•
Rating: Heading towards Taneto di Gattatico, Reggio Emilia. 15:25
...yes, everything's here. I've checked. I've got everything, I can leave... Today is a good day. Spring-like, sunny, it seems to promise expectations. I know I went down the stairs, placed my belongings in the car, but the first thing I remember is the CD starting, prepared for the occasion, thinking about the journey. I realize it's warm. And that I'm making this leg of the journey alone; my usual concert buddy is working this Saturday. But I like driving, singing, and being off-key on my own, anxiously checking the exits and green signs, the names of cities, towns, tunnels, light-up messages... work in progress men at work moderate speed every year 46 people die from falling asleep pull over! strong gusts of wind next service station forty-three kilometers traffic news 103.03 MHz... I'm alone and I can take all the breaks I want, stop in rest areas for a few photos, observe the white peaks of the mountains, indulge in the film that starts to form in my mind, begins to take shape, occupying the necessary memory cells to start it tomorrow, when everything will be in motion in my memories and not in my curious gaze, while (now) I'm already looking for the moment after the one in front of me. I go slowly and check the odometer too often to be ready for the next exit. Thanks to the prepackaged routes printed from the highways' website even my nonexistent sense of direction survives; I doggedly follow the directions. But you never know, fishing trips are always lurking... And I sing and am off-key, and the words of old songs I thought forgotten come naturally. Yet they're always there, still clear. I recall for whom I thought of them or wrote them down wherever I was, I remember the tons of TDK tapes I prepared. And the concerts, all the others, and the other journeys. And there's the sun... did I already say there's the sun? And it's warm. And I feel good.
“Fuori Orario”, Taneto di Gattatico. 19:28
I've been here in the parking lot in front of the venue for an hour already. Taneto is a small district with a bar-grocery (where I got the sandwich for dinner), a pharmacy, and another bar. All within five hundred meters; the other buildings are low, peaceful houses. Then a few warehouses. I realize I've arrived far too early, but by this time in Bologna, I was already in line, in the cold. Never mind... I enjoy the curious gaze of the locals inspecting an unusual license plate, a new face, as they pass by on a bike or in a car. Or on foot, with all the calm that a place like this can convey. They take the time to walk here. And to be kind to those asking for information, confused and bewildered by the silence that passes by, enters within. Silently, indeed. I've been here in the parking lot for an hour, and only now have two girls arrived in a car a few meters away. Instead of a straw hat or sunflower, there’s a giant Kermit watching over the trunk, prompting me to wonder if I should simply have a crush or fall in love with someone who chose the Muppets' frog as decoration. But the doubt vanishes quickly because, alongside the Emilia-Romagna accent (beautiful, smooth, and sweet), a hearty burp comes from their car. One of those top-notch ones, relished. Cheers! I eat the sandwich, almonds, fruit salad. I take a rapid series of photos of what’s around here, consuming all available memory in a few minutes. One of the two. I brush my teeth as the sun sets, and as I gargle, another car arrives next to mine; I almost spit on myself to avoid being seen, out of respect. In the end, I continue, just turning to the other side.
Heading towards Livorno, home. 02:58
The return journey is nearly over too. After the outward trip faded quickly, the wait, and then the concert now plays out with different frames in my head. Different from that subjective shot; mostly I see others watching me. Here at the rest stop, Rosalba is on duty, making me a latte. Sleepy, yet ready, with reddened hands because she washes them continuously. Just like she washes the milk nozzle from the coffee machine. Watching her and deconstructing her gestures, I recall my old robotic movements, the concern of keeping the counter clean to lean hands, elbows, people, thoughts on. Small touches to put someone else at ease. I become entranced (it happens to me, at this hour...) and don’t notice the people next to me ordering breakfast, or the post-hangover, post-disco, post-work snack. I notice their accents, their ways of asking to be served, who says please, and who doesn't. Goodnight, good work. In the end, even though I'm only saying it now, I did take a detour. It went better than expected anyway because I didn’t print the return route (idiot) and in the dark, my nonexistent sense of direction fades alongside the last remains of clarity. At the rest stop gas station, they point out that I've added ninety kilometers, but "now just keep going..." If I weren't afraid of someone smashing my window while I sleep, I'd stop here, but I want to get home, wake up in my bed. So I set off again, and the last stop I make is in a tunnel, in the emergency lane, to brush my teeth with a bit of light while other cars speed by. Unprecedented and in its way, suggestive.
Post scriptum
This should have been a report on how well Verdena played, how frenzied I got in the crowd, beneath the stage, a meter away from touching them, in the sweat, in the vocal cords, in the pain that today remains from all the hits given and received. It's enough for me to say that it was beautiful, truly. And that there was an immense “Dentro Sharon”. I lost control. I wasn't there, I was higher. Even higher. Exactly where I found out how bruised, confused, and happy I was. Lucky, for everything.
Loading comments slowly
