5 - Rebirth
The couch cushions have taken the shape of my body.
Streetlamp beams filter through the blinds, lighting up the photo of Luigi clutching a soccer ball. My fingers, trembling, trace the lines of his face.
A low rumble approaches.
I set the frame down and rush to the window, bare feet on the cold floor. I lean out. Marco steps out of a yellow Golf with a dented side and a busted headlight.
I fill a pot with water and set it on the lit stove. Then comes the rattle of a key in the lock and the creak of the front door.
“Dinner’s ready in fifteen,” I call out as I head for the entrance. “Coach! How did you…”
“Hey, Dad.” Marco stands behind Claudio. “I called him.”
The man shuffles in with his hunched back. “Jesus, look at you—what a damn mess!” He adjusts his glasses. “Marco told me everything. Why’d you back out?”
I flip on the light. “I’m not cut out to coach kids.”
Claudio bursts out laughing. “What a load of crap.” His jaw clenches. “You got certified. Why bother with the license if you didn’t plan to use it?”
“I changed my mind. I realized I’ve got nothing to teach them—actually, they’re better off without me.”
He stares me down. “I know you, Ezio. What the hell are you hiding?” His eyebrow hairs are so long they hang over his eyelids.
“There’s nothing to hide!” I open the fridge, pull out two beers, and hand him one.
Claudio scans the place. “When you got hurt, I was honest—maybe a little rough. You know why? Because I wasn’t worried. I figured: Ezio’s got balls. Whatever life throws at him, he’ll jump it, dodge it, or punch it in the face. But look at you now: empty fridge, broken furniture, and all that talent gone to waste.” He coughs. “And let me say one last thing: if you don’t pull yourself out of the shit, no one will. And if someone does, it’s only to clean you up before screwing you over.”
“Enough. I get it.” I sip my beer. “If I take the job, if I even… I mean… they threatened to kick Luigi out of the clinic.” I slump into a chair and rest my elbows on the table. “I can’t afford another place for him, you understand? He’s finally getting better. He might even get out soon.”
Claudio grabs his phone, swipes, and raises it to his ear. “Hi, Emma. It’s Claudio.” He nods and smiles.
God knows what she’s saying back.
“Ezio wants the job. He’ll confirm it now.” He hands me the phone.
I reach out. “H–hello?”
“Are you sure?” Emma’s voice comes through.
Claudio nods and shakes a fist at me.
“I’m sure.”
She pauses. “I won’t lie—everyone’s against you. If you don’t deliver results, they’ll throw you out.”
“Okay, I understand.”
I give Claudio his phone back. “I hope you know what this means.”
Claudio leans against the doorframe. “Didn’t think you were the type to cave to blackmail. You really believe one phone call is enough to get your son kicked out?” He lets out a sharp laugh. “Walk an old man out, Marco.”
Marco hooks an arm around my old coach. “How are you even gonna get to the stadium in that piece of junk? You don’t even have money for gas.”
“Tomorrow I’m going to the bank to ask for a loan.”
Marco slaps his forehead. “Another one? You can barely pay off the last—how are you gonna handle two?”
“You’re forgetting something. I’m now the coach of Sansevieria.”
He turns. “Let’s go, old man.”
Claudio walks out. “Smartass!”
“Shit, the pot on the stove!”
I run into the kitchen.
The water’s been boiling God knows how long. I toss in a pinch of salt and dump the fusilli in.
Please note: I'm not a native English speaker. If you spot any mistakes or have suggestions, feel free to email me at p.rubiu@tiscali.it