11. Dylan
11
DYLAN
T he water of the Tiber river was beautiful, flowing all smooth and pretty and blue. I watched over the edge, taking in the rippling water as it ran throughout the city. The Lungo il Tevere festival — or so Alex informed us it was called — was going on all around us, and vaguely I could hear the voices of everyone else behind me, talking about something or other they saw along the festival.
It was Charlie’s suggestion, once Alex told us about some things that he’d heard about in Rome from the lawyer he was interning for. Or something like that. I wasn’t paying all that much attention.
Despite my best intentions, my thoughts kept circling to Brad and what had happened. All the jokes and questions and insinuations people had made over the years. They’d never amounted to much, so what was different about last night?
Things didn’t seem much different between us, for all intents and purposes. Nothing changed in how he looked at me. Did I expect it to, though? It was just a fuck, wasn’t it?
When we woke up, Brad’s arm was wrapped around my waist, and I could still feel the burning heat of his body against me. It had left me dazed and hardly able to form a coherent thought, much less words, but Brad only asked if I wanted the shower first, and we didn’t even mention it.
A band played in the distance, and I tried to get my thoughts back on the festival, on what was going on in front of me. What kind of setup did the band have? I missed my drums, always did during the summer. I didn’t have a kit at home and even if I did, there was no way I’d be able to play them. Not with Dad the way he was. He’d just stare at me like I made too much noise. To be fair, they were a lot of noise. Which was part of what I liked about them.
Saying something, however, would mean Dad would have to actually talk to me, and he couldn’t do that. Sometimes even when I turned the TV to a whisper, he’d stare at me that way, like he was trying to place why there was this sudden noise in his house or maybe trying to find that the voices belonged to one of his beloved lost ones. The look that only left when I turned down the volume so low I couldn’t even hear it.
Being away from Dad and being able to make noise, able to take in the sounds of a band and life around me, it was like magic. It was like being free. I’d have to get that job after graduating or I’d be stuck in that perpetual silence for who knew how long.
“Dylan! You coming?” Shane called, a faint hint of amusement on his pretty face.
I shook myself from my thoughts — again — and walked over to him. “Sorry, the water is just…so pretty, isn’t it? That bridge…so cool.”
He raised a hand and rested it on my head, almost like a child he found adorable. “It is. You should have been an architect — you love structures.”
The words took me aback for a moment. Did I?
“Oh…that would be kind of cool. Do you see me building houses or, like…skyscrapers?” I didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.
“Neither. I see you building chapels. Or museums. You’re too interesting to make straight lines.” He bumped me with his shoulder.
Somehow, it made me smile.
I followed Shane and the others, taking in the various sights and stalls around us. It felt like we were in the middle of a small village as opposed to a big city. The stalls were filled with all variety of fruits and foods, everyone talking in Italian and trying to showcase their art or crafts or something else they thought people would like. It was full of color and light and life , and it made me want to bottle it all up. There was this strange feeling, being in the middle of all those people. Like I wanted to buy something from each of them, to appreciate all that they’d done and all the effort they’d put into each little piece.
Sometimes it felt that way, like I didn’t want to leave out any spoons in the silverware drawer either. Maybe I was overly sentimental. Just as I thought it, though, a nice looking older lady caught my eye. She was tan and wrinkled, with a lot of grey-sprinkled dark hair. What struck me is how small she looked, and I couldn’t help but want to buy something from her. She had a face that made you curious. Small figurines dotted the stall, a vast array of little animals and figures and plants that looked like something from a forest on the table.
I smiled a little at her, and she spoke to me in Italian words I didn’t understand. I felt bad, and pointed at a figurine — a little fat, glossy sparrow. She said something else, and I still didn’t understand. Handing her some money, she smiled and handed me a couple more figurines before I could say anything else.
Thanking her, I walked back to the others, who crowded around some sausage stall. Figured. Jason and Theo were talking about it, laughing about something even middle school boys would shake their heads at.
“What did you get?” Brad asked, appearing at my side and looking at the little figurines in my hand.
Along with the little sparrow, there was a wolf and another bird I couldn’t identify on sight. I held them higher. “They’re so cute, aren’t they?” I mused, a hint of a smile on my face. Something about knowing this lady made them with her own two hands made them even more wonderful. Knowing, wrinkled hands formed these cute little wings and tails. “Art is kind of like magic.”
Micah laughed. “You’re such a weirdo.” He passed by on his way to talk to Charlie.
The words came like a swift punch to the gut. I stared after him, a sinking feeling rising in my stomach. Not that I’d never heard people say I was strange, but what gave him the right? He didn’t know me well enough to make it funny.
What even made me so weird? Finding art magical?
“Hey…they are really cute,” Brad said, noticing the drop in my mood.
I nodded idly. There wasn’t anything wrong with being weird, but it was annoying to hear. Somehow I was different, somehow I didn’t fit what people expected. My dad, my friends, who knew. Or maybe Micah could just be a dick.
It was enough to distract me from the fact that Brad and I had only just spoken.
We moved on from the sausage stand and walked on, and Shane stopped to look at some earrings to fit one of his many ear piercings, and I glanced for a moment as Alex smiled, holding a pair next to his face as though helping him evaluate. How sweet.
I walked ahead. Everyone was having a nice time — including me — I wouldn’t let the moment get spoiled by wondering what was wrong with me for the thousandth time. I had the entire summer for that.
The live band was getting louder, and I glanced at them again. It sounded Italian. Another older lady caught my attention, and I walked over to her booth. She was selling handkerchiefs with different things stitched into them. I pointed to one that had a cardinal on it, and she smiled and told me the price in a mix of Italian and broken English. It was enough to know what she meant, and I handed her the amount with a smile.
When I turned back, they’d moved on again from the earrings, and were now wandering and laughing along the booths. I wrapped the little glass figures in the handkerchief, not wanting them to crash into one another or break, and placed them into a pocket. They’d be safe there until I could put them somewhere safe. As much as I wanted to pay attention to the different stalls, this was only the first destination, and I’d still have to find room in my luggage.
“This is cool. I like this,” Brad said as I rejoined them.
Was this his way of feeling awkward? Trying to make conversations about nothing so he could feel like nothing changed between us? I shrugged. “I do too. The stalls are really nice…I’m gonna check out the band. Want to come?”
I didn’t wait for his answer, just walked off in their direction. If anyone came along, fine. Maybe that’s what made me weird in some of their minds. I was independent. While many people only wanted to travel in their safe packs, I didn’t care if I wandered off on my own and spent my time doing things that other people didn’t like or care about.
Just like I knew he would, though, Brad was right behind me. The band played, and there were a few people enjoying it. I walked right up to the makeshift stage, enraptured by the sight of the musicians who were so in their zone. Even if they were just playing for this handful of people, it was the sound of the festival spreading throughout. They were passionate about it, their faces all crinkled up with amusement and laughter.
It filled me with a pride, even just as an onlooker.