Her Italy

"John and Susan got in the car. They sat in silence. John didn't start the ignition. Susan stared out the windshield, avoiding John's eyes; avoiding every part of him. John did the same, staring down at the keys laying slack in his hand. He sighed. 'You know,' he started, 'You can't go forever without speaking to me.' Try me, Susan thought. She blinked and her dark curls shifted across the fur of her coat as she turned her neck, looking out the window. 'Okay, maybe you can,' John said. He sighed and finally inserted the key. He revved the engine over his thoughts."

I don't think this is going anywhere, Jordanna typed.

What are you talking about? Charlie replied.

This story, my story. What am I doing? Charlie, do you like your job?

I do. The people are cool and the work is really easy.

That's nice. I'm bored as hell.

The boss could be better, but what can you expect

As always

And they give a Christmas bonus

oh shut up, I'm not getting one

Oh. Sorry.

"Now that the car was moving, Susan's eyes drifted about the cityscape, which slowly melted into country on either side of the highway, reminding her of train rides through Tuscany with John. But that was when he was an artist. It was Their Italy."

You could always talk about Italy.

That's what I was doing, Charles.

k.

"You know, he started suddenly."

No.

"You know, he started suddenly, exasperated."

Emotion. Good.

"It was Their Italy, with food that made her tongue glisten."

Hey, can your tongue glisten?

Sounds dangerous. And kinda kinky.

I'll take that as a no.

"She thought of Their Italy: the food that melted on her tongue"

Already used 'melted'.

"She thought of Their Italy: the food that sang ballads to her senses and the men that did the same, before she met John, of course. Like Vittorio. At least she thought his name was Vittorio. At least she thought he was Italian. He was an actor. She didn't trust actors, but he kissed like a prince. He was probably an American named Kyle, but she still fell into his kisses like an autumn leaf."

Hehehe.

What?

What I just wrote.

What did you just write?

I can't tell you.

So what was the point of you telling me it was something you just wrote?

I don't know. Thought you mighta wanted to know.

"They met on the Spanish Steps. Susan had spent the day shopping and sightseeing. She plopped down on a step, letting her bags flail on either side of her in her desperation to get off her feet. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, where the sun was setting behind Via Condotti. She exhaled, smiling. When she opened them, he stood before her."

"She exhaled, smiling. When she opened her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the young man sitting a few steps below her. His body was turned away, but his face, toward her. Sunglasses perched on his dark-coiffed head, leather jacket; so Roman. She smiled again, bold and purposeful, like many a smile she'd given before. He smiled back, lips smooth across his face and the fading sunlight catching his"

"He smiled back, lips smooth across his face and his brown eyes catching the fading sunlight. She watched as he stood and ascended to her. He invited himself to sit next to her, though she would have done so if her Italian were a little more than 'tourist.'"

Jordanna blinked at her computer screen. She tilted her head, hoping it would shift something in her brain.

What happened next in the story escaped her, perhaps willingly. In that instance, her own memories of Italia slipped from her memory.

Or did she leave them, knowing they would never happen again?

She clicked the X at the corner of the screen of the document.

Well, I should get back to work now...on something.

Okay, ttyl.

Bye.

Bye.