Lower Floor

Chapter 3

AMANDA

We took a seat at one of the picnic tables on a beautiful day: clear skies, birds singing, children playing and tormenting their parents, who had the mistaken idea of bringing them into the world but still loved them with all their hearts, as they were a part of them.

I hated days like this; so much sweetness made me want to vomit, especially if I hadn't had my daily caffeine fix.

My so-called friend, Joshua, was watching me with an amused expression, noticing my discomfort. If I had less self-control, I would have punched him, but being the lady that I was, I settled for showing my teeth in an almost animalistic gesture. Yes, I was the epitome of grace and elegance.

Apparently, my action genuinely scared Joshua because he shrugged and handed me one of the coffee cups he had brought. I looked at the drink with adoration, as if God himself had appeared before me in this form, snatched it from his hands, perhaps a bit too aggressively, and took a long sip. My mood improved considerably once the caffeine took effect; whoever said that coffee didn't influence human behavior had obviously never had a cup when they were stressed.

"The day has just begun, is it really that bad of a start?" Joshua asked mockingly, pointing at the drink that I had finished without realizing it.

"Shut up," I hissed under my breath. My friend raised his hands in surrender, but he maintained the same expression, which made me growl in response. "All this love and colors make me nauseous," I admitted, feigning a gag reflex. Joshua looked at me as if I had grown a third eye. I couldn't say his reaction surprised me; objectively, the people around us were not doing anything wrong, and they actually looked very happy together.

Unfortunately, I was the kind of incredible and unique being who expected their surroundings to match their current mood. If I felt bad, why did the rest of the world act as if they had perfect lives? That would forever be one of the great mysteries of my existence.

"When do classes start?" Joshua asked cautiously.

I dropped my head onto the table, letting out a frustrated sigh. There must be an unspoken rule prohibiting your friends from knowing you so well; I would definitely endorse its enactment immediately.

"In a week," I replied in a strangely pitiful tone, which was unusual for me. I usually wasn't so whiny, or at least that depended on who you asked. I loved my job and tried to give my all every day I taught writing courses at the university. But this year would be completely different from the previous ones; they had assigned me the most challenging section, and I would have to spend the next nine months away from a noose, or I'd end up tying it around my neck.

"So, they finally assigned you to the incoming freshmen?" Joshua asked, taking a sip from his own coffee cup. I couldn't understand how he could take so long to drink it when I had already finished mine and was debating whether getting another one would be a good idea or make me more anxious than I already was.

"That's right, but how do you know?" I arched an eyebrow suspiciously. I hadn't had time to tell anyone about my most recent misfortune because I hadn't fully processed it myself yet.

Joshua settled into his seat, adopting a posture resembling that of a university professor when explaining something obvious. He looked at me as if he were impressed that I didn't grasp it immediately and clasped his hands together, resting his chin on them. I couldn't help but compare him to Montgomery Burns, a very famous character from The Simpsons. I chuckled quietly, knowing that there was no common appearance between the cruel millionaire and my friend.

From the corner of my eye, I watched as the park began to fill up with more people.

"You've been talking about it for the past month. It seems like you brought this bad luck upon yourself," he said knowingly, making me roll my eyes. "Look at it from a positive perspective."

"And what would that be?" Joshua shrugged.

"I don't know, but there must be one."

"It's easy to say when you don't have to spend six hours of your life with high school graduates who have no idea what awaits them in college," I said, putting my hands to my head. "And it wouldn't be so bad if they at least impressed me. They all seem cut from the same mold, with the same conversations, identical interests, and no enriching contributions," I said, shuddering. "Where did our individuality go? When did we become cheap copies of someone else's personality?"

"Did you wake up feeling philosophical today?" he teased. I gave him a dirty look. "Okay, seriously, I think you're acting more like a writer than a teacher. Your job is to evaluate their knowledge, not the depth of their souls," he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. I nodded, but I didn't feel any calmer. I was about to respond when Joshua's phone rang.

"It's a message from Katherine; she's inviting us to a gig this afternoon," he said, reading the information. His expression became increasingly alarmed as he read on.

"No," I responded almost instinctively.

"She's our friend," Joshua said, furrowing his brow.

"I know, and I feel bad about leaving her hanging, but there's no way in hell I'm showing up there."

"It's been eight months; you should get over it," he said, taking a sip from his own coffee cup. I couldn't understand how he could take so long to drink it when I had already finished mine and was debating whether getting another one would be a good idea or make me more anxious than I already was.

"I have moved on, but I'm still not ready to see her again," I said, crossing my arms. "It's the truth!" I exclaimed, drawing the attention of some people passing by. I was well aware that Joshua was right, and my attitude was bordering on childish. My last partner and I had broken up almost a year ago, after I found her cheating on me. At that time, we were already living together, and the breakup was twice as dramatic. We had met through Katherine when she introduced us to the bassist of the band, and we clicked almost instantly. We had incredible chemistry, and because of that, I made the terrible mistake of suggesting that she move into my apartment just six months into our relationship. The honeymoon phase, as my friends liked to call it, didn't last long, only a couple of months before the arguments began. I wasn't surprised that she cheated on me; it was something I had suspected. But her reasons for doing so were so stupid and incoherent that I remember them and they make me laugh: apparently, I couldn't satisfy her in bed, so she found someone who could. Her attempt to make me feel guilty, as if I had pushed her to make that decision, was the last straw. I asked her to pack her things and leave, with no intention of ever seeing her again.

"You know things didn't end well between us," Joshua nodded, of course he knew, I had told him, and he offered to chase her down and shave her head in revenge. When I declined, he ended up staying with me all night, watching classic horror movies and eating ice cream.

"But it was her choice

; she decided to end what she had with you. And you can't spend the rest of your life hiding like this," he said, stretching out his hand to hold mine. I quickly pulled away. "You can't just not go to your friend's gig because your ex is also part of the band," he scolded.

I lowered my head, feeling like a teenager being scolded by her parents when they find her with her boyfriend in her room. Not that I had any experience in that, of course, but I imagined it must be like that.

"I've moved on, but I'm still not ready to see her again," I said, crossing my arms. "It's the truth!" I exclaimed, drawing the attention of some people passing by. I was well aware that Joshua was right, and my attitude was bordering on childish. My last partner and I had broken up almost a year ago, after I found her cheating on me. At that time, we were already living together, and the breakup was twice as dramatic. We had met through Katherine when she introduced us to the bassist of the band, and we clicked almost instantly. We had incredible chemistry, and because of that, I made the terrible mistake of suggesting that she move into my apartment just six months into our relationship. The honeymoon phase, as my friends liked to call it, didn't last long, only a couple of months before the arguments began. I wasn't surprised that she cheated on me; it was something I had suspected. But her reasons for doing so were so stupid and incoherent that I remember them and they make me laugh: apparently, I couldn't satisfy her in bed, so she found someone who could. Her attempt to make me feel guilty, as if I had pushed her to make that decision, was the last straw. I asked her to pack her things and leave, with no intention of ever seeing her again.

"You know things didn't end well between us," Joshua nodded, of course he knew, I had told him, and he offered to chase her down and shave her head in revenge. When I declined, he ended up staying with me all night, watching classic horror movies and eating ice cream.

"But it was her choice; she decided to end what she had with you. And you can't spend the rest of your life hiding like this," he said, stretching out his hand to hold mine. I quickly pulled away. "You can't just not go to your friend's gig because your ex is also part of the band," he scolded.

I lowered my head, feeling like a teenager being scolded by her parents when they find her with her boyfriend in her room. Not that I had any experience in that, of course, but I imagined it must be like that.

"Promise me at least that you'll think about it, please," he begged, squeezing my hands. I nodded, and he let them go, visibly calmer.

We got up from the table to go to a nearby café for some breakfast; my stomach was growling with hunger.

On the way, we encountered some tourists asking for directions or help taking a photo. Joshua eagerly offered assistance, while I stayed a bit away from the crowd. My friend had a magnetic charm almost naturally; everyone liked him and found it easy to trust him because he exuded contagious joy. It was almost impossible not to feel comfortable around him.

Perhaps that's why he worked for a small advertising agency; all his clients admired his creations so much that sometimes they didn't even notice that behind that easy smile and affable demeanor was an ambitious man who knew how to sell himself as a product, offering his best side to the world. I was fortunate to be one of the few people who knew the real Joshua, not just the brand, and I enjoyed teasing those who boasted of knowing him because he knew many but was friends with few.

"Sometimes, I envy how easily you connect with everyone," I admitted when we reached the café. The name of the place stood out on a large brown sign with gold letters: Caffé Marceletti.

Joshua raised an eyebrow, and if I had tried, I was sure I could hear the gears in his mind working at full speed, desperately trying to find meaning in what I had just said. His eyes seemed to speak, or maybe I was starting to watch too much science fiction and fantasy, where the protagonists could communicate with just a glance.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I read in his eyes.

We sat at one of the tables overlooking the street. Joshua and I had been coming here at least three times a week since we discovered the delicious pastries they served.

An older woman approached us, wearing a radiant smile as soon as she saw us; she was the owner of the establishment, Marcela Dinusso. I had known her for about as long as I had been in Rome.

She was plump and a bit short, but not outside the average height. Her black hair shone like a crow's wing all the time, but I knew she dyed it constantly. Marcela hugged each of us with enough force to break a bone if she had wanted to, filling us with the characteristic smell of butter and flour that I had come to associate with her.

She planted a kiss on our cheeks and sat down next to us. The old lady looked radiant, and I blushed because I wasn't used to provoking that kind of reaction in others. Perhaps it was just because of Joshua's presence.

She was wearing a burgundy dress that reached her knees, highlighting her deep brown eyes, and she paired it with a white apron and black flat shoes.

"Ma guarda chi c'è qui. Miei cari figli!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "I thought you had become a couple of ungrateful brats, but the prodigal children always return to their home," she affirmed angrily.

A few diners observed the situation with barely concealed amusement, as it was well-known that the cafe's owner had quite the character. No one, and I want to emphasize this, absolutely no one, wanted to have problems with that woman. It could be because of her Irish blood, but I hadn't reached the level of superstition where I believed a person's ancestry defined their behavior toward others. It could just as well be because her zodiac sign was Taurus; you could never be sure when it came to these things.

"Siamo molto dispiaciuti di offenderti, Marcela!" Joshua apologized, taking her hand and giving her an innocent look along with a charming smile. "But let me tell you, you look absolutely beautiful today," he inquired, kissing her knuckles, which immediately made the lady blush, and her face turned the same color as ripe tomatoes.

"Ragazzo dispettoso," Marcela hissed, hitting him with one of the cloths she had for cleaning tables. "You should have more respect for your elders," she said, putting her hands on her hips, although her cheeks still bore the evidence of her embarrassment.

"If I'm to die, I hope it's right now," I thought, taking another bite of the croissant. The chocolate spread across my lips, and I had to use a napkin to wipe it off.

"We'd make a lot of money if you were a porn actress," Joshua remarked, although I noticed from the corner of my eye that he took a bite of his own flaky pastry and imitated my gesture without much pretense.

"Complimenti per l'italia!" I thought, finishing my drink.