On this melancholy late afternoon what do I want?
I want Vittoria to do the following. RIGHT NOW. Not later.
One. Settle this ridiculous adoption thing with her father. This has been going on long enough. Or, failing that, she should just forget the whole damned thing and pretend it has not happened. Whatever.
Two. Stop eating those Reeses Peanut Butter Cups she has stashed in her room, instead of all the delicious food her mother prepares every day and tries without success to get her to eat. For Christ’s sake she’s down to 90 lbs. At this rate she’ll die of starvation. Right before she kicks off she could get a modeling job at Vogue. They’re always on the lookout for good-looking skeletons like her.
Three. Get her surgery done. Instead of conveniently finding excuses to avoid it.
Four. Recover. Then come here for the visit she’s promised all these months.
* * *
Each time I go down the narrow road to the village I imagine her walking beside me. I reach up and pluck one of those white flowers. I put it in her hair. I plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. And then, softly, on her lips.
As she keeps telling me: Dream on.