My favorite memory of us is when we were giddily cuddling in bed the first night that we moved in together. We were so happy to be in one another’s arms. I think we knew even then, in that moment, that this would be one of the great loves of our lives…and also not a forever one.
We were curled up in a blue and white bedspread that we picked out together in Chennai when you visited me while I was working there. My students still ask me about you. They met you in Switzerland and then when we were in India. I didn’t know then what a triumph it was for you to get a visa to visit India…better yet a passport. You wouldn’t eat any Indian food, you carried around a miniature bottle of extra virgin olive oil to put on plain rice. You had never really left Italy.
The night we met, I was in your town, in Sorrento, with my friend. We were supposed to only stay a couple nights but the hospitality of the hostel staff was so overwhelming that we stayed a week. On the last night, we hosted a party for them to thank them: la festa della primavera sorrentina. I was behind the bar in a red orange spaghetti strap dress. All of a sudden you, King of Sorrento, walk in and inquire, “Ma chi sei tu, una modella?” “And who are you, a model?” I giggled and drank up every ounce of your attention. Later that night you’d take me to some grotto by the seaside. I was like, “Cosa stiamo facendo qui?” “What are we doing here?” I had no fear with you. You said, “Dobbiamo fare l’amore.” “We must make love.” I said, “Scherzi?!” “Are you kidding?” And then we both laughed until we cried. We were making out against the grotto walls and then I said, “Basta! Io ho una fame da lupo!” “Enough! I am hungry, like a wolf!” An Italian saying.
So you brought me to Marina Piccola. You ordered appetizers. There were 12 little plates of fish. I was completely and totally amazed, subsumed. I was 24 and I had never really had fresh fish besides maybe an occasional lobster - just frozen shrimp or fish sticks. We ate the fish paired with a carafe of peach-infused wine. And then pasta. And then more fish. And then dessert. And then amaro. And then coffee. And then limoncello, one of Sorrento’s world-renowned products. I learned how to eat from you. I didn’t even eat tomatoes before you. I guess I was waiting for the ones grown in the rich volcanic soil of Vesuvio. You said you didn’t know how to cook but your “I don’t know how to cook” was gourmet chef to me. I regularly make the simple and delectable spaghetti ai pomodorini I learned from you and transfer that nourishment I learned from you to people I prepare it for.
My friend and I stayed another couple nights. You and I made love in the hostel kitchen. Sitting up, eye to eye. It was hot. You said, “ti amo” and not the more friendly “ti voglio bene.” Furbissimo! Sly. Cunning. I stayed unattached because the hostel owner told me, “Lui è un pazzo ma un pazzo buono.” “He is crazy but good crazy.” Very exciting.
You cheated on me a lot I’d later find out but you gave me so much love, care and tenderness that I could never stay mad at you. You, the land and the people of la peninsula sorrentina cured much of my type A Americana rigidity. At work, I would not be praised for my competence but praised for taking breaks. “I’m going to get a coffee. I’m going for lunch. I’m taking Friday off.” “Brava, Mattie!” My life in Italy, and with you, woke up my pleasure body in tutti i sensi. And then there’s the exquisite beauty of our last encounter, after being broken up for some time, kissing one another on different parts of one another’s faces but not on the lips…in the rain. Non lo dimenticherò mai.