Sunday dinner

The crackling sound of my dad breaking fresh crispy bread as we sat for Sunday dinner around a table full of pasta and meat sauce, fresh tomato salad, meatballs and a platter of cheese and olives and of course, freshly baked bread. The aroma in the kitchen was intoxicating.

Smells can be very powerful. They make us feel different emotions and can even bring back vivid memories. We associate them with different things whether they are good or bad. The smell of a perfume or of a specific flower, the smell of old books or even the smell of food cooking in the kitchen can awaken all of our senses. For me... its bread. The smell of freshly baked bread. It reminded me of family. Memories of us around the table laughing and telling stories and enjoying each others company. Sunday was a big deal for us. Growing up in an Italian family, no matter how old you were, where you lived or whatever else you had going on, you better make it home for Sunday dinner. I would not miss it for the world.

This one particular Sunday started like any other. Mom over the stove cooking enough food for 25 people, when we were only actually 8 people. My dad sitting at the head of the table, munching away on whatever was already on the table and enjoying a very large glass of wine. Me and my brothers exchanging stories about our week. We were a loud bunch and it always seemed like we were fighting, but that's just how we talked. Lots of yelling and lots of hand gestures. I loved my family.

As the food was finally ready, my mom sat down to eat, for just a moment, because every few minutes she would get up to either get more food or serve another course or clean something. Sometimes I wondered how she ever finished a meal.

My dad would always tell stories about "the good old days" when he was a child in Italy. Most of them were exaggerated but we let him carry on. This particular day, me and my brothers had got into a discussion about a movie we had recently watched about witches. We loved scary movies and this one was a particularly good one so we were discussing it. Of course, my dad interrupted, because he wanted to join in to the conversation with one of his "When I was young...." stories. So he started: "Kids, when your father was young, he met a real witch once. You guys watch the movies, me I lived the real thing" he said with his thick accent. We kind of laughed under our breath but allowed him to continue to entertain us with his obviously made up story. He went on: " I was about 17 when this happened. I was in my village in Italy and right at the end of the street where I lived, there was an old creepy run down house. The rumour was that a witch lived in that house. I was just a kid and didn't believe it. I had seen the lady who lived in that house because she came out every now and then to get her bread from the bakery with her daughter who was rumored to also be a witch. She was pretty scary looking and quite old. Her back was curved and she walked with a cane. Her hair was long and grey and fell in front of her face. Her daughter seemed quiet and shy and tried to avoid any attention or stares. The smaller kids would shout out to the old lady "Streggha, streggha" when she would pass. (This means witch in Italian) but me and my friends being older just kind of left her alone. Every one kind of left her alone. I think every one was afraid of her."

He took a big swig of wine and went on: "One day, I was alone in the villa, just waiting for my friends to arrive so we can have a game of bocce ball and I saw the old lady walking with her daughter, probably to go get her daily bread. I paid no attention as I usually did. Suddenly I hear a voice scream "Aiuto !! Aiuto". Someone was screaming for help. I turned and saw the young girl frantic and the old lady on the ground. I ran up to them and asked what happened. She explained that her mom had tripped and fallen and couldn't get up and she was unable to get her up by herself. Being a pretty strong young man myself, I helped her up. Luckily we lived in a very small village and everything was just a few steps away so I was able to help her back to her home. She was so grateful and kind to me. It was the first time I ever spoke to her. She didn't act like a witch. She wasn't mean and scary. She was just a sweet old lady. I even offered to go and get the bread for her and she accepted the offer only if I would stay and eat with them as a way of thanking me. I agreed. I ran to get the bread and came back to her house. She was so thankful. Resting on her chair with an ice pack on her leg. The smell in that house was unbelievable. It made my stomach growl. I turned to see the daughter in the kitchen cooking and it smelled delicious. We all sat and ate together and I thanked them for the kindness they had shown me. After dinner I needed to get home quickly before my parents started wondering where I was.

The next day, as I passed by the house again, I knocked at their door and asked how she was feeling and offered again to go and get the bread for them. And they agreed. I did this every day afterwards. They were so kind. I was happy to do something nice for them. And they always treated me well in return. I would sometimes stay for a meal or an espresso, sometimes just for a quick chat. I started to notice how beautiful the daughter was and we got to know each other a little more everyday. She was about my age and she didn't go out much because she mostly stayed in to care for her mother. She was also very shy especially with all the rumours about her and her mother being witches. I asked her

" Why do people say those things about you and your family. You are such nice people. How did these rumours start?" The girl looked at me and smiled and said "Who said they are rumours ?" I laughed of course but when I looked up at her, she wasn't laughing. "Are you telling me you guys are really witches ? Like real life witches with potions and spells and all that ?" And she replied " Come with me...I want to show you something."

As we stepped outside into the beautiful breezy night sky, she told me to look up and count the stars. I laughed and said "there are no stars in the sky tonight...well actually there is one, ok maybe two but tonight is a starless night, I think there may be 10 stars in the entire sky right now". She put her hand high up in front of her as if she was painting a picture with her fingers. When she put them back down, the sky was lit up with millions of stars. It was breath taking and a little unbelievable. "Wow" I said "Did you just do that ?" and she replied " Well it may not be the kind of magic people expect from witches but yes. I know people think we make potions in large cauldrons using frog legs and spiders and that we make people do things against their will or make a bunny appear out of a hat, but that's not the case with my family. My mother is a pretty powerful witch and I am sure she can do a lot more then she admits too, but I was always taught to use my magic for good. To help people or to make beautiful things appear that may cheer someone up like lighting up the sky with stars, or making a thousand butterflies appear, or helping someone in need with little things like making

5 lira ($) appear on the floor in front of them when they are struggling to afford to buy their daily bread or making a toy appear on a child's path whose parents don't have enough money to buy them one. This is what I was taught and this is the best kind of magic".

"I was mesmerized by her, by her story, by everything that just happened. I could not believe it. Part of me really didn't believe it but I couldn't deny what I just saw with my own eyes. Before I could open my mouth again, she kissed me. Right on the lips. I had kissed girls before, I mean your father was a stud, but this kiss felt different. It was the best kiss I had ever had."

"Wait what ? She kissed you? You kissed an actual witch" Me and my brothers all broke our silence to start with the millions of questions we had about the story he had just told, with our mouths still full of food. Our dad's stories usually didn't get this type of reaction out of us because we knew they were probably not entirely true and he often just wanted to prove a point with his stories or teach us a lesson or just reminisce about his younger days. But this one left us all wide eyed and asking a bunch of questions.

When he gestured at us to quiet down as we were all shouting at the same time, I decided to go ahead and ask: " Ok papa, well tell us, what ever happened to the girl after that ?" My dad took another swig of wine, smiled at us and said "I married her".

We all turned to look at my mom in disbelief. She looked back at us and winked. She then waved her hand softly in the air, and a butterfly appeared.