Iris Glass Wingsa — SHORT STORY 𝒃𝒚 Ada Rizzo

The next morning, my mother and I take a taxi to Fiumicino International Airport. After half an hour, we are waiting at the departure gate for Mexico City. It’s a direct flight, lasting about fifteen hours, to cover a distance of over ten thousand kilometers. It’s my first trip abroad and my first intercontinental flight. Then we will continue to the island of Cozumel to stay at a small resort in Playa del Carmen. 

In the evening, I receive a phone call from Andrea. He tells me that he will arrive in a few days on the first available flight. I ask him, how he is; he replies that everything is going great and that the trattoria has been packed. He’s tired but happy.

He can’t wait to hold me again. He repeats that he loves me and misses me. “It’s the first time we’ve been apart since we moved to Milan,” I tell him and then softly whisper, “I love you so much, my love!”

Finally, he assures me that he will call me back as soon as the date of his flight is confirmed to him.

STUPID HOTEL

The resort where we are staying is charming, small and discreet. It is right on the beach. The rooms are on the ground floor, facing the sea. Inside the structure, we discover a pool with a hot tub as well as a tiny wellness center.

We spend two days relaxing, swimming, and enjoying excellent food, waiting for Andrea to join us. In the room, while I’m getting ready for dinner, I turn on the television, flipping through channels looking for one that plays only music, but I see that the news has started on Rai International. I stop for a moment to listen to the Italian news.

The newscaster is reporting about a fatal car accident that has occurred in Milan. The victim is a young man who did not survive due to severe head injuries. He was hit in the morning by a hit-and-run driver at a crosswalk while walking to the restaurant where he worked. He was taken for emergency surgery to the hospital, where died a few hours later. He was only twenty-three years old. I reflect on the fact that dying at that age and in that way is unimaginable; I think about the reactions of his parents, of his girlfriend.

At the end of the report, the name and photo of the young man, who was hit, appear on the screen. I lean closer to read it better… “Andrea Proietti.”

My vision blurs, I read it again… I tell myself it must be a case of homonymy, it has to be. “It can’t be him, it can’t be him,” I repeat to myself, then I look at the photo again. “It’s Andrea, Andrea, Andrea… noooooo, noooooo, …noooooooo!!!!!”

I am screaming, I stumble and fall down. I am on my knees, covering my eyes with my hands. Everything blurs. My mother arrives. I feel her hugging me, pulling me away from the screen. She speaks to me, caresses me, and rocks me in her arms. She is crying too. I feel my heart bursting, I struggle to breathe, everything spins — then nothing.

When I open my eyes, she is there, holding my hand and looking at me, and crying. I stare at her and begin crying again and again. She lies down next to me; I turn towards her, bending forward. My legs are bent like a fetal now. I feel her embrace me, holding me close. Now my head is resting on her neck, I close my eyes and keep crying until I have no more strength, until the sedative they made me takes effect.

The next day, the doctor at the resort asks me if I want psychological support. I look at him, saying nothing. He looks at me in turn, and then he gently touches my hand and silently leaves the room.

A few days pass. I only remember my tears, a feeling of dizziness, and the fatigue from the sedatives to keep me calm. Every time I open my eyes, my mother is there, tireless, worried, and helpless.

One day, when I seem lucid enough, she finds the courage to ask me if I want to return to Rome for Andrea’s funeral. I look up at her and shake my head — No, while tears start flowing again. She hugs me, caressing my hair. She is always close to me. She never leaves me alone for a moment. She does everything she can, but at this moment, I can only wonder what I’m doing here, in this Stupid Hotel, where Andrea will never be able to reach me again!!!

THE WORLD I WOULD LIKE

I can’t help but think of him. Every time I think I can’t bear the pain that takes my breath away. These tears that won’t stop flowing. I wonder if there’s a way, a possibility not to suffer so much. There must be a damned way not to feel these pangs in my chest, not to wake up in the middle of the night crying, to be able to move on.

Inside my head, there are only images and thoughts of Andrea, and they swirl, swirl continuously, sometimes in the same sequence, and other times in different ways, but always with the same result: no solution. It’s like a closed circuit that keeps going in a loop.

I’m like a broken record that plays the same song endlessly and, no matter how hard I try to concentrate on something else, my fixed thought is he and our shattered future. On this island, in front of this sea that knows the weight of each of my tears, I can’t stop crying and remain curled up with my knees to my chest… for hours, staring at the horizon. Around me, there is an unnatural silence, but inside me, I’m screaming, while my heart asks how I will live without him. Sometimes, I think I have hallucinations… out there, right on the line between sea and sky, I seem to see the words “game over, game over” — scrolling by, scrolling without hope, on the game of my life.

Every day passes the same as the last, like an exact replicate of the one before and the one after — the same actions, the same thoughts. I observe the footprints of my steps in the sand, which one by one are lapped by the surf and disappear… like my future!

I want to be alone and mom understands, but gradually, with infinite patience, she convinces me to take walks with her on the beautiful beach of the island.

After our resort, at the end, there is a small white masonry building with a straw pergola. There is a blue sign with the words “El Paraiso.” It is a small beach bar run by an Italian couple, Anna and Luca, who two years ago chose to turn their lives around by permanently leaving Italy to move here.

Every day, my mom and I walk to the little bar; their kindness and discretion invite us to linger under that cool pergola; we often order Coca-Cola for me and coconut juice for her. I sip my drink slowly and watch the sea; mom sips hers, keeping an eye on me and admiring the horizon. We remain silent, but I feel her heart close to mine, caressing it. Time passes, albeit slowly. Our stay is coming to an end, and we should return to Italy. Mom instinctively understands that I might be worse in Rome and decides to extend our stay in Playa for another fifteen days. She notifies the school that she will extend her vacation.

Life on the island passes slowly. The weather is mild, I swim long distances, and I eat excellent food. While she swims in the pool or sunbathes, I walk alone by the sea.

With Anna and Luca, a nice bond has formed — a sincere friendship. They respect and understand my prolonged silences, my pain, to the point that sometimes words are not even necessary, but it’s not enough. They are very patient and affectionate, the landscape is enchanting, but this is not what I want — The World I Would Like! Now, I just want to cry… a little more.

LIVING 

Andrea’s death is something I still can’t even say. I’m still in disbelief, rejecting the idea that he is gone. I avoid talking about it but I always keep thinking about him.

I am aware that processing grief takes time, especially acceptance, without which transformation is impossible, but I’m not ready for that yet. Now it’s too early; I’m still in the denial phase. I hope, one day, to turn my pain into tenderness, to be able to think of him without crying, to remember his love as a gift.

A month has passed since he is no longer here. I know I should return to Italy with my mom, but something holds me here. I can’t explain what, but I feel safe here. I don’t want to return to Milan, enter the house where I lived with Andrea, see Ambrogio and Luigina for whom he was like a son. I don’t want to go to Rome, meet his parents, revisit the places where we were happy.

I want to remember him as he was, not locked in a cold coffin, behind a tombstone with his photo. Now, I can’t do it. I’ve decided to stay here, in Playa.

I tell my mom. She looks at me quietly. I try to explain to her that it’s a feeling, but I’m certain I don’t want to return to Italy. I ask her if she can notify the condo owners, the owners of the trattoria, if she can take care of cleaning the apartment in Milan and delivering Andrea’s personal belongings to his parents. Finally, I ask her if she can arrange for me to have Macho — my beloved cat.

I speak very slowly, almost mechanically in a sweet but firm tone. She looks at me incredulously, then sighs and confirms that she will take care of everything. She goes along with me, respects my pain, especially my decision, which is difficult for her to understand.

Later, she asks me how I will support myself since I don’t have a job, a source of income. I inform her that Anna and Luca will host me. She tells me she will make a bank transfer. I don’t want that, but she insists.

“You’ll be alone! How can I leave you here?”

Then she adds: “What will I tell Andrea’s parents?”

“I don’t know, mom. Mine is a strange choice and I’m the first to be surprised by it.” I add that one day I will manage to face what happened to me, but now I feel I need time, I need to stay. I ask her to apologize to Andrea’s parents for me.

I reassure her by saying that my new friends will be there for me, I can count on their sincere friendship and moral support. I see her hesitant, but she goes along with me. She later informs my dad to join her in Milan to help her get through the tasks I entrusted to her.

The next morning, before leaving, she reminds me to keep in touch every day. I thank her and tell her that she is the best mother I could have, the right mother for me. After hugging her, I reassure her that I want to keep Living… and I add that I just need more time.

A BETTER WORLD

The trauma of his death has been for me like a total blackout. At night, I struggle to fall asleep, and perhaps the severe shock I suffered has also blocked my cycle because I’ve noticed that this month it’s skipped. This last detail (like almost everything else), doesn’t particularly attract my attention. I survive in a sort of seemingly calm “flat dance,” in which minutes and hours pass slowly, movements follow one after another; there are no expectations or plans, just the goal of making it to the next day.

In this surreal “bubble,” I realize that my diet seems to be the only thing that hasn’t been affected by the situation. I eat with appetite and this… surprises me a bit. I am still unaware that my existence holds an unexpected event for me. Soon… the Universe decides to reveal its plans to me; after taking away the love of my life, it wanted to be kind to me by giving me an immense gift: I discovered that… I am pregnant!

Andrea is now part of this little life that is making its way inside me. His love has found a way to continue to support me, to stay by my side. Gradually, I regain a bit of serenity. In the morning, I wake up early, my days pass slowly. I’ve gotten into the habit of having breakfast at the “little bar.” There, at a blue-painted wooden table, I calmly sip my coconut milk, enjoy a cream-filled brioche, and drink an espresso while admiring the splendid sea just a few steps away. Then I take long walks on the beach, immerse myself in the water, and swim for a few hours, letting the pleasant breeze caress me and the cool waves rock me. I love those lazy, sunny afternoons. The warm air that brushes against me seems to invite me to linger a little longer, to enjoy the sun diving into the sea, painting it with vibrant shades of red and gold.

I feel privileged, like a front-row spectator watching my favorite show. I lose myself in that paradise and stay there until the fiery star disappears into the sea, which slowly takes back its diffuse blue color, enveloping that open and liquid space where the horizon line merges with the sky.

My eyes seem to catch different shades every time in that daily natural palette of colors, which seems to renew and transform day by day, giving me the pleasant sensation of being at peace with the world again, of finally feeling at home.

It’s only then that I rise, calmly tie the light pareo (today I’m wearing a pink one) around my waist, and head to my friends’ house. At that moment, I notice that a small butterfly called “glass wings,” or “greta oto,” seems to follow me before finally landing on my lap.

I observe its delicate transparent wings devoid of pigment, allowing light to pass through them. It almost seems to suddenly take on the same pink hue as my cover-up; but it’s only for a moment… a gentle flutter of wings and it has already flown away.

My heart skips a beat, instinctively I caress my belly, raise my eyes to the clear sky, and exclaim: “Now I know it will be a girl. Thank you, my love, for this last, immense gift!”

That night I fall asleep thinking of my little baby. In the morning, I wake up early, and Macho is also next to me; he was delivered to me a few days ago, he’s still a bit sluggish from the long hours spent on the plane, but now he sleeps peacefully. I stroke him gently.

A long time has passed since the day my life partner died. During the day I often think of Andrea, but now the pain has transformed into infinite tenderness.

After the birth of my daughter, whom I named Sveva, my parents often came to visit me here in Playa, staying for short periods and asking me each time to return to Rome with them.

When my little one turned three years old, I decided to make my first trip to Italy to see Eleonora and Paolo — Andrea’s parents — who were happy to meet their granddaughter.

I remember that when her grandmother, with teary eyes, hugged her, telling her that she had the same gaze as Andrea, I had to turn away and take a deep breath to try to stop my tears. Right after, when the little one replied, “I know, grandma, I have my daddy’s blue eyes; mom often tells me that when she talks about him,” I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

Sveva noticed, came close to me. “Mom, don’t cry, you know that dad is always with us… he’s in my eyes, right?” She said, smilingly.

At this point, I couldn’t respond, I nodded and hugged her.

Later, with my parents, we talked again about Andrea and afterward I asked them to forgive me for not attending the funeral; I regret that they suffered from my choice back then, but when we cried together, I felt their understanding strongly.

One afternoon, I went to the Tiburtino neighborhood and found the courage to go to Verano — the cemetery where Andrea is. I wanted to go there alone. I didn’t know how I would react, and I didn’t want anyone to be there, interfering, even with their mere presence, between me and him. I sat on his grave and… talked to him.

I told him that I am deeply aware of having been touched and enveloped by a great love; his soul loved me beyond myself, accepted me with my fragilities, imperfections, without ever judging me. It is especially thanks to him that I’ve made it this far; every time he managed to catch me just before I fell. With patience, he listened to my fears and, like a magician, transformed them into courage. With him, I recovered the time I feared I had lost in vain. He managed to see the best in me, where even I couldn’t recognize it. He knew how to grasp the best part of others, he believed in A Better World!

He taught me to trust my potential, to let go, and to listen to myself. With him, I learned that you can’t, and you mustn’t, ever give up; we owe it to ourselves; life is a beautiful journey that is always worth taking, regardless of the destination we set for ourselves.

And now that he is no longer here, he left me an immense gift: our daughter! He will always be with me because he will always live in my heart, in my memories: he has only changed the way of being… of being close to me.

When I left Verano, I felt calm; a renewed serenity supported me. That evening at dinner, Eleonora and Paolo informed me of their intention to transfer to me Andrea’s share in the restaurant they acquired after his death. I didn’t know what to say. I was confused, grateful, I couldn’t find the words. They found them for me, simply telling me it was their gift to me and to their granddaughter.

I felt their forgiveness, total and without reservation, and I felt so much emotion that night I had a hard time falling asleep. Moreover, I was thrilled at the idea of being able to work in Ambrogio and Luigina’s trattoria, even though I was still surprised and incredulous.

The next morning, I decide that before returning to Cozumel, we will stop in Milan. When we arrive at the trattoria, Ambrogio and Luigina greet us with affection and emotion. They are happy to see me again and to meet my daughter. In the evening, during dinner, I inform them of Andrea’s parents’ decision. They are thrilled and confirm that it is what they wanted. They invite me to return permanently to Milan. I promise them I will think about it; perhaps one day, yes, I would like to return to work in Italy.

A few days later, we return to Playa, and I resume my life. I often think back to the girl I once was. I want to apologize to her for not having listened to her, understood her, for not having believed in her, especially for not having loved her. Now I am twenty-five years old, and to the woman I have become, I want to say never to forget that beneath her clothes she has magnificent wings that can take her wherever she wants; wherever she goes, I will always be by her side.

Sometime later, I accept the proposal to work at Anna and Luca’s place, which in the meantime has become a small restaurant. We decide to change its name; from now on it will be called “El Paraiso de Andrea – Italian Cuisine,” as highlighted on the new sign still fresh with paint.

I dedicate myself wholeheartedly to my new job and over time I have specialized in preparing the dishes he loved so much. I love being in the kitchen and I enjoy eating.

At this moment, sitting at the table in front of the sea, I sip my Coca-Cola and think of him who often reminded me, smiling, that life… still owed me a dream. Then I turn to Sveva. I feel that life is no longer in debt to me, looking at her. Now, it has nothing left to be forgiven!

I dive into the deep blue eyes of my daughter. I listen to her as she tells me that she’s hungry and wants to go home.

At that very moment, I hear my inner voice whispering to me: “You’re already home, girls!”

“I missed you!” I tell her with a smile.

She calmly replies: “Me too, but I had to leave you alone so you could cross the darkness and see the light again. Welcome back, Iris!”

….

(Self-translation from ITALIAN)

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