[…of all the benches in the park, she sat by me.]
My heart felt for her, and I almost in tears as I held the aged black and whites in my hand. Her voice became timid and slowed down as she continued to explain to me the young man that was shown in the photos; through her sunglasses I could still see her eyes heavy with sadness. Handing her back the wallet worn photos, she explained to me how her husband used to do ballet, and now he has passed. Talking about him, her love for him was so evident; as if the had just gotten engaged that very minute. Joyful, even in loss.
Ironic of the timing that Genoveffa decided to come sit next to me on that bench in the park. The morning was very cold and this particular bench happened to be one of the few in the sun [frigid sunny morning]. Just sat down to journal, in mid sentence of writing how frustrated I am that don’t know this wonderful language better. Perfectly interrupted by Genoveffa saying ‘scusi’, asking permission to share the bench with me. Despite obvious signs that I don’t know the language well she continued to patiently try and communicate with me. Time flew and it had been 20 minutes before I realized the missed calls on my cell phone. I didn’t want to leave that park bench. Our conversation was simple but meaningful. Meeting her that morning was so assuring , maybe I get C’s on my Italian Language exams, but building relationships like this make all the frustration worth it.
She ‘scritto’, wrote, down her address inside the wall of Viterbo, and I wrote down Tamra on useless scrap of paper she found in her purse. She kept pointing to herself and repeated using the word casa, assuming that she wants me to come visit her sometime.
Really hoping to see her soon. Thank you Genoveffa for your encouragement. Parting her I was smothered, to say the least, with Italian kisses and kind words explaining ‘molto piacere’.
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