I hear the nervous ring of your cellphone and I spy your reaction out of the corner of my eye. I was slightly worried when our weekend together began: we were both working a lot, and you spent most of your time on the phone with your clients. I was afraid I would feel that you were distant even during these days, that we carved out to finally stay on our own a little. But you take that annoing device and without blinking an eye you directly turn it off. I smile in relief, because you are maintaining your promise, and I take your hand again.
Walking through these trees of the La Francesca Resort, in the thick Mediterranean vegetation, with our nostrils full of its unmistakable intense perfume, and our eyes overflowing with its vibrant colors, makes the daily rush’s chaos a far pale memory. I breathe deeply, and this way I would like I was able to bring a bit of this smell home, in the city, and keep it aside for the moments I need a pause from all that grey the most.
“What about a game of tennis?”, you propose, winking at me. And for a second, I go back to when we were kids, and we competed at tennis for hours, unconcerned about the scorching sun that burnt our shoulders. Your look is exactly the same as it was once, I notice, seeing that the little wrinkles around your eyes didn’t ruin it, and I suddenly feel how much I love you. The tennis courts are a few minutes away from us, and we get close, accompanied by the happy screams of the children playing in the soccer field and in the playground. Their carefree laughs make me smile, realizing that open-air games still win over phones and videogames.
After the game (that you won, this time) we feel hungry. Rosadimare restaurant invites us to enter with its smell from Ligurian tradition and we eat some delicious fish, seated on its panoramic terrace. The chirrup of the cicadas, camouflaged in the pine grove, is the only theme song to our lunch, that we enjoy slowly, so far from the quick sandwiches we chew in the office, with our phones in our hands. Underneath us, at the feet of the wooded hill that hides the resort, Bonassola sea opens, immense, to our eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of its blue, which they are not used to.
“Do you make fun of me if I suggest a nap?”, I ask you, joking, because napping isn’t normally contemplated in our days, and we calmly walk the path that arrives to the beach. We can’t believe that we don’t even see a car for a few days, and that we can move by feet only. We seize two hammocks and we swing in the shadow, letting the eternal voice of the transparent sea that caress the rocks accompany us towards a light sleep.
We spend the afternoon poolside, playing pranks at each other as two children do, and my eyes enjoy your relaxed smile, your cheeks already turned red by the strong sunlight, your messy hair tips a little blonder. If I saw you without knowing you well, I wouldn’t recognize you, deprived of the gel in your hair brushed back and of your refined perfume, of your dark suit and your permanent frown. But I know you like I know myself, and I feel happy because I am aware that this is how your soul really look.
Later, in the sunset, we will lie in bed, in our cozy apartment, with the window open on the citrus groves garden and the summer wind that caresses our slightly tanned skin. We will know that we will have to go back to our everyday life on Monday, but we will treasure the memory of this oasis in the Ligurian nature’s heart, and its precious teaching, that will prevent us from forgetting how we really are.
Out of here, the crickets will vivaciously dedicate a song to the sun diving into the waves.