Tag Archive: Beginnings


Pizza for Love

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Julian stood on line along with more people than usual during his lunch hour in anticipation of his favorite pizza. The day was bustling. The holidays were approaching with celebrations underway everywhere.

Today, the chatter in the restaurant was loud, and it competed with Dean Martin’s, Let it Snow playing on the radio. Julian was hungry at 12:15 pm, which is unusual since he typically didn’t have lunch before 1:30.

Suddenly appeared, Sada – a wispy-haired, tall, and slender woman in her thirties. Her hair was the color of a tequila sunset. It was as unnatural as it was natural on her. Julian was enamored. The restaurant then seemed quiet to him as if watching a silent movie.

People moved about busily: Men in business suits with hearty laughter, others in jeans and uniforms, a group of female nurses from the nearby hospital, two secretaries in pencil-skirts collecting long glances for their curved figures, and the moms with distracted toddlers trying to have a decent conversation. They were all muted to Julian. He saw only the woman with tequila-sunset-hair and a perfect pair of painted-lips. Her spacious child-bearing hips swayed beautifully on top of her slender legs as she moved into the line like a wave above the rest.

“I ordered the Sal-Salad to go.” Her voice was assertive over the crowd yet delivered at a frequency that landed softly over the counter to Lorenzo. “Buon pomeriggio signorina. Lo sto avvolgendo per te adesso.” Then he folded over the top of a white paper bag and handed it to her. “Godere. Buona giornata.”

Sada turned to walk from the line and out of the door when, Julian, clumsily stopped her. She looked at him, not unpleasantly. He was tall and easy on the eyes with his waved dark hair and Roman nose. Still, she stared down at her arm and then back up at him in a way that questioned his intrusiveness. “I’m sorry, Julian said. It’s just that… I mean, has anyone ever told you…” STOP, Sada exclaimed! “What, he questioned? Truly, I’m sorry. I only wanted to…” “Seriously, stop, Sada responded. Don’t you know you should never start a conversation with, “Has anyone ever told you…”” Julian mildly laughed, then tried to retract it back into his throat, and suddenly with confidence, asked, “And why not?” “Because it’s typically bullshit. Don’t you want to be original, she wondered? I mean, if anyone else has ever told me this before? Don’t you want to be authentic?” Then she smiled at him wisely. Dumbfounded, Julian stayed quiet. Sada then turned towards the door then back again at Julian and said, “We should get off to a more profound start. Don’t you think? Julian was a combination of stunned, confused, and amused. Sada continued towards the door. Julian then managed to yell across a row of people, “Wait, what’s your name?” Sada smiled and said, “See you…”

The three slices Julian was starved for, handed to him at that moment on a plastic tray, no longer seemed important. He understood on a soul level that he’d just met the woman who would be the love of his life, and he was simultaneously woozy, elated, and terrified.

To be continued…

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2019 All Rights Reserved

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Fuck you! I didn’t do anything wrong. FUCK YOU!

 

I was fast asleep. Dreaming about details. You know? I wasn’t dreaming about Paris or the Amalfi Coast. No. I was dreaming about a list that I had to write: The shit details of my life…

 

I heard breathing. In the noisy sleep that I was experiencing I heard loud breathing. It was dreadfully close. Someone with his jaw dropped-open and head hung back. An exhausted pulling of air in and out in counts of threes, then a whistling through narrow airways until it gasped for more and saved itself from choking.

 

It was close I tell you. Caterpillars with their sixteen legs crawling upon my skin, I could feel a thick presence—A humid sweat caught by a chilled breeze.

 

As if we were on a train, or that he was at one point, alone. Traveling east through a foggy mountainside. The curves around stirring nausea in his gut from one shot too many of whisky. I could smell it, and sweat through a damp, dark trench coat. So slovenly, and my naval began to pull inward hoping to find the womb in which I could crawl back.

 

I was aware of my bed, the permanent hip-imprint, and unraveled sheets like unsettled sleep. I was aware of the stranger in my bed breathing down my neck, and I wondered why I had to be aware of his travels. I imagined papered-tulips on old plastered walls covering sounds, yet I could not stop the noise!

 

My entire body was begging for quiet rest. Only, good sleep comes when I need to focus. In the numb zone! One day, Alzheimer’s will come and take the focus like a bird to a land of thoughts, and I will be left a shell. Somewhere in my confusion, I know I’ll feel relief.

 

Yet, another detail to get done. I always cared about each one too until the broken pieces of the world around me built a cage, and I couldn’t pass beyond, or find myself. Ah, that fog and fucking breathing!

 

Eldin, was looking at pretty young girls with firms asses, middle-aged women with full-fallen tits, thin, full-figured, dikes, druggies, and dumb bitches. I wondered why each one, not fair or smart enough to shine my shoes, made me feel disfigured in my own skin? I hated them, and him for his weakness. His profoundly firm arrogance initiated a want for him—to ravage and engulf that persona until it became my power to crush him to death!

 

The rain began to splat down in sharp speeding darts. I could hear each one bouncing back upward off of the asphalt. I knew sleep would not come but at least solitude, a most valuable commodity helps assess the loneliness.

 

I’ve been thinking about breaking into pieces leftover ceramic tiles from a shelf in the garage, and painting them then puzzling a feminine sculpture—torn-apart and gathered back together with all of her scars. I’ll prop it against the happy green dining wall so that it stands-out and screams: I am here! I am here!

 

My skin begins to itch. Blotches between dry-aged lines connect thoughts to an overwhelmed brain, between two swollen red ears. Perhaps I listen too well—Things you do not know…

 

©2019 Maria DellaPorte – All Rights Reserved

(Me to my dear friend, Amanda – What do you think? It’s amazing! You are so talented. Thanks, but do I sound insane or scary? Not at all! I love it! I love to write, Amanda. Ideas come to me a lot in my sleep. Out of the blue it’s like someone is telling me a story. I then incorporate my own emotions, but I worry: What if people can’t tell fiction from reality? For instance, I’m done writing today and going to the gym, but someone may think that I’m Annie Wilkes. Who is Annie Wilkes? Yes, let’s go with that.) Have a nice day everyone! 🙂