4. Antonio
4
Antonio
I stir in my sleep, my body still tired from yesterday’s road trip. But my body clock is already used to waking up at an exact time every day. I stretch and rub my eyes. Looking outside the curtains, it's still dark. The clock at the bedside table says 5 o’clock.
It's a new day, and I'm ready to face it head on. The events of yesterday are behind me. The purpose of moving back here is to relax and get my mind together outside of the hustle and bustle of the big city. And that is exactly what I plan to do.
Even though I've lived a generous percentage of my adult years in Chicago, moving back here makes sense, since it is just on the outskirts of the city. It's quiet enough to have me away from the prying eyes of the media, but also close enough for me not to feel totally detached from my life. It’s a big change for me, but it's for the better. However, there's a connection to this place that would probably keep me grounded, seeing that I grew up here.
Speaking of making the best out of this experience, one thing I started while in “prison” is going for early morning runs. And that is what I set out to do this morning.
I haven’t unpacked anything yet—everything’s still in boxes downstairs. Leo’s driver moved my stuff before I arrived. After some searching, I finally find the suitcase with my workout clothes and shoes. Not surprising, since I didn’t pack it myself.
I lace up my running shoes and step out into the cool, crisp morning breeze. Strapping on my headphones, I select my song of choice– Beethoven: Symphony no.6. It is my go-to workout song. As I press the play button and the familiar sound of the music fills my ears, I feel myself more attune to the world around me. The soft melody of the violin dances delicately alongside the steady rhythm of my footstep as I run.
Being a rock star, people don't expect me to have much appreciation for classical music the way I do. But I find beauty in the classics. They are timeless. Frankly, I listen to all genres of music because I’m a musician. But something about Western classical music gets me every time. Listening to it feels like stepping into a different world where emotions flow freely and stories unfold.
It brings me peace and calm, and it has helped me get through so many difficult times. Especially now. I've been stuck with writer’s block for what feels like forever. I could not create a single cohesive verse. This has been going on even before the whole drug incident. It's gotten even worse lately because I can't seem to bring myself to tune my guitar, let alone play it.
These days, I sit on the edge of my bed for hours on end, my guitar resting on one knee as I run my fingers over the strings. But the melodies that once flowed effortlessly from the contact of my fingers are now met with emptiness.
I would close my eyes and try to get lost in the music, but I’m always met with a void. I'd do this every day until I gave up out of frustration. There's just a disconnect there. It's like something is missing, you know?
It's depressing for me because music has been my entire life. Hence, listening to music has been my haven as of late, especially the classics. It might not feel the same as playing or making my music, but it gives me a momentary boost. From it, I draw inspiration.
The town is still asleep as there is little to no movement, save for some early risers like me. I can hear the birds chirp over my music as I run through the neighborhood. I keep my head down, not wanting to be recognized just yet. A few neighbors give me questionable looks, which are understandable. I am a stranger to them after all, at least to some of them.
I turn a corner and continue my jog along the street, fog rolling out of the woods, covering my path and shrouding the streets in an ethereal veil. It's still very early in the morning. The buildings lining the road are a mix of Victorian homes with their spires and turrets casting long shadows and modest, mid-century buildings.
It's serene, unlike what I am used to in the big cities. The quiet is a testament to how small the town is and the number of people living in it. Small number of people usually mean everyone knows everyone, and the community is closely knit. That also means that news travels fast and everyone is in each other's business.
As I enter a new street, there are tall trees that could make cool shades on a sunny afternoon. I notice someone running on the opposite side of the road. He is keeping pace with me. I glance over in his direction; our eyes meet for a moment. To my surprise, he goes ahead and gives me a small wave. Politely, I return the gesture by waving back.
I slow my pace, seeing that he is gesturing towards me and saying something. Realizing that I can’t hear him over the music blasting in my ears, the distance between us also adding to it, I reach up, kill the music, and pull the headphones around my neck. With a smile, he crosses the street, closing the distance.
“Hey,” he greets, now standing in front of me, hands crossed in front of his chest.
“Hey,” I reply, meeting his gaze.
Pushing his hair to the back and leaning in slightly, he says, “I run here every morning, and I've never seen you. Are you new in town or just visiting?”
I size him up, not sure what to make of the guy. I note his short, slightly wavy blonde hair, and expressive blue eyes. Just your regular guy next door. There is something about him though that reminds me of a golden retriever–outgoing and eager to meet people. I raise a brow and remain silent, feeling slightly awkward about his need to converse with a stranger.
“What’s it to you?” I ask, the question coming out rude and defensive, not quite what I had in mind.
He raises his hands in surrender, although his lips do not lose their smile.
"When I first came here, the people seemed guarded, and I felt quite lonely during the first few weeks. I merely wanted to make sure that you didn't feel the same way in case you’re new to this place."
I mull over his explanation. His words make sense, and his intentions are good, so I relax slightly and let my guard down. He seems friendly, and I can see he's only trying to make conversation. I indulge him. “Yeah, actually, I'm sort of new but old too,” I try to explain, letting out a short laugh.
He looks at me, amused and with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, what does that even mean?”
“Okay, I just moved back here after a long time, but I grew up right in these streets,” I clarify.
We both erupt in laughter. I don't even know what is so funny, but I laugh because he does. And it feels so good. I can't remember the last time I laughed so wholeheartedly.
“So technically, you're a ‘new guy’ then?” he asks, still grinning as he curls his fingers in air quotes at the new guy.
“I guess so.” I shrug.
“It's nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand for a handshake.
“Yeah, and what did you say your name was?” I inquire, knowing full well he hadn't mentioned it.
“Oh, my bad. I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Elias. Elias Hart,” he replies.
“Nice to meet you, Elias. I don't think your last name rings any bells, though. Or maybe I can’t just remember,” I say, trying hard to recall if I had heard of The Harts before now.
“No, no… um, I'm not from here,” he explains.
“Oh, makes sense. Anyway, I’m Antonio Amato.”
Elias’s eyes widen. “Antonio Amato? No way, dude! You mean The Amato family?”
“Yeah.” I smile awkwardly
“You weren't kidding when you said you're not new in town, huh? You’re pretty famous around here. Your family, I mean.”
I swallow hard, knowing what he means by that. The Amatos are the wealthiest family from this small town, but there are a lot of other things we were famous for.
I just give him a small nod as I press my lips together. I shouldn't have divulged my last name like that. It didn't cross my mind that we’re known here. I'm trying to remain low key, but who am I kidding? Word will soon get around that I'm back. I'm sure there are speculations already.
“So, what brings you back here? Last I heard, you were out there doing big things,” he probes.
I shift uncomfortably, offering a tight-lipped smile. He must have read my countenance and saw that I wasn't ready to say anymore. So, he backs off.
“Umm- it’s a pleasure to meet you, dude,” he says as he pats me on the arm.
We resume running, but now side by side in silence. It’s a welcomed silence.
After a while, Elias finally breaks it. “You know, I just moved here like what? Five years ago. Wow! I can't believe it's been that long.”
“Hmm. Care to tell me why you moved here to this small town in the middle of nowhere, of all places you could’ve possibly moved to?” I ask, a little curious.
He pauses and looks at me questionably, probably because I'd refused to talk about myself, yet I'm asking him the same question he asked me.
His face looks like he is in deep thoughts, but he doesn’t take too long before he answers, “Well… I’ve always been passionate about helping people, especially local communities like this one.”
“Oh?” I say, hoping it nudges him to keep talking.
“I always wanted to make a difference in my community. So, I started this Non-Governmental Organization that uh…We set up counseling centers that provide support for mental health and social issues,” he says.
I look over at him, quite impressed by his selflessness. “Dude, that's amazing.”
“Yeah, so we started here and plan to branch out to other communities with time.” His eyes lighten up as he says each sentence. I could tell he was proud of himself and very passionate about his mission.
I smile. “I'm sure you're great at what you do.”
He gives a knowing nod. “So yeah, that's me. That's a summary of why I'm here.”
I know it’s unfair of me to pry into his life, getting him to talk about himself without doing the same. But I'm not ready to unpack all my problems onto a total stranger who I’d just met.
Thankfully, he doesn't seem too bothered by it.
We talk about several other things, like how his stay has been so far, the newest happenings in town. The conversation just flows naturally.
“…Interesting,” I say, laughing at a joke he made.
We are now approaching the end of my route when he says, “I’d love to keep this up, but I’m afraid this is where I leave you.”
“All good, buddy,” I say to him. “And thanks for looking out for the newcomers in town.”
“I’m merely doing what I can to make the transition to a new place easier,” he shrugs. “See you around?”
“Sure.”
He makes his way back across the road after giving me a fist bump and runs off.
Honestly, it feels refreshing talking to someone who isn't treating me like an egg that would crack at the slightest discomfort.
He seems like a decent guy, and it will be nice to have a conversation with him again if we were ever to meet during our runs. This town is a small, so that’s something that’s likely to happen.
________
After about two hours of running, jogging, and walking in between to catch my breath, I finally make it back home.
As I approach, I see a truck driving into Henry’s garage. It catches me off guard.
Last night, while I was asleep, I woke to the sound of a truck driving in, but I was too tired to check.
This means I was not imagining things. Someone definitely lives over there.
I head over to see who it is just as a curvy blonde is getting out of the driver’s seat.
I freeze on the spot as soon as I see her, and so does she.
Wait… Colette? It’s Henry’s little sister. She is the last person I thought I would see there. She stands in her garage with a bag that is half closed. Peeking out of the bag are cans of spray paint, I presume, but pay little attention to it.
I open my mouth to say something, but not a word comes out. I’m shocked to see her. She is a drop-dead gorgeous woman, yet at the same time, it’s clear that life has dealt her a bad hand.
She has bags beneath her eyes, hinting that she's had countless sleepless nights. Her eyes, once bright and vibrant, now seem dull, deep and bottomless. The crease lines by the corner of her eyes tell a tale of pain. She looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Finally finding my voice, I croak out her name. “Colette?”
“Antonio,” she calls back.
Damn! It's really her.
“What…What are you doing here?” I ask, unable to conceal the curiosity in my voice.
“I could very well ask you the same thing,” she shoots back, her tone defensive.
“Fair. But you don't look so good. Are you okay?” I ask with a tinge of concern.
She doesn't take it well. “You don't exactly look like a picture of health yourself,” she snaps.
“Oh, not much has changed, I see.”
“Who do you think you are to be asking if I'm okay while you look like that?”
My jaw tightens. “Well, excuse me for trying to show some decency.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.” A cynical smirk plays on her lips.
I forgot how insufferable she can be. Although Henry was my best friend, Colette seemed to have never really liked me. I don't think she'd ever been my favorite person, either. If ever we were in the same place, we would fight over everything.
____________
I can't remember a time where Colette and I coexisted in the same space for longer than five seconds without pissing each other off.
I think back to a time when I was playing a basketball game with Henry and a few other friends at the court in the backyard.
Colette sauntered over with this playful grin on her face. “Mind if I join you?” she asked her brother, while giving me a deadly and challenging look. I couldn't stand her, because of other occasions where she had made it a point of duty to piss me off.
We didn't like each other, but somehow, we’d end up either hanging out in the same spot or with the same group of friends. This often happened because she just liked to be around her brother.
I called out in response to her question to join us, “Sure, you can join. But don't expect any special treatment because you're Henry’s sister,” my voice laced with sarcasm.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, shut it. You know I can take you on any day,” she shot back.
I threw the ball at her, and she grabbed it and stepped into the court. We played. She was good, I'd give her that. She tried every trick under her sleeve to get on my nerves. She would push, shove and steal the ball from me when it was clearly my turn. We went on and on with it, bickering back and forth, our voices echoing down the street. Our competition against each other even rubbed our teammates the wrong way, so much so that some even gave up playing.
“You call that a defense?” she jeered, dribbling past me with much ease.
“Just because you can dribble doesn't mean you can actually play,” I retorted.
A hint of a smirk appeared at the corner of her mouth. “At least I'm good at something, unlike some people I know,” she shot back.
I clenched my jaw as I longed to get the ball from her. “You talk a big game for someone who has won nothing.”
Colette laughed so loudly that it hung in the air even seconds after she had stopped. “Oh please, I've beaten you so many times. More than I can count on one hand, and I'll do it again.”
That had been our relationship for as long as I could remember.
But since we all grew up and went our separate ways, I hadn’t bothered once to ask about her.
I was glad that the pain in my ass was gone for good. Actually, I didn't care at all. I decide to ignore her projection and ask again, “Seriously, Colette, what's going on? Why are you here?”
I don't want to fall back into old patterns. I'm trying to start anew here and be a better person.
But her gaze hardens. “It’s none of your damn business! Just mind your own,” her eyes flash with anger.
I raise both my palms in resignation. “Alright, fine. If that's what you want.”
“Damn right. That's exactly what I want.”
The tension between us crackles like a wildfire.
She shuts the garage door, glaring at me one last time as the automatic roll down door closes on its own. She storms inside afterwards.
It's only day two back here, and I already feel like it's been an entire week. It's going to be an interesting ride. Having a neighbor who hates your guts? What a way to start fresh. Although, I'd prefer to start on a clean slate with everyone, but I guess Colette is going to make it a tad bit more difficult. But I'll see about that.
I wanted to ask about her brother, but I guess we’ll leave it for a later time, if there ever will be another time.
I know we haven't seen the last of each other. It’s only the beginning.
I chuckle and head back towards my house.