7. MAGDALEN
7
MAGDALEN
Theo’s presence has a triumphant effect on the families; even Dante is close to tears at the sight of him.
Dante and Theo share an inseparable connection, and when Theo left I could feel a part of Dante break. The skin on his cheeks, which were usually stretched in a smile, grew taut and dull. Theo was his light. And while I know it felt like abandonment to Dante, everyone in Chivasso knew that Theo was going to disappear one day. Granted, maybe not as abruptly. But his brilliance, in school, in sports, in fucking girls – it felt wrong to have all that stay in the one town he grew up in. He unknowingly made people self-conscious of their own worth.
When Theo Sinclair took a 4 a.m. flight to Connecticut without warning seven years ago, our world had shifted a centimetre; the clouds hung low as if trying to hold him in the sky, trapped above Chivasso for ever. The fruit felt rotten, Anika was silent, and Cinzia Sinclair stayed in her bedroom for months. But, at the same time, it was also the most mundane thing that could have taken place in town that day, and so life went on without Theo.
I look at Theo now, 6 foot 4 and forearms corded with muscle, and try to remember him all those years ago. As a child, he took an hour-long bus to Torino every morning to go to a specialized school for gifted students. The genio of our little town. He was also athletic, obliterating all the tennis tournaments, football and track matches in Chivasso and then again in Torino. He was watched and gossiped about daily from a young age. Even five years younger than him, I was aware he was different. Would he go into medicine? Become a lawyer? Play tennis professionally? But what we were all really wondering was the same, big question; how would Theo Sinclair change the world, and would he remember us when he did?
This is why I always assumed he ran away. It felt obvious. The pressure to be the saviour of a small town drove him to find a bigger one with more than one genio to ogle at. I don’t blame him for leaving; I followed his lead. Except my plane landed in England; closer to home. Whereas Theo made sure no one could come find him.
Theo cast a large shadow, and people who walked too close behind were bound to become lost. And maybe it’s because I am a girl, or because people who are quiet tend to go unnoticed, but no one ever said anything when I stepped on that bus after him. For seven years, it felt like no one saw me enter the very same school. Or maybe it was because I could never kick a ball; these things are important to Italians.
Sitting in my family kitchen after seven years, Theo is immediately interrogated by everyone.
‘Yeah, I did some research for the Yale Monastic Archaeology Program in Sohang,’ Theo says, his ears red with embarrassment. I’m mesmerized. Watching him talk, I let myself indulge in just how beautiful he is. Tanned and husky; grey eyes. Thick dark strands of hair curling around his ears. How can someone so objectively perfect ever know the feeling of embarrassment? Even wondering that is unfair. I know nothing about him. What makes him embarrassed, what interests him. Theo’s intelligence is in competition with his beauty. It’s terrifying to think he is Achilles with no poisoned heel.
Looking at Theo like this makes me remember the first time I became aware of his reputation. Dante, Theo, Anika and I took the train to Torino – Anika and I following the boys like lost puppies. Sure, I’d been to Torino for school. But for fun?
Never.
Torino during the day is much like all Italian cities, expansive and cobblestoned, the buildings that now hold independent boutiques and tabaccherie once held Roman deities. You can’t ever get over how old everything is here. But at night the young and the old flood the streets with vibrancy. Sidewalks are lined with cheap plastic tables; friends gather and dance in the street to music blaring from someone’s car radio. Beers are tossed in the fountain. This is not an act of disrespect, but rather a ritual to keep the city eternally young; our cities survive so long because of the mystery of night-time. Knowing how many secrets are in these streets can make a person feel very insignificant – young .
It was on a night like this when I first realized Theo’s reputation. I was twelve and had bought myself eyeliner for the first time that morning. Anika left a copy of Lei Glamour on my bed and Milla Jovovich stared at me from the cover, taunting me with her big blue eyes. After leafing through the pages of red lipstick and neon blue eyeshadow, I settled for some maroon eyeliner because the magazine told me that colour would make my eyes pop.
At this stage in my life I believed I could seduce men with just my eyes.
An older girl in Theo’s grade called Titziana asked me if I could introduce her to Theo. ‘ Che bello ! ’ she had said. How hot!
The music was loud and seductive, and her question stirred a confusion in me. ‘Theo?’ I replied dumbly. ‘ Voui parlare con Theo? ’ You want to talk to Theo?
I asked this as if she had told me she was going to have sex with my brother and make me watch. Theo was synonymous with Dante to me, so the idea of someone finding him attractive was disturbing, and I had no desire to be part of her getting to know him. But thinking back on this memory, it seems so obvious.
I was afraid. With that one question, Theo had opened the door of boyhood, walked into manhood and locked the entrance behind him. I was afraid that if I told him that Titziana found him attractive, he would know that I knew he was now a man, and that word was something to be afraid of. I stirred my Coke Zero and looked at Titziana. ‘Sorry, I don’t know him that well.’
I later found out my refusal did nothing to stop Titziana; they were caught having sex in the back of Dexter Sinclair’s car later that night. This was standard behaviour for Theo. Because I was twelve and too worried with finishing my summer reading or whether I’d need braces, I did not spend any time thinking of Theo as someone that other people would want.
He was Dante’s brother, mine by proxy. But to the rest of Chivasso? Theo evoked desire in girls who had not yet been awakened; he was a centaur in a field of horses. It was at this point that I stopped talking to him. I was terrified he would think any interaction with me indicated that I desired him in every way. My silent avoidance of him was my way of saying: I will never ask you to awaken me. I will never ask you to turn me down. Whether or not this translated in my everyday actions is inconclusive, but somehow, I always felt it did.
Seeing him now, sitting in the ugly red chair in our kitchen, where he had sat just seven years ago, nothing has changed. He is still taller than me, but he’s definitely grown up. Shoulders broader, hardened with muscles I didn’t remember him ever having. Still beautiful. His face is tense, as if he is purposely trying to remain unread, except for his eyebrows, which furrow constantly, giving him away. When someone speaks, you can tell that he is actively processing what they are saying. Words are currency, and Theo cares about their value. Most people care only about their own. One strand of hair falls across his forehead and I forget I am staring until he is looking straight at me.
‘Magdalen?’ he says, as though this is his second time saying my name.
‘ Scusa , what did you say?’
‘How are you liking Oxford?’
‘Oh, well, it’s nice. Hard but worth it. I like the material.’ I look away, unsure if my response is satisfactory.
He stares at the table and nods in understanding, ‘You always did like to read if I remember,’ and takes a sip of his drink that someone put in front of him. I think he is going to say something else but he doesn’t.
‘Yes, but hates to talk to people,’ my mother adds, and I look up. Her tone is contemptuous. Have I done something wrong? ‘What’s the point in reading if you don’t have anyone to discuss your books with, right?’
Anika’s father is standing in the corner, looking into his glass as if he is searching for prophetic intervention. He clears his throat. ‘Well, at least our kids are back. It’s been a while since the family was together. Magdalen, you have grown to be a beautiful woman. And, Theo, you’ve certainly grown your hair,’ Dexter says, laughing at his own words.
‘I like your hair,’ I hear myself saying.
Theo turns to me, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Really?’ Noticing the strand that’s fallen, he quickly tucks it behind his ear. ‘It’s a little fucking long, don’t you think?’
‘Long hair is very hot in America.’ My eyes widen when I realize what I’ve said. ‘Hot as in, trendy. Um, not saying you’re hot or anything like that.’ This is what I get for talking, Mum , I want to shout. I call Theo Sinclair hot in front of every person I fucking know.
‘Don’t think I’m hot, Maggie?’ Theo leans back in his chair, nursing the drink in his hand. His eyes flicker with humour, daring me to take it back.
Before I have time think of a response, Dante interjects. ‘Ew, Theo. Don’t make my sister call you hot in front of the entire fucking family.’
My mother inhales sharply. ‘Dante, language.’
Dante slams his hand on the table, clearly about to defend his right to curse, but Jo quickly interrupts him. ‘Since you’re back, Theo, I’m sure the boys at the club will want to see you.’
‘Don’t expect any of your usual girls to want you looking like that,’ Dexter snorts, finishing off his drink in one final sip.
It’s a cheap joke and I politely smile, but debasing Theo to a humourless one-liner after so many years apart feels insensitive. I glance at Theo, who is not laughing; he is not looking at his father. His mother, Cinzia, smiles weakly but also seems tired by Dexter’s words. A few years before Theo left, Cinzia resigned from the museum, leaving only my father and Dexter Sinclair in charge of operations. She looks smaller than I remember as she sits at the chair near the open kitchen door. The skin of her arms hangs loosely from her muscles, and I can see her hair is turning grey at the roots.
‘Funny. Shall we, then?’ Jo ignores Dexter. Tension has filled the room alongside the smoke of the open oven.
‘Yup, that’ll be fine,’ Theo briskly responds, finishing his drink in one large sip and getting up. I only realize now I wasn’t the one to give him a drink, despite offering. Must not get so distracted, Magdalen! He’s only a man.
‘Bye, everyone,’ Theo says warmly. ‘Magdalen,’ he adds hastily, with his eyes flickering to mine for a split second, and then he is gone.
‘Bye, fuckers,’ Dante bows, and my father and mother both suck in a breath. The warm cosy feeling that entered with Theo disappears. A trail of goosebumps covers my arm, and I shiver.