All the People in the World

Chapter 5: Cousins

When I was eleven my grandma took me on a trip to Rome. She was there to visit some old friends in the city who she used to teach with at Sapienza. Yes, my grandmother was a professor too. I know, I know, how unoriginal to be in a family of educators and become one yourself. Perhaps we just liked telling people what to do. She taught painting before meeting Nonno and moving out to the country. The moving had never bothered her though, because once she did she was able to paint for herself again, which she said she preferred. Unlike my parents, she did favor doing over teaching. There just wasn't a whole lot of money in the doing, you see?

It was interesting to see her in a habitat so foreign to me, yet so comfortable to her. Even if she wasn't comfortable, I wouldn't have known. She was in control of every situation it seemed. She knew what to say and when to say it, when to sit back and when to take action. It was a wonder to me that anything went one without her being there. That her friends were able to lead lives beyond her, knowing how it felt when she was there. I would not like that, I remember thinking. She must always be a part of my life. She had to be timeless, with no beginning, but more importantly, no end. It was necessary.

My grandma was not particularly protective of me, and would let me wander about the university while she guest taught classes. We had been there for a couple days, I think, when I finally stumbled into one of the poetry classes. They were sitting outside in a courtyard playing some kind of game.

"He smiled playfully. That excited me," the professor said. He stood in loose, tan garments, addressing his students who were sprawled out on the grass. Some laid, looking up at the sky. Others sat at attention, notebook in hand, scribbling.

One boy, who sat stiffly, looked up from his scribblings like he'd solved a puzzle. "He grinned seductively. I felt my heart begin to pound," he said.

The professor shook his head. "Oh, surely you can do better than that!" The boy went back to his scribblings, defeated.

As more and more students threw their two cents into the ring, I began to understand the game. The professor said a phrase, a simple bland, unmemorable phrase, and the students tried to top it. It was not difficult, yet its subjectivity made it so. Often a student would offer a phrase I found particularly insightful and the professor would shoot it down exclaiming "Too specific!" or "Not specific enough!". There was no winning with this guy. I groaned and blew my cover.
The students turned their eyes to me at the sound of my disapproval. The professor's eyes followed. He smiled condescendingly, like I was young, which I was but he did not need to make it so obvious.

"Well hello, young sir," he said to me, bowing his head slightly in mock respect.

"Hi."

"Have we disappointed you?"

"No- well yes. I thought hers was good. That's all. I thought it was just right."

"I see. Did you want to join in our game?"

I shook my head. "No... I don't know a lot of words."

A male student grinned up at me and shrugged. "Neither do we."

The class chuckled and the professor pressed me to play once more. "You do not need to know a lot of words- just the right ones."

I shrugged. "Fine, what is the phrase?"

The professor thought for a minute before saying, "I'll give you an easy one, alright-"

"No need," I cut him off. The class gasped and held in their laughter. I felt bold. I felt like the dirt child.

"She had pretty eyes and wild hair.... All I wanted was to please her."

I smiled cockily. Because though I didn't know many words at the time, I knew all there was to know about girls with pretty eyes and wild hair.