like I had imagined her, a beautiful ballerina. Andrew looked more clumsy than in person. This must be how he saw himself, I thought. Or perhaps he had changed after Emily’s death.

I read and saw Andrew’s initial romance with Emily, their later misunderstandings, their silences, the things he thought but didn’t tell her, Emily’s performances, the parties after the shows, their fights, his sleepless nights after an argument, the time she left to sleep at Christine’s place. And then Emily’s strict diet, Andrew’s obsession with junk food, her discipline, his disorder, her clarity, his confusion. The story didn’t allude to Emily’s death.

I looked at the clock. It was almost nine p.m., but it felt later. I looked outside my window. A couple, holding hands, passed by and made my solitude bitter. I thought about Nick, and I checked the phone to see if there was a message from him. I leaned against the couch, closed my eyes, and imagined receiving a text or a call. When I opened my eyes, there was even more emptiness than before. I poured myself some scotch and drank enough to numb my feelings. When the noise in my head seemed less loud, or at least softer, I started reading How Did I Get Here?

The story described his agent’s reaction to Lies, how Andrew was upset and looked to his friends for support. But then, discouraged, he decided to leave and go to New York. The narrative proceeded slowly, revolving around a few significant events. Andrew with a woman who had no name other than “my love.” This woman reminded me of Emily, but I knew it wasn’t her. They met in front of her ballet school, talked about the past, and ended up in bed that very night. She was fragile, insecure, disciplined, demanding. Andrew was attentive to her. He attended her performances and the parties. He stuck to her diet and sleeping routine, read magazines and newspapers, watched documentaries. He appeared happy in his drawings, but that happiness seemed forced, faked. I thought those drawings described too many compromises with the person I thought he was. But the story also described his rediscovered passion for art, and that felt real. The last drawing was clearly for Emily: Andrew sitting on a bench in a park, smoking a cigarette, his gaze wandering into space. There’s no one around, just him and his thoughts. He thinks, “I could have been a better person for you.

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