leaf-covered steps of the Modern Art Museum.
I looked at my mother.
‘What is it?’ she said, without taking her eyes off the road.
I puffed up my chest, trying to imitate my father’s low voice: ‘Arianna, you should wash this car. It’s a pigsty on wheels.’
She didn’t laugh. ‘Did you say goodbye to your father?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Not to be silly and not to ski like a maniac.’ I paused. ‘And not to call you every five minutes.’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘Yes.’
She changed gear and turned down Flaminia. The city was beginning to fill up with cars.
‘Call me whenever you want. Have you got everything? Your music? Your mobile?’
‘Yes.’
The grey sky hung heavily above the roofs and between the antennas.
‘Did you pack the bag with the medicines? Did you put the thermometer in there?’
‘Yes.’
A guy on a Vespa laughed into the mobile stuck under his helmet.
‘Money?’
‘Yes.’
We crossed the bridge over the Tiber.
‘We checked the rest together yesterday evening. You’ve got everything.’
‘Yes, I’ve got everything.’
We were waiting at the stoplight. A woman in a Fiat 500 was staring in front of her. An old man was dragging two Labradors along the footpath. A seagull was crouching on the skeleton of a tree
covered in plastic bags that stuck out of the mud-coloured water.
If God had come and asked me if I wanted to be that seagull, I would have answered yes.
I undid my seat belt. ‘Drop me off here.’
She looked at me as if she hadn’t understood. ‘What do you mean, here?’
‘I mean, here.’
The light turned green.
‘Pull over, please.’
But she kept on driving. Luckily there was a rubbish truck that slowed us down.
‘Mum! Pull over.’
‘Put your seatbelt back on.’
‘Please stop.’
‘But why?’
‘I want to get there on my own.’
‘I don’t understand . . .’
I raised my voice. ‘Stop, please.’
My mother pulled over, turned off the engine and pulled her hair back with her hand. ‘What’s going on? Lorenzo, please, let’s not start . . . You know I’m no good at this
time of the morning.’
‘It’s just that . . .’ I squeezed my hands into a fist. ‘Everyone else is going there on their own. I can’t turn up with you. I’ll look like a
loser.’
‘What are you saying?’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m supposed to just leave you here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I don’t even thank Alessia’s parents?’
I shrugged. ‘There’s no need. I’ll thank them for you.’
‘Not on your life.’ And she turned the key in the ignition.
I flung myself on her. ‘No . . . No . . . Please.’
She pushed me back. ‘Please, what?’
‘Let me go by myself. I can’t turn up with my mummy. They’ll make fun of me.’
‘That’s just silly . . . I want to make sure that everything is all right, if I have to do anything. It’s the least I can do. I’m not rude like you.’
‘I’m not rude. I’m just like all the others.’
She flicked the indicator on. ‘No. No way.’
I hadn’t counted on my mother caring this much about taking me there.
The anger was starting to build. I started banging my fists on my legs.
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Nothing.’ I squeezed the door handle until my knuckles were white. I could rip off the rear-view mirror and smash the car window.
‘Why do you have to act like a child?’
‘You’re the one who treats me like a . . . dickhead.’
She stared daggers at me. ‘Don’t swear. You know I can’t stand it. And there’s no need for you to make such a scene.’
I punched the dashboard. ‘Mum, I want to go there on my own, for Christ’s sake.’ The anger was pushing against my throat. ‘All right. I won’t go. Are you
happy?’
‘Look, I am really getting cross, Lorenzo.’
I had one last card to play. ‘Everybody else said they were going there on their own. I’m the only one who always turns up with his mummy. That’s why I have
I looked at my mother.
‘What is it?’ she said, without taking her eyes off the road.
I puffed up my chest, trying to imitate my father’s low voice: ‘Arianna, you should wash this car. It’s a pigsty on wheels.’
She didn’t laugh. ‘Did you say goodbye to your father?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Not to be silly and not to ski like a maniac.’ I paused. ‘And not to call you every five minutes.’
‘Is that what he said?’
‘Yes.’
She changed gear and turned down Flaminia. The city was beginning to fill up with cars.
‘Call me whenever you want. Have you got everything? Your music? Your mobile?’
‘Yes.’
The grey sky hung heavily above the roofs and between the antennas.
‘Did you pack the bag with the medicines? Did you put the thermometer in there?’
‘Yes.’
A guy on a Vespa laughed into the mobile stuck under his helmet.
‘Money?’
‘Yes.’
We crossed the bridge over the Tiber.
‘We checked the rest together yesterday evening. You’ve got everything.’
‘Yes, I’ve got everything.’
We were waiting at the stoplight. A woman in a Fiat 500 was staring in front of her. An old man was dragging two Labradors along the footpath. A seagull was crouching on the skeleton of a tree
covered in plastic bags that stuck out of the mud-coloured water.
If God had come and asked me if I wanted to be that seagull, I would have answered yes.
I undid my seat belt. ‘Drop me off here.’
She looked at me as if she hadn’t understood. ‘What do you mean, here?’
‘I mean, here.’
The light turned green.
‘Pull over, please.’
But she kept on driving. Luckily there was a rubbish truck that slowed us down.
‘Mum! Pull over.’
‘Put your seatbelt back on.’
‘Please stop.’
‘But why?’
‘I want to get there on my own.’
‘I don’t understand . . .’
I raised my voice. ‘Stop, please.’
My mother pulled over, turned off the engine and pulled her hair back with her hand. ‘What’s going on? Lorenzo, please, let’s not start . . . You know I’m no good at this
time of the morning.’
‘It’s just that . . .’ I squeezed my hands into a fist. ‘Everyone else is going there on their own. I can’t turn up with you. I’ll look like a
loser.’
‘What are you saying?’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m supposed to just leave you here?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I don’t even thank Alessia’s parents?’
I shrugged. ‘There’s no need. I’ll thank them for you.’
‘Not on your life.’ And she turned the key in the ignition.
I flung myself on her. ‘No . . . No . . . Please.’
She pushed me back. ‘Please, what?’
‘Let me go by myself. I can’t turn up with my mummy. They’ll make fun of me.’
‘That’s just silly . . . I want to make sure that everything is all right, if I have to do anything. It’s the least I can do. I’m not rude like you.’
‘I’m not rude. I’m just like all the others.’
She flicked the indicator on. ‘No. No way.’
I hadn’t counted on my mother caring this much about taking me there.
The anger was starting to build. I started banging my fists on my legs.
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Nothing.’ I squeezed the door handle until my knuckles were white. I could rip off the rear-view mirror and smash the car window.
‘Why do you have to act like a child?’
‘You’re the one who treats me like a . . . dickhead.’
She stared daggers at me. ‘Don’t swear. You know I can’t stand it. And there’s no need for you to make such a scene.’
I punched the dashboard. ‘Mum, I want to go there on my own, for Christ’s sake.’ The anger was pushing against my throat. ‘All right. I won’t go. Are you
happy?’
‘Look, I am really getting cross, Lorenzo.’
I had one last card to play. ‘Everybody else said they were going there on their own. I’m the only one who always turns up with his mummy. That’s why I have
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