The english corner

Magic spell

di Beatrice Fabbri

FabbriIn the middle of the winter, the cactus was blossoming and the jasmine tree was asleep but not dead, branches were full of thick green leaves, apparently waiting for some warm but strong enough to stand at their place. She took time to watch the little things in her cozy balcony. This helped her to relax, to focus and to let go. Stop thinking, she often told herself, fixing things could be so tiring and useless. Better to breathe and let go.

She spent the afternoon summarizing her data to calculate if there were any chances to meet him in the near future.

If 25=10 included 5 as the nth degree, imagination could have a quite extensive space to offer chances. Imagination could be considered the variable × or what?

Do I have the right to call it imagination or fate? Imagination is part of me, fate is for all including me. She told herself while the cat was jumping off the chair softly, staring her down.

Also nine letters of the alphabet divide us, is this a sign? Nine cardinal trials to take to finally reach him? She took the cat in her arms and caressed him tenderly.

Needless to say, she had few data about him, his profile could have included the best and the worst and this was clear to her. More or less..

Her imagination was a like a wave motion, up and down, shaking her doubts, making her juicy than ever, willing to stop or to step forward for new adventures. No regrets, no complains, no overthinking. Exactly, what she was doing right weird am I?

She laughed out loud and a moment after, she felt at ease with herself.

Letters and numbers composed the hypothetical frame to play all along the afternoon with the ghost of him, the unknown, charming guy she randomly met one month before. She knew very little of him if not nothing. Reason why imagination was so vivacious and creative to her.

5th degree to meet him somewhere, somehow, 5 the number of Harmony for Pythagoreas, could have been this the best magic spell to beat the winter chill ?



The scent of your skin II

di Beatrice Fabbri

Late at night, she was sleepless, alone with the ghost and his smell. The kitchen was looking so creepy with your shadow on the wall, she whispered. She wasn’t scared at all, just wondering why he had decided to visit her randomly on a Friday night. She kept thinking about him and their affair made of long absences and sudden reunions for coffees, long walks along the river, some movie nights, and what else? She couldn’t remember exactly what was this affair about. Needless to say, she gave up first, she let him go, she had to.

No complains, she later told me on the phone. I have been her best friend since the age of nine and still can count on her as she can count on me. We have often arguments on several daily issues. I am soft, she is kind of rude. I am talkative, she is silent and tons and tons of opposites between us, that I could write a paper on it. But then, I don’t care too much, she made me laugh, cry, hope and never surrender and that’s enough.

Now she needed me more than I expected. She called me at 2:00 a.m and I rushed to her aid. She was pale but charming with that shabby pajama drinking a cup of soya milk. I sat down and breath.

What’s up?

Nothing she said. Look at the wall please, down there, could you see his profile?

What? I wear my eye glasses and nothing but the shadow of the lamp on the wall. Then, I felt embarrassed. I didn’t want to hurt her by replying something wrong.

Well, let’s see. I stood up and walked slowly close to the right angle of the wall and I felt I could smell a musky, spiced scent. I was overwhelmed by it.

Are you ok? She said.

Yes, you’re right. His profile disappeared but he left a strong scent.

I opened the window. It was 4:00 a.m and a crescent moon was watching us with tenderness.

The Scent of your skin I

di Beatrice Fabbri

fabbriIt started raining suddenly. A sunny day before, a raining one now. She rushed to take the bus. It was crowded. So crowded. What the hell! she thought. She started looking at people around her. Clerks, moms and children, old ladies, teenagers, all wishing to be back home soon. Allison found she was at ease in this crowd. She started thinking about their life outside the bus, their jobs, their beloved, and short stories sprout from her mind like surreal paintings full of dark and vivid colors at the same time. The bus took 40 minutes to drive her home. She walked under the rain and then finally back home she put off her clothes, wore a pajama, opened the refrigerator and found a bottle of Guinness. She was ready for a cozy and lazy night with herself. The notebook was always there on the table. She wrote some notes, keywords, titles, nothing of remarkable if not for the need to .

A diaporama was going on the kitchen wall: where was the projector? Who arranged the slide-show ? what’s the lesson to be learnt ?

All this was so creepy and so intriguing. Pics of me and you in the bedroom, in the kitchen, driving the car in the countryside, drinking red wine and eating salami and making faces each other. Where are you now? Where is your hand touching my neck..where is the scent of your skin? Ghosts don’t smell, do they?


You rock, don’t ever change, Lizzie

di Beatrice Fabbri

FabbriHow many potential plots may I hold? Why such a question? Lizzie asked herself watching her cat sleeping on the sofa.

The idea of making an ordinary life has always been a mystery to her.
She was not living at random..Kairòs, the random fate at the crossroads, better known as Kaìros, had always been a truthful and loyal companion to her. She enjoyed her daily routine though.
She had had the ability to handle joy and sorrow, wit and boredom, hard work and laziness since ages.
So said, her look was charming even when, once in a while, sudden tears wet her girlish face.

No regrets, no what ifs, she gave up on him some months ago.
That had been a definitive choice. She was very accurate in making choices, she needed her time to take decisions but above all, assertive in her own way.   

I gave up on you because I became bothered with your flatterings and fake behaviour. She said  looking a photo of him and then cut it into pieces.      

Lizzie got the chance to read the beginning of a novel, Jacob’s room by Virginia Woolf :

‘so of course wrote Betty Flanders, pressing her heels rather deeper in the sand ‘there was nothing but to leave’.

She felt that Betty had something to suggest her or was Virginia herself talking to her? Or may be both. She trusted them both. She imagined the two old women walking by her side on a sunny day of june. They were dressed with long light robes in silk and big hats and she, Lizzie, had a pair of jeans and white t-shirt and wore dark sunglasses. That’s weird this trio, she said to herself. But we were so lovely the three of us.

Fiction is never overrated if you believe that we, me and Betty are here for you whenever you want.  All the Best, Yours, VW.

Game over!

di Beatrice Fabbri

englishIt’s getting colder outside and I am not in the mood for complaining, just wanna relax, drink a glass of red wine, forgive what happened and may be step forward.

My blanket keeps me warm, books are all over around my sofa, a second glass of Chianti is there to give my thoughts the framework I need now to handle everything.

The day after my birthday, I finally got the decision to break up..difficult to explain, just the feeling I wanted to free my body and soul and be back in the sea where I was born and destined to live.

I wondered for days asking if all this had been tied to unsaid expectations but then who cares? I made my decision. No matter if I knew this could have been taking more time to step into action.

Apparently, nothing did change in my daily schedule, I felt at ease with the number of my working tasks and liked my job as teacher. My life went on with the right pace, the one I always enjoyed, hurrying and slowing down at the same time. It was always when coming back home from a busy day, that it came to my mind I needed to cancel all the traces from my life.

Exactly what? I asked to myself.

I wasn’t able to give an accurate answer just had the intuition to collect evidences.

I drove for miles in the country and came back home late hungry. I was feeling at peace for the very first time. French fries included.

The hot water in the tub inspired me: a hidden voice was whispering me: simply let go…I slept for 10 hours long. The day after I was leaving early for Paris.

I spent New Year’s Eve with two old friends of mine in a stylish bar à vins (kind of winery shop) between glasses of champaigne, chips and croquemonsieur, those fabulous crunchy toasts with ham and cheese. We enjoyed each other company with no big stuff to deal with if not looking for cosy places to eat and drink or visit museums, mostly the Picasso Museum, the Rodin one and some sections of the Louvre, notably the Ancient one, we were all fond of. Once in a while, my friends stayed in to rest of the afternoon so I walked on my own for one or two hours in the Marais enjoying the little kosher pastry shops and having a cappuccino at the only Italian bar in the area.

Paris has always been like a medicine to me, even when I was feeling moody, it has had the power to heal me with anonymous and yet meaningful insights. Behind the grey light of that cold winter, I was ready to be back in the race, in my daily routine. Thanks Paris!

A brand new me? Not sure, if not I was willing to gather all the stuff, packed and returned it to him with priority mail. I laughed when I realized how none of these things recalled me of a gift chosen for a special person as I was expected to be.

You know...passion, care…

But then who cares? No more excuses, I turned the page some time ago. Now it was time to breathe and start a new chapter in my adventurous life.

The post office was crowded. Finally, It was my turn, I was ready to return him the few evidences without any additional explanations. No need for, just the stuff. That was enough.

The lady told me it could have taken more or less five-six days to be received.

That’s ok, I answered and paid for the priority mail. I, then, thought: If it had taken more time, who would have cared?

So far, the only thing I was sure, he wouldn’t have expected to receive such a meaningful reply from me to all his nonsenses.

A week after, my mobile phone rang. I saw his name on the display and left it on the table keep ringing for a while. After a while, he texted me asking him to call him back. But I didn’t reply to his message.

The game is over and I am doing just fine.

He didn’t probably expect such a decision from me.

I am sure the ghost of him will be there for a while, but then who cares?


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