3. avoid the confessional
in porto sant’epidio, saint crispin is venerated on the 25th of october. the city shuts down and celebrates the whole day - there’s a mass dedicated to the saint at six, a procession at seven, and fireworks at eight. saint crispin is the patron saint of shoes and cobblers: supposedly, he was spreading the word of god while he made shoes, and was murdered for it. today, i honoured his memory by getting to skip out on teaching, and instead getting to spend several hours with a family i’m slowing starting to loathe.
i didn’t get any sleep the night before. around seven am, i gave it up for a lost cause, and decided to follow through on the one thing i promised myself - go to the beach. the wind reminded me of home: a hint of crisp, a little nudge of autumn. the water of the mediterranean sea churned less than brilliant, but i was too happy to be near it to care. i walked barefoot across the incoming tide, occasionally feeling the hem of my pants dampen from the water. as i strode the length of the beach, i thought how much i wanted to be home. i even wrote poetry.
at three, i was stuck in a car with r and l. it couldn’t have been more awkward. they barely speak english, i don’t speak italian, and they argued or chatted amongst themselves the whole way. i just wanted to hide. even worse, when we picked up the boys, they were in foul moods, and couldn’t buffer the conversation.
on the way to visit the teacher who arranged this whole travesty, i started to feel sick. nauseous. was it the lack of food? the lack of sleep? my organs, finally shutting down? the five humans crammed together in a car that could comfortably hold four? i don’t know. i lucked out by holding on to my puke, barely making it out of the car in one piece - i was sure i was going to faint when it finally stopped.
inside the teacher’s studio, all i could think was how out of place i felt, how much i missed my home. i missed knowing what everyone was saying; i missed my mom and dad. i missed food i could understand, and people i could smile at, and knowing if i needed to, i could leave. it took everything i had to hold on to the tears. over and over, i prayed that r and l would look over at me and decide that my services were no longer necessary. instead, they hammered home how much the boys seemed to like me (which i highly, highly doubt). the teacher yammered about lessons, about setting me up in a neighboring school, about this and this and that - all while r chattered on, all while the boys grew bored and started doodling. all while everything was in italian, and i was thinking of being seven thousand mils from home.
back in the car, i was nearly sick again - i struggled to look composed and casual when we all tumbled out. too soon to celebrate: i was invited to the mass. stuck in the car with fred and l, who tried his best to make me feel informed and welcomed, but just left me feeling foolish. stupid. i felt like a child. i feel like one now. my mascara is running, my throat raw from finally getting a chance to cry. i feel like a little girl playing dressup, but suddenly, i’m thrown into a business meeting. i feel like a mistake.
and all i could think of was how sad my dad was, back home, how he took me to mass a few times, but hated having to shake hands - hated greeting the neighbor. if i wasn’t crying about that, i was crying about how it hasn’t even been a week: it’s been barely five days. what would happen if i showed up out of the blue back home, after everyone thought i was leaving, that i was finally gone on living my life? my mother would be so ashamed. at least like this, she can pretend i’m somewhat worthy of a daughter.
after mass, dinner. stuck in a little cafe with people i didn’t know, with those same strangers offering me food, food, food. after food, fireworks - i found myself wishing one would fall on me in a blaze of death. little phil seems to have grown attached to me - he wanted to hold my hand on the way home. i haven’t warmed up to him.
and now i’m here. my makeup has run, and my eyes are burning a little. earlier, i tore all the skin around my fingernails off, and it hurts to even think about them, but the pain is good. i deserve the pain. i moved out here, in the middle of nowhere, with strangers at every turn, and expected to be at peace. i’m nothing. i’m no one. i want to die so much, so badly - i want to die, and i’m too afraid of hurting my family, so instead i just linger here, waiting, waiting, waiting for it to get better, waiting for someone to reach out and say “well of COURSE you’re struggling! this is how we fix it!” but no one has.
and now i find out that i have to spend saturday and sunday with these monsters - so it’s quite literally two full weeks of being with them at every turn. how can i explain that i just want to be by myself? that i just want time to mourn some self that didn’t even have time to exist?
i think about getting on the train that cuts through this town so often - though it couldn’t lead me home, it’ll lead me away from here. it’s the only public transport in this dump. it’s the only way i can get away.
unlike saint crispin, unfortunately, i don’t seem to be dying anytime soon.
