40. Chapter 40 #3
She and I spoke; she was on the next flight out of the country, and after the talk we had days ago. Having never dealt with her past, she’ll never be able to settle down the way Mario hopes she would, yet that won’t stop him from waiting.
Knowing the true meaning of love, I’d also wait for Luna for the rest of my life. Even if she’d never be able to forgive me, I’d hate to see her move on with someone else, but if that’s what she wanted, I’d settle for just being in the same room as her from time to time.
Who knew, after all these years, that Mario and I would be so similar?
In work ethic, love and the aspects of personality too.
With only a few hours left of my trip. I promised Mario I’d bring Theo with me on my next trip and twice a year at least from now on.
In hopes they’ll be able to have their own bond.
The saying that time flies when you’re having fun really comes into play as the day really does run away from us. After spending all afternoon talking, we take a stroll around town together and go and visit some of his friends, a few of whom I do vaguely remember.
Drinking beer and enjoying each other’s company we have a great time, I facetime Theo before bed, allowing him and Mario to meet over the phone but it doesn’t go as smoothly as I plan once Theo catches a glimpse of Luigi 2.
0 jumping into my lap to see what we’re looking at, then Mario and I walk back to his place and spent the night the same way we did the last, talking about any and everything.
****
The next morning came too quickly for my liking.
Mario borrowed his friend’s car to take me to the airport.
It hadn’t occurred to me since arriving here that I hadn’t been in a car once.
Much like I did once a week in Seoul, soaking in the tranquillity of seeing how the other half lives, as Luna taught me.
Luna. I couldn’t wait to get back to her, even if she hated me.
I wanted to see her, breathe in her scent and be the victim of her glare; I wanted it all.
I missed her.
We arrived at the airport with time to spare, and Mario laughed as we said our goodbyes.
I called Theo before I went through the gate, and he had greeted Mario with the excitement of meeting his famous new Ji-ji.
I tried correcting him, but Theo was convinced Mario was the real-life version of his favourite character, despite having no moustache, grey hair, and since his dog’s name was Luigi, it had to be true, according to my seven-year-old son.
Once we got off the phone, Mario pulled me into a tight fatherly embrace. Inhaling the scent of sawdust, I had to pull away when the last call for my flight rang over the speakers.
“Ah, before you go, mio figlio,” he paused, reaching into his back pocket for a white envelope. At first, I refused, as there was no way I was going to accept money from him, but he shoved it in my hand and held it there.
“It’s not money, you said the other night; you have no memories, but I kept some for you,” he explains, with a sad smile, and I pull my dad into another tight hug. I’d had more hugs these last few days than I had in decades.
“Arrivederci,” Mario yells, waving with his arm over his head. I wave back and walk backwards into the gate, only turning around when he’s no longer in view and board the plane. Once I’m settled in first class and the plane starts to ascend, I reach in my pocket for the envelope Mario gave me.
I open it, only to laugh so loudly it startles the person nearest to me. I apologise, shaking my head at the small wad of cash inside, and behind it are a handful of photos. All from my time here in Italy; I’d never realised Mario had taken any photos of me.
I find one with me and Luigi the First, one from the time Min-Joon came to visit; I’d send that to him once I land, another with my mother and me in front of the house we only lived in for no more than two weeks before moving in with Mario, one of the three of us: mother, me and Mario, then my favourite.
Being one of Luigi the First, Mario, and me.
Reading the little date in the right corner of the photo, this was taken a week before we left.
The smile on my face is one I don’t recognise.
One of the happiest moments of my life was captured in stills, which brings tears to my eyes for the fourth time in two days.
God, I’ve gone soft.
Looking back at this might just be a sign that, as much as my childhood wasn’t like everyone else’s, it doesn’t mean it was a total loss - after all, I had people I care about, and now I have physical proof of memories I can cherish.
I start to put the pictures back into the envelope to preserve their condition, when I notice there’s one left. It was of me posing in front of the same fountain where Mario and I met and reunited; it was in better condition, newly built back then.
The town was the same, too, a little wear and tear two decades later, but staring at this photo - this one might be my new favourite.
Then I see it…
My faith in something I can see with my own eyes, now more than ever. I couldn’t wait to get back to London.
Back to her.