Read Online Italian for Beginners by Kristin Harmel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kristin Harmel
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Perhaps once you understand that, you’ll be able to move
on.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled. I looked away. “Look, this has all been very enlightening. But I have a really busy day ahead of me.
So I’m afraid I have to get running.”
My dad sighed and let go of my hands. “Will you think about it, at least? You don’t even have to see your mother’s family,
kiddo. Just go over there and remember what it feels like to be happy again.”
“I was a lot happier before I came over here this morning,” I muttered.
I stood up, and we awkwardly kissed good-bye. I expected to feel angry with my father and Becky as I marched out of his house
and headed up the street to the subway. But all I felt was a strange emptiness surrounded by a question. And at the center
of it all, I kept coming back to Francesco.
That night, after running errands, cleaning my apartment from top to bottom, watching TV for a few hours, and trying to fall
asleep, I finally gave up, got out of bed again, and turned on my computer. It booted up slowly, and I found myself tapping
my foot impatiently, way too eager to get on to the Internet.
I logged on to AOL and pulled up my address book. I’d been on AOL since college, and I had saved Francesco’s e-mail address.
I hoped he still used it. I clicked on his name in my AOL address book and watched Francesco [email protected] came up in the SEND TO field of a blank e-mail. Just seeing his address again made my heart leap. I remembered how many mornings in Rome I’d started
with e-mailing him a brief,
“Thinking about you… xoxox, Cat”
note. I also remembered with a pang how many times I’d tried writing to him in vain after I returned home. I must have sent
him fifty unanswered e-mails before I finally let it go and decided to salvage the remainder of my pride.
Twelve years had passed since I’d last tried to reach out to him, yet he was burned into my mind as clearly as if I had seen
him yesterday. What if he didn’t feel the same way?
I took a deep breath and began writing.
Forty-five minutes and six drafts later, I finally had an e-mail I felt okay about. I read it over one more time.
Dear Francesco,
Hi. It’s been a long time. I hope you remember me;
I know I could never forget you. You meant more to me than you could have known. I wonder where you are and what you’re doing
these days. I still think of you often. I’d love to hear from you.
xo,
Cat
I closed my eyes and hit SEND before I could reconsider. I hoped I wouldn’t regret this in the morning.
I logged off, shut down the computer, and crawled back into bed. And for the first time that night, my mind was silent. Finally,
I slept.
By the time I got to work the next morning, I felt like I had kicked up a huge sandstorm of dormant emotions. What had I done?
My work in-box was filled, as it usually was, with dozens of messages from over the weekend. I read through them quickly and
gritted my teeth when I saw [email protected] on one of the return addresses. I hadn’t given him my e-mail address, so he’d obviously Googled me to find it. It annoyed
me to no end as I pictured him holing up in his apartment and furtively searching for me while his unsuspecting wife played
with their child in the other room. I hit DELETE before I could think any more about it.
There was nothing in my AOL in-box from Francesco. And a strange gnawing had begun in the pit of my stomach.
By noon, I had gotten a little work done, but I had also wasted a ton of time refreshing my AOL mailbox every few minutes
and hoping that Francesco had responded. With every hour that ticked by without an e-mail from him, I was growing more and
more nervous—and feeling sillier and sillier for even trying. I kept doing the mental math in my head. By noon our time, it
would be 6 p.m. in Italy, and he’d be heading home if he was still working as a computer programmer as he had the summer I’d
known
on.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled. I looked away. “Look, this has all been very enlightening. But I have a really busy day ahead of me.
So I’m afraid I have to get running.”
My dad sighed and let go of my hands. “Will you think about it, at least? You don’t even have to see your mother’s family,
kiddo. Just go over there and remember what it feels like to be happy again.”
“I was a lot happier before I came over here this morning,” I muttered.
I stood up, and we awkwardly kissed good-bye. I expected to feel angry with my father and Becky as I marched out of his house
and headed up the street to the subway. But all I felt was a strange emptiness surrounded by a question. And at the center
of it all, I kept coming back to Francesco.
That night, after running errands, cleaning my apartment from top to bottom, watching TV for a few hours, and trying to fall
asleep, I finally gave up, got out of bed again, and turned on my computer. It booted up slowly, and I found myself tapping
my foot impatiently, way too eager to get on to the Internet.
I logged on to AOL and pulled up my address book. I’d been on AOL since college, and I had saved Francesco’s e-mail address.
I hoped he still used it. I clicked on his name in my AOL address book and watched Francesco [email protected] came up in the SEND TO field of a blank e-mail. Just seeing his address again made my heart leap. I remembered how many mornings in Rome I’d started
with e-mailing him a brief,
“Thinking about you… xoxox, Cat”
note. I also remembered with a pang how many times I’d tried writing to him in vain after I returned home. I must have sent
him fifty unanswered e-mails before I finally let it go and decided to salvage the remainder of my pride.
Twelve years had passed since I’d last tried to reach out to him, yet he was burned into my mind as clearly as if I had seen
him yesterday. What if he didn’t feel the same way?
I took a deep breath and began writing.
Forty-five minutes and six drafts later, I finally had an e-mail I felt okay about. I read it over one more time.
Dear Francesco,
Hi. It’s been a long time. I hope you remember me;
I know I could never forget you. You meant more to me than you could have known. I wonder where you are and what you’re doing
these days. I still think of you often. I’d love to hear from you.
xo,
Cat
I closed my eyes and hit SEND before I could reconsider. I hoped I wouldn’t regret this in the morning.
I logged off, shut down the computer, and crawled back into bed. And for the first time that night, my mind was silent. Finally,
I slept.
By the time I got to work the next morning, I felt like I had kicked up a huge sandstorm of dormant emotions. What had I done?
My work in-box was filled, as it usually was, with dozens of messages from over the weekend. I read through them quickly and
gritted my teeth when I saw [email protected] on one of the return addresses. I hadn’t given him my e-mail address, so he’d obviously Googled me to find it. It annoyed
me to no end as I pictured him holing up in his apartment and furtively searching for me while his unsuspecting wife played
with their child in the other room. I hit DELETE before I could think any more about it.
There was nothing in my AOL in-box from Francesco. And a strange gnawing had begun in the pit of my stomach.
By noon, I had gotten a little work done, but I had also wasted a ton of time refreshing my AOL mailbox every few minutes
and hoping that Francesco had responded. With every hour that ticked by without an e-mail from him, I was growing more and
more nervous—and feeling sillier and sillier for even trying. I kept doing the mental math in my head. By noon our time, it
would be 6 p.m. in Italy, and he’d be heading home if he was still working as a computer programmer as he had the summer I’d
known
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