Red Running Shoes - 3. Running light

On the plane to Catania, Sicily

Judging by how much I’d already learned about the love life of the guy who sat in the row in front of me – I don’t want to talk about it - or about the slut daughter of my seat-neighbor’s best friend – what could you expect knowing her mother - it was good I could ‘talk’ to Zach. Quietly. At least as long as I sat on board a plane heading to Catania, Sicily.

I was going to visit my cousin Rick. I’m lucky the family loves me, even if I am known as the one who comes by spontaneously and sometimes slightly overstays his welcome. When I felt like the walls were closing in on me and I had to remove myself from the situation I was in, I knew I always had a place away from home with them.

Rick lives near Agrigento. When he decided to travel for a while to find his life balance after he graduated from university, nobody knew he would find it amidst an old orange grove in Sicily, while he was trying to snitch some of the fruits for his famous fennel-orange salad. For almost four years now, the center of his life has been his husband Matteo.

And I admit I'm totally, utterly envious.

***

Okay. Zach, aka my beloved laptop, shall we?

To understand what happened next, I have to tell you some things about me. First of all, I'm not a morning person and I loathe everything about alarm clocks. The name itself - alarm! clock - the gruesome noises they produce and they're almost always ugly. Even if they play your favorite tune, it sounds like it comes straight out of the trashcan.

It was fucking Monday morning, fucking 6:30 a.m. and the fucking alarm clock wouldn't stop blaring.

If this is too much ‘fucking’ I’m sorry Zach, but this is how my brain talks before I have my first coffee.

Back to Monday morning 6:36 a.m.

I thought ‘What the Hell’ when I saw the time, then it dawned on me, literally, I had a meeting with this new client at nine a.m. sharp, and I had to go by subway because my bike broke down the other day.

So I peeled myself out of bed and stumbled barefoot to the kitchen, where the heavenly smell of the freshly brewed nectar of life awaited me. I hadn't forgotten to program the coffee machine for once. Hail me! I poured a mug, shoveled at least three spoonfuls of sugar into it - no milk for the first coffee of the morning - and slumped down into the closest chair to inhale the only alarm clock I actually tolerate. Only then I did I feel up to the task of not drowning myself in the shower.

The second thing you should know, Zach, is I'm not into clothes. For me it's extremely difficult to find something appropriate to wear around the office aka business environment.

I had to go through all my stuff. No faded jeans with holes or without holes or paint from my I know-I'm-not-an-artist-but-I-paint-anyway sessions. No leather pants either. No tees with questionable prints, no baggy sweaters, no silk button-down shirts (heh, heh, I didn't know I had those), definitely no tie - ahha, I found a black turtleneck sweater - thanks Mum - my new black jeans and a black leather jacket. I braided my hair and that had to suffice.

The Monday morning horrors went on as they had started. I forgot to buy new contacts and had to wear my glasses, I had to run to catch the train, and I almost spilled my vanilla latte and ruined my pants, which was actually against the rule, because I ALMOST spilled it.

As I thought, the office building was one of those glass-heavy high-rises; the lobby was fancy with marble floors, polished bamboo wood, and lots of steel. At the large curved reception desk sat a beautiful and very competent looking guy.

Yay!

"Good morning, I have an appointment with Steve Daniels at nine; my name is Jonah de Rossi." When I mentioned nine, the guy's left eyebrow rose slightly and he made quite a production out of looking at the wall clock behind him.

It was 9:01, so what?

9:01 is late, Jonah. Shut up Zach.

He typed something on his computer, talked into a phone, and then told me to take a seat.

"Mr. Daniels will be here shortly."

After about five minutes nervously tapping my foot on the floor, a guy in his mid-thirties with short blond hair, branded jeans and a pinstriped grey button-down shirt came walking over. "Jonah de Rossi?" I nodded. "Please follow me, my name is Steve Daniels, but you can call me Steve."

Off we went to the elevators. Looking at him, I was very relieved that I wasn't totally off the mark, clothes-wise I mean. Otherwise, well, I hadn't had the opportunity to talk much, yet. Which would be the third thing you should probably know about me, Zach. Some of the things I have said in my life…

While we were waiting for the elevator Steve smiled at me. “No problem finding us? I was told it can get a little complicated at times.”

At first I thought this was Steve’s subtle way of telling me I was late, but his smile was so honest, I knew he was just making small talk. I apologized anyway, and explained how my bike had broken down and was at the shop, and that I had had some problems using the subway.

On our ride up, I noticed he discretely gave me a once-over.

Was Steve checking me out? No. It felt more like curiosity, as if he knew something I didn’t, yet.

Clearing his throat he said, "You come highly recommended. The boss saw some of your work and suggested we should contact you for the job.”

"Wow! That’s great." And unexpected. Too good to be true. Monday morning, remember?

“Do you know Mr. Arnold personally?”

“Err, I don’t think so. I thought you were the one I would be working with.”

Before he could answer, we arrived on our floor and got off the elevator. I looked around curiously and noticed a somewhat familiar figure talking to the receptionist. I was still pondering whether I knew him or not, when he gazed up over rimless glasses. My heart skipped a beat. Ren?

I grabbed Steve’s arm, stopping him from going any further. "Steve, who's that guy standing by the reception desk?"

"Oh, that's Ren Arnold. I was under the impression you knew each other. He's the one who recommended you, after all." He waved at Ren, clearly asking him to come over.

Okay Zach, another thing you might want to know about me is that I’m impulsive. For example, behaving like an idiot and refusing very profitable, interesting, and career advancing jobs just because I hate the client is perfectly normal for me. It’s good I’m my own boss; otherwise, I’d be fired regularly.

"I'm sorry Steve, but I can't work for Mr. Arnold, ever. Therefore, I must refuse this very tempting job offer." Catching a glimpse of Ren heading in our direction was my cue; I turned on my heels and... ran.

Steve's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to question my state of mind I’m sure. Only I didn’t hear him, because I was already too far away.

Instead of the elevator, I took the stairs.

"Jonah, wait! God dammit, you're such a girl sometimes, always running away," Ren called behind me.

Yeah right with shoe size eleven. Bastard!

Several floors below I opened a random door and was lucky to catch the elevator on its way down just before the doors were closing. Reaching the first floor, I stormed out of the building, passing a very disapproving-looking receptionist. I almost expected him to shout, "No running in the lobby!"

Well, he wouldn't shout in the lobby anyway, would he?

Sitting on the train I got a one-word text: “Coward!”

The talented author I am, I very eloquently texted back, “Fucker!” all the while wondering how Ren got my number.

And yes, Zach, even though it seemed I couldn't help it, I knew I had to work on my exit. I had to control all this running. Behaving like my bratty fourteen-year-old sister was bad. Embarrassing. I was kinda reacting on instinct, though.

Flight instinct, obviously. Shut up Zach!

And what did he call after me? 'You're such a girl sometimes!'

At that moment I honestly thought about cutting my hair. But he didn’t mean it like that, right?

There was a reason why I hadn’t cut my hair for about six years.

***

"I have to get a haircut."

"No, baby please, don't. I love your hair."

"But Eric, it's getting in the way, I can't see a thing and I’m going to have to tie it into a ponytail soon."

"Please? Grow it out. For me? It looks so good on you, and I love to grab it while your mouth..."

"All right, all right, I get it. Do we have to discuss this in the gym hall of all places?"

"You asked."

"Yeah. I think I'll have to buy some hair ties then."

***

The failed job interview was on my mind for the rest of the week. Why was Ren targeting me? First he played matchmaker for Eric and Chris, now this. Could it be a misunderstanding? Definitely not. This Daniels guy said Ren recommended me, but after what happened on Friday, I knew he couldn't stand me. Why would he offer me a job then? The only possible conclusion was that he never really wanted me to work for him in the first place. It all had to be a ruse. Which led me back to the initial question: Why was he targeting me?

As far as I knew, the first time we ever talked was at Chris's and there he had been kinda passive-aggressive already. Chris had mentioned him once or twice before. Maybe I had spilled a drink on him at the club? Nah, I would remember that.

So, why? The simple answer to that was because Ren was a stupid bastard, that's why.

Otherwise, the week was very uneventful, except for the fact that the upcoming Saturday was Valentine's Day, my most dreaded holiday of all time.

In the end, my friend Alec saved me from an orgy of self-pity. Thursday he called and asked me to visit him at his cottage to help him with his new book. I gladly accepted. Saturday I would be on the road. Yay! Valentine, my ass!

The morning of Valentine’s Day, I found a red rose attached to the handlebars of my bike, together with a short message in an unknown handwriting.

Run baby run. When I catch you…

What the fuck?

Later more Zach, we’re landing.

***

(Catania, Sicily: At the airport)

I saw Rick first. He was waving wildly at me from behind a barrier, before he ran off in the direction of the baggage conveyor, his small frame and dark, curly head quickly swallowed up by the masses.

Looking around for Matteo, I finally detected his blond head at the gap between the glass panels. His gaze followed his energetic husband, before it found me. Shrugging his shoulders, he winked and I couldn’t suppress a smile. Seeing him calmly towering over the people milling about, as always, unperturbed by the chaos around him, nobody would expect him to be the one who was born in Sicily in the sixth generation.

He was the total opposite to my dear cousin, together they formed a perfect balance.

Actually, balance could be their main theme. Seeing they called their small but excellent restaurant, 'La Bilancia' (just for you Zach: beam scales). To quote Rick: "I'm doing the business shit, he's doing the cooking."

Balanced.

God, I was so envious! Sososo envious.

Isn't envy one of the seven deadly sins? Invidia, right? Yes, Zach, I too read ‘The Divine Comedy’. Luxuria, avaritia, ira, gula, invidia, acedia, superbia. Stupidity should be the eighth, or even better, the first deadly sin. Now we have to find a fancy name. Stultitia?

"Hey, where are your running shoes?" Rick grinned and clapped me on the shoulder, successfully interrupting my discussion with God about sins.

“In the suitcase. You talked to Meg.”

Obviously Rick had told Meg that it was his turn to help me clean up my mess and she had told him about her nice little farewell gift. Thank you so much, Meg!

“I did. Shouldn’t they be on your feet?”

"Yeah, well, I was kind of in a hurry to get out of there, so..."

"Shouldn't you wear them precisely when you're in need of getting out of somewhere? Wasn't that the idea behind Meg’s thoughtful gift? To run so that you won't have to run?"

"Just shut the fuck up, will you Rick?"

His dark eyes widened in shock and I grinned sheepishly. Hell, I was tired and I really didn’t feel like friendly bantering with my cousin right then. Somewhere during my flight to Catania, while writing my journal, I had realized no matter where you run, there you are.

Orange-Fennel-Salad