Please have a read and comment on this student’s story:
Indesiderato. Unwanted. Ignoranza. Ignorance
Stifled by an awful silence, she straightens up against the hardness of her chair, staring down upon her meal. Reluctantly eating her thyme, lime and carrot soup, she courts an impartial expression on her face, remains silent for the rest of the meal and looks down at her silver plate.
It is now mid afternoon, the following day and thoughts cruise leisurely as to what to do. Skirmish in her room, she walks around the house. Carlo is tending to the vegetables at the rear of the house; she smells Marietta’s cooking. Wandering back up the dusty driveway, the dirt follows her black boots and long skirt as she chases the neighbour’s Cymric cat back into the bushes. She turns away from the glorious glare and enters through the doors, dissolving like salt into water.
It has been four hours since breakfast and beginning to get hungry, Marietta brings out lunch as if the churning of her stomach had demanded it. Approaching the front door and exterior of the house, a sound example of wasteful deforestation efforts, she looks in disdain at the colossal efforts of her ancestors, wanting to settle for less and needing to explore much more.
Time seems to race by as the sun goes down to rest and her parents arrive home. Eager for entertainment, rather than the company itself, she resides in her room, the anticipation of live theatre too exciting to hold in. At first there is the hum of conversation that one cannot possible decode behind a solid wall; but as the hum translates to human vocal expression at its highest limits, her ear lifts off the door and settles against her pillow.
As though a monster has settled under her bed; a unfortunate and common nightmare as a child, sleep comes slowly that night- she knows she needs it, she wants to have it, but can’t seem to take it. Closing her eyes shut made nightmares, not from her childhood, but the present, creeping into her vision like an unwanted visitor at night, forcing the view of a white ceiling become the last thing she sees before drifting into unconsciousness.
The country escapades into a terrain of infrastructure and cemented lives as the world is no longer spherical but a shape, never taught in schools before. It doesn’t have any sides, corners or direction, yet what lays on it seems to be the more bewildering and uncomprehending sight. There aren’t just buildings and cars and people and lights; but trees and shrubbery, animals and grass. Everything seemed to be painted a chilly, icy silver colour. There was no temperature; it was neither cold nor hot. In terms of dress; there were no silver suits and flying planes; a relief beyond belief that humanity hadn’t turned to conformity, uniformity and homogeneity. Not a recognizable sight, but one strange as such to remain a vivid reminiscence of a young and wretched subsistence.
“Che cosa Carlina Esposito! What the hell are you going on about now?”
Deciphering a portal of dreams that still terrify her had not been an easy task the following morning. Her parents were, well, “momentarily stunned” at what she was saying, but now semi-accepting- – or perhaps semi-tolerating…
“I have always told you Alessandro, that if we do not educate her, she will become fantastical about the world. And now- look! Voi uomo stupido…”
“It is a dream Carlina, you know we do not follow what our unconscious tells us. Dreams are just what we want to believe, what we fear- they are only fantasies.”
“Papa, you aren’t listening to me! What if dreams were telling someone what will happen in the future?”
“Carlina, you have no need to worry; from what you are telling your father and I, it is simply a dream about what the future could be like. No one can control the future.”
Carlina walked away from her parents dejected by their parental authority so vehemently abused against her. Why should she listen to her parents anyway? Carlina had always thought her parents weren’t made for each other. They had been with each other for twenty-three years and how she would have loved to hear their ‘story of love’. Motive to hear this story came purely from the fact that she assumed it was all a lie.
Manicured lawns and preserved sauces and pesto for the winter. Apparently the household was ready for the Mama and Papa were ready for their holiday to the Touraine and await their farewells outside the pine door, amongst the alfresco and peaceful dust. Waving her parents good-bye with Carlo and Marietta, Carlina checks the time and notices the brewing of a storm near the Appennini Mountains.
“Che cosa è sbagliato! What is wrong Carlina?”
She had woken up startled and panting again. This was the fourth night in a row and Marietta was growing tired of these nightmares. All she wanted was the peace of an uninterrupted sleep that this pestilent girl would not allow.
Though no routine had changed within her life; the seventeenth winter without her parents had been different. A man and close friend of her parents had visited their home. His name was Federico Fellini; he freely expressed his regret that her parents were not around, though stayed with the company of Carlina Esposito for a few days. He was seventy-two years of age with a great sense of humor and much wisdom. He was a pazzo old man that talked to the Cymric cat, Marietta and Carlo
A few months later when her parents had arrived back home, Carlina received mail from Mr. Fellini. It detailed many memories about his trip to the Esposito manor, and the fun that he would have loved to continue, if not for work and family commitments. At the end of the letter, he had written something for Carlina in the most scrambled way,
“There is no end.
There is no beginning.
There is only the passion of life.”