ELIO

𝕬n unfamiliar figure sprawled unmoving and lithely on the Norwegian Spruce wood planks of the docks where sailboats are moored to with a harmonious ambiance of warmth. A sense of curiosity, mysterious allure, or perhaps fate, persuaded my buoyed limbs to follow the soft ripples of water toward it.

When I had acquired a distance where I could recognize a set of tender eyes on an intriguing visage, I noticed the figure was a youthful, appealing girl, spread out under the scorching, dancing sun, lots of bare, caramel skin glistening with the mixture of sweat, water, and sunscreen, she wore nothing but a white swimsuit. Her incredibly dark hair, slick and wet down her shoulders and back, captivatingly dripped while her feet kicked back and forth in the air as she flipped over a page of the volume in her hands. Her plump, peachy lips mouthed words as she concentrated on the words she read, so subtly that only someone watching—or rather admiring—her with such detail as I, would be capable of detecting. Her expression was so focused on her book until I abruptly interrupted: “Is that Dante?”

Her eyes averted to mine swiftly; they were dark, almond shaped, and reminded me of butterflies due to the warm colors and the fluttering of her long eyelashes. Or perhaps it was because of the fluttery sensation in my stomach that made me think of butterflies.

“You’ve read Dante’s poetry?” Her lips had formed into a gleaming smile as she said these words.

Many times, I told her. “In that book which is my memory, on the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you, appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life,’” I said, quoting Dante’s Vita Nuova, which made her smile even more. I felt—for some unknown reason—proud to have impressed her with my knowledge of poetry, which I never found impressive previously.

Something about the soft curve of the shiny skin of her back between the two pieces of her perl coloured bikini evoked a desire deep inside my gut to climb out of the water and touch her. I didn’t, of course. I would never have the courage to do that. What has gotten into me?

I asked her if she was new around here since I had not seen her prior to this day, and everybody knew each other in this little village by the Italian Riviera.

“Comparatively.”

“Comparatively?”

“Comparatively.”

What does that even mean?

I couldn’t think of something clever to say, so I stayed quiet and let the rattling cicadas fill my silence, as I watched her like an exotic flower.

Someone had called my name from across the water.

“See you around?” I said quickly and awkwardly, as a cowardice, shy question instead of a confident statement.