these issues . .
.’
‘Now don’t make me out to be the one who causes your problems.’
‘Dad said I have to be independent. That I have to have my own life. That I have to break away from you.’
My mother closed her eyes and pressed her thin lips together as if she were trying to stop herself from talking. She turned around and stared at the cars driving by.
‘This is the first time they’ve asked me along . . . what will they think of me?’ I added.
She looked around as if she was hoping someone would tell her what to do.
I squeezed her hand. ‘Mum, don’t worry . . .’
She shook her head. ‘No, I will worry.’
With my arm round the skis, the bag with the ski boots in my hand and the backpack on my shoulders I watched my mother do a U-turn. I waved and waited until the BMW had
disappeared over the bridge.
I headed up Viale Mazzini. I went past the RAI building. About a metre before reaching via Col di Lana I slowed down. My heart beat faster. I had a bitter taste in my mouth like I’d been
licking copper wire. All the stuff I was carrying made me clumsy. I felt like I was in a sauna inside my goose down jacket.
When I came to the intersection, I poked my head round the corner. At the end of the street, parked in front of a modern-style church, was a big Mercedes SUV. I could see Alessia Roncato, her
mother, the Sumerian and Oscar Tommasi stuffing their luggage into the car boot. A Volvo with a pair of skis on the roof rack pulled up next to the SUV and Richard Dobosz got out and ran over to
the others. Soon Dobosz’s father also got out.
I drew back behind the wall. I put the skis down, unzipped my jacket and took another look around the corner.
Now Alessia’s mother and Dobosz’s father were tying the skis to the roof rack. The Sumerian was hopping from side to side pretending to take a shot at Dobosz. Alessia and Oscar
Tommasi were talking on their mobiles.
It took them ages to get ready. Alessia’s mother kept getting angry with her daughter for not lending a hand; the Sumerian climbed up onto the car roof to check the skis.
And eventually they left.
I felt like an idiot as I rode the tram, with my skis and ski boots, squashed in between office clerks in ties and suits, mums and kids heading off to school. If I closed my
eyes it felt like I was on the cable car. With Alessia, Oscar Tommasi, Dobosz and the Sumerian. I could smell the lip balm, the suntan lotion. We would have got off the cable car, pushing each
other and laughing, talking loudly regardless of the people around us, like all those people my mother and father call yobs. I would have said funny things and have made them all laugh while they
put their skis on. I would have done impressions of people, cracked jokes. But I was never able to say funny things in public. You have to be very confident to make jokes in public.
‘Life is sad without a sense of humour,’ I said.
‘Amen,’ answered a lady standing next to me.
My father had said this thing about a sense of humour after my cousin Vittorio had thrown a cowpat at me during a walk in the country. I was so angry I grabbed a huge rock and threw it at a
tree, while that retard rolled on the ground with laughter. Even my father and mother had laughed.
I loaded the skis on to my shoulders and got off the tram.
I looked at my watch. Seven fifty.
Too early to go back home. I was sure to run into Dad as he left for work.
I headed towards Villa Borghese, to the valley near the zoo where dogs are allowed to run off the lead. I sat down on a bench, pulled a bottle of Coke out of my backpack and took a sip.
My mobile began ringing in my pocket.
I waited a moment before answering.
‘Mum . . .’
‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you on your way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there much traffic?’
A Dalmatian careered past me. ‘A bit . . .’
‘Can you put Alessia’s mum on?’
I lowered my voice. ‘She can’t talk right now. She’s
.’
‘Now don’t make me out to be the one who causes your problems.’
‘Dad said I have to be independent. That I have to have my own life. That I have to break away from you.’
My mother closed her eyes and pressed her thin lips together as if she were trying to stop herself from talking. She turned around and stared at the cars driving by.
‘This is the first time they’ve asked me along . . . what will they think of me?’ I added.
She looked around as if she was hoping someone would tell her what to do.
I squeezed her hand. ‘Mum, don’t worry . . .’
She shook her head. ‘No, I will worry.’
With my arm round the skis, the bag with the ski boots in my hand and the backpack on my shoulders I watched my mother do a U-turn. I waved and waited until the BMW had
disappeared over the bridge.
I headed up Viale Mazzini. I went past the RAI building. About a metre before reaching via Col di Lana I slowed down. My heart beat faster. I had a bitter taste in my mouth like I’d been
licking copper wire. All the stuff I was carrying made me clumsy. I felt like I was in a sauna inside my goose down jacket.
When I came to the intersection, I poked my head round the corner. At the end of the street, parked in front of a modern-style church, was a big Mercedes SUV. I could see Alessia Roncato, her
mother, the Sumerian and Oscar Tommasi stuffing their luggage into the car boot. A Volvo with a pair of skis on the roof rack pulled up next to the SUV and Richard Dobosz got out and ran over to
the others. Soon Dobosz’s father also got out.
I drew back behind the wall. I put the skis down, unzipped my jacket and took another look around the corner.
Now Alessia’s mother and Dobosz’s father were tying the skis to the roof rack. The Sumerian was hopping from side to side pretending to take a shot at Dobosz. Alessia and Oscar
Tommasi were talking on their mobiles.
It took them ages to get ready. Alessia’s mother kept getting angry with her daughter for not lending a hand; the Sumerian climbed up onto the car roof to check the skis.
And eventually they left.
I felt like an idiot as I rode the tram, with my skis and ski boots, squashed in between office clerks in ties and suits, mums and kids heading off to school. If I closed my
eyes it felt like I was on the cable car. With Alessia, Oscar Tommasi, Dobosz and the Sumerian. I could smell the lip balm, the suntan lotion. We would have got off the cable car, pushing each
other and laughing, talking loudly regardless of the people around us, like all those people my mother and father call yobs. I would have said funny things and have made them all laugh while they
put their skis on. I would have done impressions of people, cracked jokes. But I was never able to say funny things in public. You have to be very confident to make jokes in public.
‘Life is sad without a sense of humour,’ I said.
‘Amen,’ answered a lady standing next to me.
My father had said this thing about a sense of humour after my cousin Vittorio had thrown a cowpat at me during a walk in the country. I was so angry I grabbed a huge rock and threw it at a
tree, while that retard rolled on the ground with laughter. Even my father and mother had laughed.
I loaded the skis on to my shoulders and got off the tram.
I looked at my watch. Seven fifty.
Too early to go back home. I was sure to run into Dad as he left for work.
I headed towards Villa Borghese, to the valley near the zoo where dogs are allowed to run off the lead. I sat down on a bench, pulled a bottle of Coke out of my backpack and took a sip.
My mobile began ringing in my pocket.
I waited a moment before answering.
‘Mum . . .’
‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you on your way?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there much traffic?’
A Dalmatian careered past me. ‘A bit . . .’
‘Can you put Alessia’s mum on?’
I lowered my voice. ‘She can’t talk right now. She’s
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