The music was so loud that it only deadened my ability to hear anything or even worse understand much of the conversation. I took to writing little notes to the others at the table about Roma and asking about song names. I usually write better Italian then I speak…but that might have changed here. I am not sure.
Anyway, Spencer wound his way over to us and the children started disappearing though there were still a few left. Carlo got him a soda before I could object. Then he proceeded to act like all the Italians do…he tried to talk to Spencer and engage him in conversation. I love the way kids here are so much a part of things. There is no separation between the ages we have in American culture. The teens walk in and love and kiss the nonna behind the Bar and are not ridiculed by their peers at all.
I also noticed my beer had turned into a never ending beer…Carlo was adding to it for me. That also effected my spelling in Italian which became another obstacle to my speech.
We stayed until after midnight. Carlo had asked me to dance more then once, but I knew better since my back was only now feeling good enough to let me walk with less of a hunched look. I explained in shakey Italian, that I could not, and I stuck by it. I knew better hen to spend another moment of my time in
recovering from back pain. Italy
At the end of the evening, I realized I had a phone number! An Italian telefonino. I told Carlo on my little recipe cards that I could give him the number if we walked back to the house together. I had no idea…you don’t memorize a number you just got. But I knew which book it was written in at the house.
Now I had asked him to walk Spencer and I back in all innocence, not at all thinking through if this was conveying an appropriate on inappropriate message to him. Spencer and I chattered happily and noisily as we made our way through the quiet town back to our house. It is conceivable that everyone in town heard us as we made our way to the house with a strange man from the next town.
I don’t always think through stuff like that. I guess that is a reason for my family to worry about me sometimes. The nice part is that I did not misjudge this man. He was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t even cross the threshold as Spencer and I rummaged around inside for the spot where we had our number written down. He was politely gone within 3 minutes after I found the number.
Spencer and I were dead tired…we were in bed in minutes. I think I was already asleep when my unfamiliar telefonino sung out its text message tune.
The next morning I was surprised to see that it had only been 34 minutes after midnight when Carlo had sent, “Goodnight, Terry.”