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| The Traveler, by Anne Winkler |
Angelina
Of
all the men I might have married, the one that stands out for me now was the
Italian tourist who asked me for a kiss as we stood on the corner of Madison
and I-forget-what-Street on the Upper East Side that summer afternoon in 1980.
Of course, I kissed him. I was like
that then, accustomed to the admiration of men in New York and accommodating
when I was in the mood.
This man, the textbook
young-and-darkly-handsome Italian-Italian, with his broad smile and thick
accent, put me in the mood for a street-corner kiss. But then the light changed, and I went on my
way to wherever I was in a rush to get to, gaily waving to him over my left shoulder
and saying one of the two words I knew in Italian, “Ciao!”
I’ve often wondered since: What if I’d
lingered, walked with him to wherever he was going, maybe fallen in love and
returned with him to Italy? I know this is a leap, but what if this Giuseppe –
or whatever his lovely name was – and I had married and had a half-dozen
Italian babies who tried their best to teach me, in turn, the intricacies of
their musical language?
I have vivid imaginary memories of our
summers together at Giuseppe’s ancient farm in Tuscany. One memory in
particular is of our daughter Angelina – the child who was most like me –
hitching up a little goat to an old cart and announcing she was running away
from home. We all stood in the drive and waved goodbye to her, pretending to be
sad, and she waved back. But the goat didn’t take her far.
Giuseppe’s mother, forever stooped and
dressed in widow’s black, never grew to accept me. And her only son, my
charming, errant husband, never stopped kissing beautiful young strangers on
city street corners.
Yet I’ve never for one moment ever regretted
our own street-corner kiss. Without that spark, there would never have been an
Angelina.
Lovely !!! Ah, what could have been if we took a different path. . .
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful story, la Bonnie! Loved it!
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