30. Maggie
30
maggie
I’m standing in the kitchen staring at the four baskets of lemons. They just keep appearing as if I’m running some kind of farmer’s market in my kitchen. I shove all the bread Affamata left for me, into my exhausted pie hole. I drizzled olive oil on it and suddenly Italy doesn’t seem that bad anymore. I sit up on the counter for a moment chomping on this perfect bread and survey the room. Clearly, she was here. Did she find me sleeping on the desk for the third night in a row? I bought some t-shirts and shorts in town but couldn’t find underwear and didn’t want to ask. I’ve not been upstairs and haven’t run across the “caretakers” since to ask about the brood of bats living upstairs.
I swallow, inhale deeply and clap my hands together. “I guess it’s time to make lemonade.” I find sugar and two containers and start slicing and juicing lemons. An hour and two pitchers later, I sip some of the best lemonade in the world.
I lean back against the fridge. I have no bra and no coffee. I’m going to attempt to write Affamata a note later about the coffee situation. Thank God for Google translation. How the hell do I have great internet and no way to close a window?
Not sure what to do about the bats. You’d think windows wouldn’t be a thing you have to ask about. ‘Are the linens on site or do I need to bring my own?’ I’ve been a short-term housing rental expert for months and this question has never been on the list. ‘Is the entire house open to the elements?’ I shake my head.
“Focus, Mags. Focus. You’re braless and have to get to class.” And I sure as heck am not going upstairs because the bats now own my bras.
I sit down in my kitchen and realize I’m once again giving away pieces of myself to make it better for others. Fuck that. I stand in my nasty clothes and my crinky neck from sleeping in the throne room and even if it’s just this, I’m taking back my underwear. No one is telling me what to do anymore. That’s it bats. I’m claiming my panties. I pick up a battered broom that looks like the burned end of the one from The Wizard of Oz . That’s the broom I have, but what the bats don’t know is I used to play softball so there’s a good chance I can take one out before they get me.
I pull my t-shirt over my hair and walk up the stairs broom in hand yelling, “This is it bats! “This is it!” Everything is quiet so I start banging on the wall, so they know I’m here and then I hear them screaming. But that can’t be bats, it’s more of a howl than a screaming. Now there’s screeching. I freeze and say out loud, as if the bats can answer my question. “What the shit is in the walls now? I know it’s not you guys. Is it? That is not a bat… that can’t be a bat. Oh, my god.”
There’s intense shuffling and scratching. Something’s fighting something else in the walls of my house. Not my house but whatever stupid Italian villa this is, this Airbnb host is getting such a bad rating. I don’t remember her name but the things in there are in an epic brawl in the walls now. And then the bats start coming out to see what’s going on.
I toss my shirt over my head and hope they aren’t attracted to my bare breasts flopping all around as I jump and swat at them. Oh God, do bats like nipples? The fight rages on and I scream and wildly wave around my broom, connecting with way too many black wings as I fling them against the walls. I scream out loud. “Everyone stop. Fucking go to your corners. Wall things, stop it. I need a bra.”
My boobs are jiggling as I wave the broom round to try to get to my suitcase. I’m walking around topless with the broom worried about the bats after they’ve retreated to the front bedroom. I grab a sports bra and a fistful of clothes. I keep banging on the wall but there’s some serious hissing going. Could there be snakes in the house? Are there Italian snakes? I don’t know! I brushed up on Italian phrases about the bathroom and how to order coffee, not indigenous wildlife.
I fling myself and my clothes down the stairs while screaming upstairs, “You all behave.”
I gotta call somebody to take care of it. I quickly dress in the random shit I brought downstairs, grab a bunch of lemons and dive into the car.
My adrenaline is off the charts. I’m going to need help talking to an exterminator or a bat wrangler because I’m not even sure how to say any of those words in Italian. I speed down the road, into the city to my first cooking class.
This building is ornate and gorgeous, and I look as if I wandered off the street in my weird rainbow leggings, I bought for some festival in Spain. Everyone is concentrating and as I walk in looking like a woman trying to recapture her 14-year-old self, they all stare. All the stations are filled except for one next to a girl who is actually a 14 or 15-year-old.
I apologize to everyone around us, look at the nice girl and say “Scusi, posso?” She stares at me, and I check the words in my head. I just said, ‘excuse me, can I.’
“That’s right.” I mutter under my breath because my brain is broken today, and I can’t think of any more Italian. “Excuse me, despite my weird appearance I promise you I’m normal. Would you mind if I shared the table with you?”
“I… I… I guess that’s fine. I’m Daisy. Salve, Ciao, Per favore.”
“Salve, il e Maggie.” It’s like she’s stuttering beginning Italian phrases. I say to no one in particular, “This is a nightmare.” Her eyes light up.
“Are you American?” she blurts out.
“ Yes! I am. I’m from Nevada. Where are you from?”
And like a typical teenager, she doesn’t stop speaking until the instructor shushes us. “Well, we lived kind of everywhere. And we’re not really a military family, but kind of are. We had to visit a lot of places. The most home home we have is in Boston.”
My heart seizes up a little thinking about Boston and Colt. I’ve had such a shitty year. I can’t go to the place where Colt and I are both single. And he’s not really single because he has kids and a wife that just died. I don’t know how he feels about all that because I was selfish and didn’t let him talk about it.
I felt so much for Colt for so long that it’s like its own complete story now, after the texting. I don’t know what a conversation with him would be like since I iced him out. It’s a terrible idea to talk to him.
My thoughts are getting away from me. I need to focus. Maggie focus . I look over at Daisy and I smile. “Where do we start?” She pushes a cutting board over to me. “I knew about a Daisy once. I like that name.” I shove down another bolt of Colt thoughts. She smiles, but there’s a sadness behind her smile. Perhaps I’m really boring.
“We start with flour. You have to make like a circle. Do what I do. I don’t want to tell anybody this, but I already know how to make pasta because my dad’s really good at it. Truthfully, I wanted to learn Italian, so I thought I’d try this class. And if you meet my dad, don’t tell him I think he makes really good pasta. I don’t really have any friends yet and so well here I am.”
The instructor says, “Affamato! Spero che abbiate tutti fame.”
I shake my head and Daisy says, “What?”
“Is her name Affamato? That’s my housekeeper’s name.”
Daisy thinks hard, and then says, “Your housekeeper’s name is hungry?” I let my shoulders go slack and roll my eyes at myself. Then I start laughing.
“No. She was asking me if I was hungry, and I thought that was her name.” Daisy doubles over howling, and it’s pretty great. Even if it is at my wacky brain’s expense. I’m not good at seeing the big picture right now.
“How about this? We can be each other’s friends even though I’m old. I promise I’m not weird. Okay, I’m weird, like a really cool, weird.” She laughs. “I’m going to talk about random things, but I promise I’ll be a good friend. I am a good friend. I have references. I don’t know anybody in Italy except the bats.”
She’s laughing really hard. “What bats?”
“There are bats in my house that have taken over. I think they’re battling it out inside the walls of my house. I think that whoever wins the battle from whatever animal they’re fighting could be squirrels or rats, wins the house. Who knows at this point? I think I’m going to have to have like a smack down face off with the bats in order to live in this stupid, stupid rental villa that I have.”
“I’ll stand by your side, and you know, battle the bats if you need, because that’s what friends do.”
“And then we’ll go get gelato after we give them the beat down.” Daisy laughs and so do I for the first time in a couple of days.