Domenico - An Italian love story

Chapter 1

"Thats the ideal meeting... once upon a time, only once, unexpectedly, then never again." - Helen Oyeyemi

The heat as I step from the plane is so stifling, its hard to draw a breath. I'm hit full force with the muggy air, so hot there is an instant layer of perspiration to my skin. Italian weather in August is no joke.

I pull my Chloè sunglasses from head to shield my eyes and descend the metal stairs of the airplane behind the other passengers, hearing the squeals of excitement from the few children from my flight up ahead. Their chorus of giggles, non stop chatter and skip-running towards to the exit terminal brings an unexpected smile to my face. The muscles in my face strain with the unanticipated lift from my small smile, bringing with it the realisation its probably been weeks since a smile has graced my face. Oh what the innocent joy of children brings.

Immediately my face falls back into its usual flat line when the unwelcome thoughts of why I decided to take this last minute trip, begin to surface. The aching pain in my chest that has been my faces best friend of late comes back to bring the sting of tears to my eyes and a choke to my throat. Before I can succumb to the constant stream of tears I know will arrive from thinking about my current situation, I take a hot deep breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and return to dragging my roll-away cabin case on auto-pilot through the terminal and towards customs & baggage collection. I've always disliked this part of travelling. That part in between departing the plane and reaching your hotel, where you feel like an international intruder at customs and cattle herder waiting to get your baggage from the carousel. The anticipation to get on with your travels whilst you wait for your car to take you to your first destination. Airports just don't do it for me. And certainly not in my current state.

I make my trip through customs and grab my other case from the designated carousel, deciding I could do with a freshen up before I make my way towards the arrivals terminal to hopefully find my awaiting driver. The flight may have been short, a mere 2 hours and 45 minutes from London, but there is just something about being stuck in a tin can with 100+ other passengers, breathing in recycled air and sitting in used seats that makes you need a quick 2 minutes to refresh.

I head to the toilet and enter the nearest empty cubicle, quickly doing my business and slapping on some antibacterial gel before I open my carryon case. I made sure to pack a fresh outfit in there just for this moment. I pull my mocha cream cardigan and matching vest off and whip off my jeans. Apparently my mind has been so far in devastation street these days, I was the psychopath that wore skin tight jeans on a aeroplane. I internally roll my eyes at my musings and pull on some fresh underwear, pull the black eyelet capped sleeved mini dress on and tie the attached belt around my waist, slip on my black wrap-around espadrille sandals and chuck my worn items back into my carryon. I spray on some deodorant, a spritz of my favourite Jo Malone perfume and zip everything up.

Exiting the cubicle, I head for the sink to wash my hands and freshen up my face with my makeup bag. Looking at myself in the mirror, I notice the paleness to my face, the slight dark circles from numerous sleepless nights and chapped lips. I can't manage the emotion to care too much but I have my mothers incessant voice in my head that 'you must never leave the house looking less that your best, Charlotte. Appearances are everything!'. Great. Nothing like a good dose of guilt from my mother to have me putting a comb through my shoulder length dark locks and adding a bit of concealer to my under eyes. I add some rose blush to give me some semblance of life and add some Lanolips red apple balm to my lips. That's about all my mental strength has left in the gas tank before I tuck everything back in my carryon bag and pull my most prized possession from the bag, my camera, slipping the strap over my head and make my way out of the toilet.