Unspoken - 36. Musings and a Walk

It was nice, sitting here in the quiet of the day, the area around us almost completely deserted. It was an extremely rare cold late November here in Williamsburg, enough so that a half inch of snow still remained on the landscaping in the Wren Yard. The Wren Yard was the front courtyard of the Wren Building of William and Mary in Williamsburg. Nicolo was sat next to me, as bundled up as I was, this Thanksgiving morning. It was past time that he met my family, and he felt the same. In less than a month we’d be on a flight to Florence – I was still trying to call it Firenze in my mind – to meet his family over Christmas. That was next month though. Right now, we were sharing a bench, facing the Wren Building at my alma mater. We had to sweep the snow off the bench. I looked over the Nicolo, who was silent as I was, to see him calmly examining the statue some yards in front of us, in the middle of the yard. I squeezed his hand, and when he looked, I signed ‘ok.’

He nodded, leaning down to kiss my nose, before waving with his free hand to the statue.

“Who is that?”

The question wasn’t unwelcome or unexpected. We’d been here a week, and we’d done tours of the Magazine, the Governor’s Palace, and the Capital Building. The history of my hometown was precious to me, and I was overjoyed that the passion I held for the history of the area was communicated to my boyfriend. Patrick Henry’s famous ‘Give me Liberty or Give me Death’ speech, and the Lord Governor Dunmore’s emptying of the magazine just to name two events, were especially expounded on. Being born and raised in Italy, Nicolo couldn’t be expected to have learned as much detail of our history, and vice versa. My parents immigrated, yes, but I was born here, and I took one of my da’s favorite sayings to heart: ‘if you forget where you came from, you forget who you are.’ So I learned as much as I could of Scottish history, and of American history.

‘That’s the Baron Botetourt,’ I had to spell out the title and name, ‘who was the governor of Virginia from 1768 to 1770. The statue was built after his unexpected death,’ I signed, waving towards the statue Nicolo had pointed to. ‘People thought he opposed King George, but really he supported all the taxes.’

“So he was… duplicitous, I think the word is?”

‘Not really. He did many good things for the colony but he was loyal to the crown. He reminds me that nobody is two-dimensional.’ I paused for a moment. ‘I was sitting on this bench when I realized I wanted to be an editor.’

He nodded. I’ve already told him the story, and it appeared he didn’t want to hear it again. He reached around me and pulled me flush against his side. I heard him scoff lightly as he clearly felt the pistol in the hog-leg holster on my left side. It was a SIG P239 in .357Sig. He didn’t really understand why I carried a pistol all the time. Oh he said he understood, and simply didn’t agree with it, but I knew he didn’t understand, really. Even so, we hadn’t argued over it in months, and I loved him for it.

Love.

It was something I thought, for most of my admittedly short life, that I’d never find. My first two boyfriends weren’t good, or good for me, in any way; fortunately, they were both short-lived relationships. He spoke, then, pulling my thoughts back to the present.

“I see why you like it here. It is a beautiful area. Let us walk.” He took my right hand, and lifted me to my feet. He pulled me against his side by my shoulder, but lightly so I could still sign. This was as close to hand-holding as we could get while allowing me to communicate. It was nice though, I loved how he held and touched me. I guided him around the building to the large grassy area behind it. As we passed the statue of James Monroe, I tapped Nicolo on the side, and signed ‘A-run and A-fire like you.’ I had told him many stories of my brothers. He knew they were so very protective of me. I think he valued their approval over my mam and da.

“They do?” He quirked an eyebrow. “I got the impression they disliked me.”

I cocked my head left.

“They have been making jokes at my expense the entire time. They called me a dwarf-lover!”

I laughed. ‘That means they like you. They’re quiet and distant with people they don’t like. If you weren’t bigger than them they would have already wrestled you.’

“They still wrestle?”

I nodded, ‘with each-other’ I signed, ‘it’s how they exercise. One way. Their garage is a gym.’

And it was. They owned a duplex, which was as far away they’d live from the other. They went to the same college, Georgia Tech, shared a dorm, an apartment, and when they’d bought a house, a duplex. Unlike most duplexes I've seen, the middle was a large four-car garage that opened to a six car driveway. They turned it into a gym, with exercise equipment and a wrestling mat. They got their wives treadmills too. They all worked out together.

“When we get a house,” Nicolo smiled down at me, “I would like to have a gym area. We can exercise together.” I nodded dumbly.

‘When we get a house.’ He had moved in with me over a year ago, as my apartment had been larger, but before this he hadn’t hinted of taking our relationship further, or of getting a house. Was he getting more serious? I wanted him to. If he hasn’t proposed by the end of the year I was planning on shopping for rings and proposing to him. I had been waffling at myself over this for a few months, because I wasn’t sure he’d say yes. Maybe I’d start doing some window shopping before New Years.

Love. I did love him. Very much. He knew me well, read me like a familiar book, and while I wasn’t quite so good at reading him, I was getting there. His accent drove me crazy when he talked sweet to me in bed, both laying down to sleep and during sex. And he knew all my erogenous zones. It didn’t take him long to discover how touching my bare scalp affected me.

Love. He’s been saying “Ti amo” to me for months. I knew that was Italian for “I love you.” I knew he meant it. I could feel it in his kisses. I could see it in his eyes. I could feel it during sex, and in the way he touched me, and the way he reacted when I touched him. Yes, I wanted to marry him. I wanted him to want to marry me. I’ve been signing my love to him for months as well.

Our walk wound through the back courtyard, and I semi-lead us into the trees towards the Crim Dell Bridge. We stopped on the middle of it. Normally it would be letting off the slight trickle-noise, but the water was frozen through. I’d never seen it frozen. I looked up to Nico. ‘The river in your city, has it ever frozen?’

He blinked, thinking. “The Arno? I have never seen it frozen, no.” He glanced at his watch. I knew it was nearing noon, having lived in Williamsburg for most of my life I could tell by the position of the sun. “It is almost noon, we should be getting back, midge.” He turned to head back the way we came, and I gripped his arm to stop him. He looked at me quizzically.

‘Why midge?’ I signed, spelling out the word, and cocked my head to the left. He’d been using that term of endearment for me, along with piccolo, which meant ‘small' or ‘small one,’ for some time, but I never thought to ask why he didn’t use the whole word. I knew he didn’t mean it derogatorily, but I wanted to know, now.

He turned to face me fully.

“It is because you are too short for the whole word!” He snickered to himself. I scowled and kicked at his shin. Maybe I would kick at his shin every-time he called me midge. “Alex,” he continued, swallowing his laughter, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You are small, yes, but you are strong, in thought, word, and deed. You do not have to be tall to stand tall, and you stand tall above many people I know. Never let anyone push you to your knees.” My jaw dropped, eyes starting to tear up. He smirked, and followed his absolutely endearing little speech with “that’s my job!” and erupted into full-throated laughter!

I goggled at him, both irritated but full of love for his weirdness. He managed to express adoration for me, and outright perversion, in the same speech. I knew how hard it was for him to get past my youthful appearance, but more than anything he’d outright said, was his comfort in making such a joke.

I loved this big cuddly Italian man.

‘You want to get married?’

He took my shoulder again, and we started making our way back towards Confusion Corner, to where the rental car was parked behind Merchant’s Square.

He nodded, “Sì, when the time is right.” He coughed, then, almost nervously. “You should know, Alex…” he trailed off. I stopped, and gripped the front of his jacket, pulling him down into a chaste kiss. He stood back upright, smiling. “You should know. We do not bring non-family to Firenze for Natale unless marriage is intended.” I nodded up at him, a wide grin spreading. It was short lived, as nervousness started creeping in. But it did not matter, I loved this man. My conviction was stronger now. If he hadn’t proposed by New Year’s, I would.