‘Is your dog wearing boots?’ she asked me while standing on her balcony. I giggled because Nino’s white paws really look like boots from far away and it wasn’t the first time that we had gotten that question. My neighbour used to have two sausage dogs and they used to rest with their belly up in the shade of their balcony, which is right opposite to mine. They would loudly bark at Nino and Nino would timidly bark back, reassured by the huge void between the two balconies. In 2018 things were happier, simpler. My mum bought a swing for the garden and Nino decided to make it his bed. He would sleep on it for hours so we moved it on the balcony where he could see his sausage friends and the burnt mountains.
When grandma saw Nino for the first time, she screamed like she always used to, in her extremely dramatic manner, which made us all laugh. She would sing us songs and tell us jokes and stories and we would always end up laughing. She was a real storyteller. Sometimes my siblings and I still sing her songs like when we were children, only with more nostalgia than before. We always smile whenever we think of her but, when the lights of the kitchen are off and everyone disappears into their rooms, we all lose ourselves into that void that she left. That kind of sadness doesn’t go away quickly. When you have so many good memories with someone and that someone is unexpectedly swallowed up by the universe, you first get a sense of disbelief, then the anger comes and finally the sadness. A deep, intense sadness that keeps you awake and makes you wander in dark parks at midnight. But taking the tube was also a nightmare. I stepped on the train, sat down, looked outside and I couldn’t stop myself. Like a hurricane all those memories dried my skin and flooded my eyes. I just couldn’t believe it had happened. I had called her from the Student Centre some time before that day, and I had told her I was coming home in a few weeks. She was so happy and looking forward to it.
However, every time we spoke I couldn’t help but notice that she was feeling lonely. She never said it, but I knew it well that she wasn’t happy like she used to be. Maybe after some time we all slowly melt away like candles, but I wasn’t ready for her to leave me and living on memories is simply not enough. I do though. I think of her every day and I would never get tired of writing about the things we used to do.
Nonna used to cut oranges in the shape of sunglasses. I don’t know how she did it and I always think about it whenever I see an orange. How can you possibly make sunglasses out of oranges? I remember we would actually wear them. I would literally wear an orange on my head! I might still do it if I manage to figure out the cutting technique.
Since it happened, I think of death every day. Their death, my death, everyone’s death. It’s my constant thought – a lingering paranoia that was made worse by the pandemic. In every form, behind every corner of my mind, death is always there.
I wish I could have more peace of mind but how can you extirpate that fear? The thought of seeing the people you love suffer and die.
The most atrocious and barbarous thoughts I could ever have, I’ve had them all. I’d rip my brain out of my skull and tell her to calm down. Paranoia doesn’t help.