Why do we run when we are so conflicted? I was running hard after my last try at a lover. It was no good, he was a nice man, but never would release me. we would kiss even have oral sex, but he would not go any farther. A quiet sensitive man whom I thought would turn around. I just could not get him to. It was his family that pushed me off. They thought I was to much, to fast, and well a bit of a tramp.
I left. Up and left. A passport, some cash, and a change of underwear with my ticket to Europe. For cash reasons I landed in France the cheapest place and walked around. This my first time the Europe I was very overtaken, and just wanted some peace. A Friend told me to get a rail pass and see the continent. Another told of a small farm where I could work and stay. So off to the train The ride to Italy was long but not to dull. I stood out as an American, but then there were other backpackers, the biggest thing is no french, but I was trying; that is better then others.
The land going by the people drifting on and off the train, I start to relax, to forget. Each mile each stop he is gone, but another thought, could I ever be with another man? They had always been so well off. Most were just interested in the short term or what my body could offer them. Never what my mind could. I was a writer, or well trying to be one. I got in trouble because I liked to write erotic stuff. But through it all I was still a virgin, what ever that meant.
It was dark when I got to Italy, the farm was near Turin, but darkness made me look for a hostel. The room was small and I would share it with another girl, but I had my own bed. Sleep was nice, the bed soft and morning meal of bread, cheese and milk filled me again. Though I just made the train I needed, off to work in the Veneto, what ever that was.
The stop was outside of Verona, where I was told, of sorts by a local that a bus would get me to the farm. I never made that bus. I was walking around when I found you sitting in a small café. Sitting with a coffee, long hair up in a high ponytail, could I talk to her, hell yes, well Italian would be poor.
"Hello?" My voice is not that strong I am very nervous you in that strong blue silk suit, rich white blouse. "May I ask you a question?" Still shaky you just floor me with the clean response.
"Please sit down, your Italian is not like my English. My Name is Julia, my I ask yours?"
I sit and stammer out "I am Michaela."
"How can I help you?" Your voice is so sweet, soft and wonderful. But what the hell why are these feeling this woman she...
"You wanted to ask a question? You seem troubled, Miss Michaela." Thoughts soft eyes, and smile hold me.
"Yes, I was trying to get to this little farm where I could work and stay."
"Have you called ahead?" Julia asked again and sipped more of her coffee.
"No, I was hoping they would have space." My eyes watched the hot drink.
"You want something to eat?"
"I would but I have not a lot of cash, just the bus fair I think." Really I am not shore of that, but what the hell, this is new.
"I will help with some food. The bus I think you want is not running today. But it is more impolite to just show up with out calling." That smile and calm voice, I just look into her face.
My food and drink did come along with some wine, a whole carafe of the house stuff. She just watched me eat, what was in her mind, why keep looking at me?
"I am glad you liked the food. You looked to need it." Julia sipped her wine and had a little bit of bread. "Michaela, why are you looking for a farm that dose not know you are coming.?"
I just broke, that voice, eyes, suite, all of her, I broke and told all, with tears and sniffles. She watched and offered a tissue across the table. Load nose blowing and more sobs, I get myself back together. Now with makeup, smeared, I always had to much, we look eye to eye again.
"Your makeup is all smeared." Her smile is penetrating.
"Let me help." Julia's soft quiet voice floated as she moved over and wiped away my running eye liner and the rest. With some water from my class I watched her napkin go from white to streaks
of blues, blacks, and my red lip stick, it was the cheep stuff. She sits back in her chair and admires me. "You look better with out the makeup Michaela. Softer, sweeter, less sorry, wanton." Her voice was different, but what.
WE continued to talk, Julia just had moved to town, a professional in sales, she is opening up a small book store, of her own. I just found myself walking with her to her little flat. Not much, but it looked out over the city, and was over the shop, that was to open in a month or so.
"As a writer you have come to a good city." We walked, together side by side, I felt safe with her, it was different. I did not know what.
"Yes Verona is nice for a writer, I am a little lost though, trying to get to know what I want to write."
"Tell me what you write?"
