WANTED: Love of my Life

32. Dreams and Nightmares

“Ialwayswantedtobeadancer,” I said in a rush.

He didn't laugh. Instead, he just looked puzzled. “Scusi?”

“I... always wanted to be a dancer.” My shoulders slumped, waiting for his laughter. It didn't come. Underneath my chin, I felt two strong fingers, coaxing it up. I gave in and looked up into his warm brown eyes.

“I think that's a wonderful idea,” he said. “You're very graceful. I think you would make a wonderful dancer.”

“You... you really think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

I didn't say anything. I just threw my arms around him and squeezed him as hard as I could.

“Though you wouldn't make a bad wrestler, either, I think,” he laughed.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. “Thank you so much.”

He gently stroked my hair.

“You don't have to thank me for telling you the truth.”

We had reached the park by now, but we didn't stop walking. We just kept wandering on, too wrapped up in each other to notice much of anything.

“So, now I've told you what I'd like to do,” I said. “Now it's your turn. What would you like to do?”

“Angela, you know I can't...”

His faced was pained, but I cut him off: “I know you can't, or you think you can't. I'm not asking you what you are going to do. I'm asking what you would do, if you could. Please, Giacomo. I've told you my dream. What's yours? What do you dream about?”

I don't know why he gave in. Was he just tired? Did he see the desperate longing in my eyes? The need to know, know at least this one thing about him?

He whispered: “I dream about peace, Mia Angela, about peace.”

That certainly wasn't the answer I had been expecting – or hoping for. What I had been hoping for was a 'I dream about you', or something along these lines. But Peace? What was that supposed to mean? As far I knew, there wasn't a war on, unless you counted the various skirmishes going on in distant corners of the world the names of which I couldn't for the life of me remember. What did that have to do with him?

I opted for a metaphorical interpretation of his answer, which was the most congenial to me.

“Perhaps you'd find peace if you settled down,” I hinted.

He laughed. “Yeah. How about a nice residence at Colma?”

I laughed with him. But deep inside, I didn't feel like laughing – because he hadn't sounded as if he were joking. How could that be? Our laughter died down quickly. The silence that followed made me only more anxious. The phrase that I had done such a good job of repressing jumped to the front of my mind again:

Please leave at earliest opportunity.

Oh please, please, it couldn't really happen, could it?

“I was thinking more of the City, actually.” My voice was really quiet.

“It's best to move around,” His voice sounded detached, unemotional. “Staying in one place too long can be hazardous to your health.”

Each word was like a knife stabbed through my heart.

“What do you mean?” I managed to get out.

He hesitated, then shrugged, deprecatingly.

“You know... the police don't like layabouts and hobos. They can get tough if they notice you. And so can other people. There's a lot of hatred in the world.”