Fool's Journey

We are all of us fools, paupers and princes alike. I’d forgotten where I’d heard this, but with this phrase making endless circles through my mind I waited patiently for the airplane to touch down in Rome. I was the fool, more the fool for letting myself get lost in another person’s identity, thoroughly losing my own in the process.

Samuel was a force to be reckoned with, his personality so overpowering it was all but impossible not to feel like clover in the shadow of an oak, and I had allowed myself to cushion his feet for six years. Sometimes he stepped lightly, like butterfly kisses across my cheek. Sometimes he stepped hard, fists and stone words bruising me inside and out.

I had managed to toss a few things into a single suitcase after he’d left for work: clothes, toiletries, a handful of photos, everything else was left behind. I felt like a coward, slinking out of my own home as though I had no right to expect better treatment, and yet the moment the door had clicked shut behind me I felt like I could finally breathe.

I didn’t think Samuel would miss me, and I was fairly sure he would quickly find a replacement on which to inflict himself, but I couldn’t think about that poor woman’s fate; I couldn’t save them all. I was focused singularly on rediscovering who I was, so much so that I hadn’t even noticed our descent until the tires hit the tarmac.

To choose a destination I had quite literally spun the globe on my way out of the house, closed my eyes and jammed my finger against it, bringing the textured sphere to an abrupt halt. Under my finger was Italy, and without a second thought I made that my destination, determined to create a new life for myself.

It was hard at first; learning the language and learning the city, but learning to live was the hardest part. It was months before I stopped jumping at every raised male voice I heard, and even longer before I could bring myself to go on a date.

Italian men were much as the stereotype described: they talked with their hands, thought very highly of themselves and assumed that every woman wanted them. But, as with all stereotypes there were many things that outshined the small percentage of common perceptions, and I eventually found myself hopelessly in love with a passionate, kind and gentle man.

Mario’s hands talked all right, they talked to my body with feathery touches. He thought highly of himself, but wasn’t arrogant. He did think every woman wanted him, but that was fine with me because to him I was every woman. I was amazed on a daily basis that it was possible to be so happy.

The day I opened the door expecting the pizza delivery man and instead found myself staring into Samuel’s face instead was the day I experience real fear for the first time. In all the years I’d spent being abused, I’d never experienced true terror because it was only me that was in danger; now there was another target.

“Briana.” Samuel’s voice was absolutely even, no rise or fall in the tone, and I knew from experience that he was at his scariest and most dangerous when he used that voice.

“Samuel,” I replied, absolutely certain he could hear my heart hammering against my sternum. “What are you doing here?” I mustered every ounce of will I had and stayed in the doorway, blocking his entry as best as I could.

“Is that question even necessary?” he asked in the same even tone, his pale blue eyes boring into my brown ones.

“I thought you’d have just moved on,” I said, “Found someone else.”

Before he could reply Mario’s voice drifted from the back of the house, asking in Italian what was keeping me, and panic was plain on my face. Samuel moved as though to come inside and I stepped into his path, leaving one sweaty palm on the doorknob and laying the other on the doorframe.

“You need to go,” I said quietly, “There is nothing for you here now.”

Samuel’s blue eyes narrowed on me, and it felt like he was looking for a chink in my armor through which he could hurt me, and I lifted my chin a notch, hoping the apparent defiance would prove to be a successful bluff.

“What’s going on, love?” Mario asked, appearing behind me and laying his hands gently on my shoulders.

I could feel the press of him at my back and was both relieved to have him there, and terrified Samuel would hurt him. Before I could reply; however, Samuel spoke, a polite smile splitting his face.

“I seem to have the wrong house.” He shifted his eyes to lock with mine. “The person I was looking for isn’t here anymore.” With a small nod he turned on his heel and made his way down the walk, passing the pizza delivery man on his way.

Mario paid for our dinner and carried the box into the kitchen, pulling me along behind by the hand. As he busied himself with getting plates and pouring wine I stood and fought to keep from trembling, very aware how close this fool’s journey had come to ending.