“Ti amo, Sylvester.”
I don’t wait for her to hang up before I end the call, gripping the phone tightly as I close my eyes. Guilt plagues me, and I begin to feel myself struggling with emotion once again.
Forcing myself to banish the guilt, I drop my phone to the ground below me, and as I reach for the door of the car, I slam my foot on top of the device so it shatters, grinding the sole of my shoe onto it to ensure it will no longer work.
Then I slide into the back seat of the car with only one thing in mind.
“Good evening, Sir. Mr. Rochester has arranged for me to take you wherever you’d like to go.”
“Grazie. Please take me to a dealership. It’s time for me to purchase a new motorcycle.”
A grin overtakes the driver's face as he tips his hat, but I don’t feel like idle chitchat, so as he begins to drive, I raise the partition and look out the window of this God-forsaken city, wondering how anyone could ever live here.
Thankfully, it is not the city I mean to stay in. When I flipped the coin onto the state map, it landed on a town about an hour north of here that I wasn’t familiar with but am eager to explore.
Perhaps it would be the place I callcasa dolce casa.
Ridgewood, California.
What a waste of potential.
When I arrived here and saw the town, my plan was to only stay a week—maybe two—then travel down the coast to see what else The Golden State had to offer.
Just because this was where the coin landed didn’t mean I was obligated to stay here if it didn’t suit me.
Which I thought it didn’t.
But that was four weeks ago.
I never expected to get so comfortable so quickly, and a lot has changed.
I’ve considered calling this place my home long-term. Small-town living surprised me, though Ridgewood isn’t exactly a small town.
Nor is it a big city.
Still, I find comfort in my surroundings and have everything I need here.
Almost everything.
Through my few short weeks in Ridgewood, I’ve picked up some habits that some would consider out of character, but I will simply call it the reinvention of one’s self as he tries to pick up the pieces of his life.
Sì, it may be ironic for a man who studied medicine to enjoy a couple of cigarettes per day, but I find them to relax me. And if there is one thing my mind needs, it’s relaxation.
Trying not to think of the love of your life every moment of every day is incredibly difficult. Living in an age where the internet is at your fingertips also makes ita challenge when you can simply Google a name and find out everything you need to know about a person.
Even if it shatters your soul to see.
I will never forget the night last week when I searchedVincenza Paladinoand found a website article highlighting her recent engagement to August.
Dropping to my knees in the middle of the empty apartment I had just rented, I fought the urge to completely crumble beneath the weight of the realization that she hadn’t called off the wedding.
Such a fool I had been to think she was ever truly mine.
Needing to numb the pain, I impulsively wandered into a tattoo shop and found myself at the mercy of a local artist. Four and a half hours later, I had cherry blossoms cascading down my shoulder and looping around my bicep.
We plan to sleeve out both of my arms, creating a flow of artwork that symbolizes my life story.
Now, I am three hours into my third session, letting the rhythmic sensation of the tattoo gun pull me into a state of relaxation. My eyes lull closed as I zone out but quickly open again when the man in the chair next to me asks a question.
