The Aqueduct

What is inside my heart?  Love, blood, passion, rushing through each ventricle, pouring life into my veins like the roadways of Florence, all enticing; yet, running every which way, causing many routes to be scenicly taken.  Never straight, but seemingly, deceivingly indirect.  Channeling, leading to another entryway into a new world - a new adventure.  Each alleyway, unique in its own story, offered much in its nothingness, like the night I met Chaz, but the alley became a mountainside and the City was our olive grove. 

 As I glided up the steep hill of a dusty pebble road, freedom overcame me, swallowing my shackles of regret in a profound chasm.  We stopped at a modest, but impeccably clean fruit stand; simple beauty, frozen in likenesses of the Uffizi frescos.  We carted away tomatoes picked only moments ago, complemented by buffalo mozzarella, and olives wildly grown on trees lining the road.  Our unpretentious dinner filled our bellies and rejuvenated our souls, as we often stole moments eating atop a vineyard hillside belonging to strangers. Tonight’s summer warmth enveloped us beneath the moon, offering a more forgiving ending to our day than the early hours of dawn taunted.

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This remote little town evoked familiarity like my own name – Italian became natural to my ears before long. I have so easily taken on the mores of the Tuscan people that each visit seemed  more like coming home.  A synergism of my past and present inexplicably formed my future; as it now rests in balance. Chaz promised that harmony.

Despite the implications of an Italian man invoking a female foreigner, the evening I paused to greet Chaz awakened something in me that had been asleep for years.  Once I said goodbye to Luke, I never considered loving anyone else.  No one’s voice resonated like Chaz’. Leaning at the gate, with his olive rake in hand; his strength weakened mine. Like a surgeon at work, his resolve proved successful.  Entranced from that first moment, I allowed myself to fall in love, lost in my reverie.

“Ciao, Bella!” Chaz charmed.  Even his words floated from his lips like a song.  God, he was gorgeous.  I was powerless to ignore him once I actually saw him.  An oldish man, late fifties at least, he really knew how to rock a pair of jeans.  His white-blond hair shocked by the moonlight matched his rugged look.  Of course, his piercing, blue eyes were only surpassed by his perfect smile.  

“Ciao.” I casually responded, aware of the suggestions that accompanied talking to strange, Italian men.  Still, something finally pushed me to speak to him, instead of just waving him off with a grin.  

“I see you walk by here all the time.  Have you finally decided to join us for good, here in Italy?”  Chaz spoke smugly, yet his casual confidence and sharp accent drew me in.  

Chaz’s chateau had a grand entrance – wrought iron fences sculpted into vineyard scenes surrounded the estate.  I was awestruck from the beginning. The grounds occupied myriad daydreams for me in their grandeur, but Chaz, I must have passed him one hundred times along my walks up the hill before really seeing him.  The years trod my life in Chianti into a familiar path. Always engulfed in my own thoughts or ravished by the countryside itself, I never really acknowledged those who eventually waved welcomes as I reached the peak of my ascent.  I do remember the first few times I passed nearby, but responding to others is not the same as seeing them. 

“May I interest you in an aperitif, Signorina?” Chaz flirtingly inquired.

“It is a bit late in the evening for a drink with wanderers, no, Signore?” Innocently returned.

“Certo! You are right. Please, forgive me.  My name is Calogero; Chaz or Charles, you, Americans, say.” Unrelenting.

“Buona notte, Chaz.” Reciprocated.

“Che ne dici di cena? More polite.

“My Italian is a bit unreliable, forgive me.” Clueless.

“How about joining me for dinner? Outside, here, atop the hillside, overlooking the vineyards, under the full, smiling moon?” Casually charming.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you.” Already smitten.

The decision to accept Chaz’s invitation remarkably changed my life. Peace still eludes me in dark hours, but sunlight offers fleeting grace.

Stranded in fitful sleep, nightmares haunted my dreams. The first few weeks sleeping with someone beside me again evoked painful pleasure. Initially, I was able to explain away my restlessness, but then, one night, I finally resolved my truth.

“Kalaya!  Wake up!  You’re moaning in your sleep.  Incubo. Stai bene?”  Worried.

“What?  Oh. Sorry I woke you.” Defeated.

“Whatever it is, let go, mio Caro, mio Primavera.” Accepting, even through broken English.

“I’m so tired, but I have to tell you what happened.” Nervously remembering.

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…’Luke, stop!  Stay away from me!  You’re hysterical- of course I was at home all afternoon.  Where else would I go?  I don’t have any idea why the packages got delivered across the hall.  Yes- I’m sure I was here.  Stop yelling – stop. Don’t touch me!’-Luke just grew more and more belligerent.  His miserable, angry, self-loathing always turned physical, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

Turning towards the stove, I gripped the once-full pot, armor in the form of nourishing appeasement. It quickly served as my weapon. The pasta flew across the kitchen as the heat from the boiling soup became my cue to step back. Luke’s anger didn’t shield him. Instead, his seething repelled me from him and propelled him towards me, for one, last time. 

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The court determined that Le Creuset saved my life, despite the fact that it claimed another. I couldn’t stand to relive the scene. The blood stained my memory until I found my Aqueduct in Italy.

 Italy was to be the place I reflected; atoned; forgave, both myself and Luke.  While in Florence for the first time, I took an unplanned excursion to Rome; then, spontaneously hopped on a bus to Chianti. I didn’t know when or if I could even find my way back to Florence, at that point, but Chianti became my destiny soon after the visit to Rome’s Trevi Fountain. I didn’t know if I was running from my past or towards infinity - like the windy, cobblestone roads here - so, I kept coming back. On my first trip, I threw two wish coins into the fountain: one to represent the endurance of my past; the second, in pursuit of my future. Years thenceforth, I was drawn to return to Florence, then Rome, and always, Chianti. Something about the enticing adventures betwixt placid countrysides stabilized my heart. Now, I know why. Water revives. Love heals. Dormant passion awakens beneath a full, smiling moon. 

Chaz breathed life into my stillness. Chaz, my aqueduct for air; I, his Primavera.