ONCE AGAIN

ONCE AGAIN

(text and photo by

Giampaolo Daccò)

As always. Once again. I find myself here, under a shelter waiting for the bus to take me home, it is true that I could walk the way, four stops don't kill anyone. But I'm tired, it's raining, it's dark early, it's cold. I hate autumn. The lights of the cars on the wet asphalt look like long bands of light reflecting a flat, black tide. Black as some of the women next to me are dressed. The oldest talks about work, the other about her children, a third of her writes on her cell phone, nodding to the others every now and then. Two guys argue about the new mayor-elect and I'm tired of hearing the same old things. See the usual faces. And in the meantime it rains once again, the arrival of three soaked, screaming kids with backpacks on their shoulders who rudely collide with those like me who are waiting for that bus not yet arriving. Despite the protests of adults, they demonstrate what most of the kids have become: indifferent, rude and indifferent. Maybe, and just maybe, it's not even their fault. I open the umbrella and escape from this annoyance. I decided to walk home, four stops won't kill me even if it's raining and cold. I don't know if I was right to do it, the people I meet despite the wide sidewalk do not move, some do not lift or move the umbrella as I do and I find myself stuck to the wall crawling with my body and my rain cover while these four anonymous faces and rude pass by as if they were an impassable wall. No sign of moving and letting other people pass, they continued their arrogant walk not giving a damn about who had to get off the sidewalk and ended up in dirty puddles. No, I don't have to get nervous and I resume walking among shops full of people and trees that follow the avenue. One ... Two ... Three. Three stops have passed, at two hundred or perhaps a little more there is mine and the building where I live. I no longer thought about the rude children, the four people who occupied the sidewalk forcing others to either get off or hug the wall. I no longer thought about the road in the rain or even in the cold, but one thing I could not help thinking about: that once again it is autumn. I hate autumn. Finally at home, in front of the door I fall the keys, the umbrella and the work bag and a tenant goes out without saying anything, slamming the door almost in my face. Should I swear? Should I tell him something? Can rudeness and indifference be tolerated or should it be taught that education or respect are the basis for sympathetic cohabitation? Bullshit! No, I don't even think about it. I pick up my things, open the gate door and enter. I'm finally home or almost. I approach the elevator and once again it is blocked who knows where, let's resign ourselves and go up the floors on foot. Finally in the house the warmth of the radiators welcome me with the lights in the living room on, a good smell comes from the kitchen and a dark-haired head looks out: "Are you okay honey? Got a lot of rain?" "A little yes but that's okay, I took a few steps on foot but it was worth it. What's good for tonight? ..." I wanted to say: once again I ran into a season I hate, a time that bores me, rude kids just as much as the adults on the sidewalk were. That the elevator is still stopped and that before entering a tenant instead of giving me a hand slammed the door of the gate in my face but ... I'm not saying that. It doesn't matter now, it doesn't really matter anymore. Once again I approach his face while he is cooking a very tasty main course and touch his cheek with a kiss. "Go wash your hands silly! Soon we go to the table." I smile in the mirror as hot water flows through my soapy hands. Once again I am here in my house, among the things I love but I have no longer thought of hating autumn. I am now in the spring of my refuge.

Giampaolo Daccò