She was beautiful. He knew that. Lost a little, perhaps. Wide-eyed, but easy to smile and easier to laugh. She was dark-haired, olive-skinned, and alone.
After the third try, he managed to go up to her. "Hi, I'm Paul," he said.
She smiled up at him, "Non parlo inglese." She said apologetically and laughed.
"I - Non parlo - Spanish?" he shrugged - unsure.
"Italiano." She giggled and smiled up at him again. He sat down.
"I took Latin in high school - can't be too different."
"Latin - et tu, Brute?"
His turn to laugh. "Yes."
"Yes?"
He pondered a moment. "Si?" That was in Spanish.
"Si!" She nodded in approval.
A pause. She seemed grateful to have anyone to talk to even if it were this.
"Sono Domenica,"
He shrugged, unsure. She scrunched up her nose to try again.
Pointing at herself, she said, "Sono Domenica, anche se, per voi forse sono Luciana."
"Domenica?" he said, pointing to her.
She giggled and cocked her head to one side.
"Luciana."
"Luciana." A pause, she nodded enthusiastically. "Paul," he pointed at his chest.
"Paul."
He was not sure how hours had passed. It was like a game of Charades, except you could never really tell if the other had it - and occasionally they would burst out laughing as he or she would use a word in a totally different way than intended.
"No, no, voglio dire un albero, con il legno!"
"Wind?" he made a whooshing sound, moving his hands to one side.
"Si? - fruscio delle foglie sono così," she mimicked his hand movement but on both sides of her head. "come questo," wrists together - hands out.
"a clam?" - he put his head sideways, hands opening and closing as he peered towards her. She burst out laughing.
As the sky softened into twilight, they found themselves lingering in the park, seated on a bench beneath a canopy of leaves that whispered in the evening breeze.
Domenica leaned in, her hands dancing in the air as she spoke. "La bellezza delle stelle," she said, pointing upwards, "mi fa pensare alle piccole cose che sono veramente grandi."
Paul looked up, following her gaze to the stars beginning to twinkle like distant lighthouses. "Something about the stars, I bet," he echoed in English, not understanding her words, but feeling them. "They make me feel like I'm so small."
She nodded, her smile as bright as the celestial bodies above them. "Sì, esatto!"
They continued this way, sharing fragments of their worlds, piecing together meaning from expressions, gestures, and tones. Paul described his favorite book, his hands outlining the shape of it in the air, pretending to flip through pages. "It's about adventure, and finding yourself," he said.
Domenica caught the word 'avventura,' her face lighting up. "Amo le storie di avventura! La vita è la più grande avventura, no?" she responded, her hands mimicking the journey of a winding path.
The night grew deeper and the air cooler, but the warmth between them was a gentle fire. He learned her laughter and the way her eyes crinkled with joy; she learned the thoughtful tilt of his head and the genuine interest that shone in his gaze.
Finally, as the first signs of morning began to edge the horizon, Paul stood up, offering his hand. "Walk you home?" he asked, the intention clear even without understanding.
