© Camelia Vlăsceanu

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Roberta had fallen in love with Aldo ever since he asked her to be his friend on Facebook. He had been following him for a long time, he hadn’t had the courage to talk to him. He liked it… A picture of a man who was a little sly, a little crazy, but erudite, with a vocabulary of “search in google”, made her dodge whenever he tried to talk to her or – write to him.

“Good evening! Could we talk a little about the prosody of life?” – Aldo asked her, unexpectedly, around 1 in the morning.

“Good evening! I’d love to, but maybe tomorrow night. The incident makes me very tired, and even my eyes do not help me to write correctly.”

“Then let’s talk on the phone, on the video camera, we have a chance to get to know each other, my dear!”

Damn, Roberta’s heart had jumped out of her chest. She wanted to, but she still wasn’t ready to stand up to the polyglot and the guy who felt, from behind the screen, that he was very cultured and loved the Latin language a lot.

“Look, as I said, get some sleep. Forgive me, but I retire to bed.”

“Okay,” replied Aldo, “stay for another time, my dear!”

It must have been a few weeks, a bit hard for Roberta because she was “stalking” him somewhat, she was keeping an eye on his posts, on everything that meant “his house”, the Facebook page.

“I like you!”

“It just so happens that I like you too, but what the hell do you like about me? Can’t you see I’m getting old?”

“I don’t see you as old, but just like that: how old are you to say this aberration?” Aldo asked.

“Almost 50. You must be younger!” “I’m almost 50, like you, born in ’73.”

“Ah, I ’74, am I younger?!”

Surprised, they both started laughing sending smiley emoticons to each other. This technology… laugh, cry, hate… send emojis and express it all.

All?! Clearly not!

They opened the video cameras and for a good few seconds they stared into each other’s eyes. They had the impression that they had known each other for many years. It was not difficult to communicate with him, as she thought … he was seductive and, to top it off, she spoke about him modestly, he was not a stickler.

“I’m born prematurely, an abortionist who was lucky enough to be spotted moving in the tub that was going to be thrown away at the maternity crematorium.”

She listened to him captivated by his story, by the sensuality of his mouth, and by his almond-shaped eyes… and by his slightly hoarse voice.

“I’m a reserve colonel and currently a math teacher at a high school in Rome.”

“Coincidence or not, I was also born prematurely, I was left with a few sequelae that are not physically noticeable, but look what strong fir trees have grown from us, the “sprouting”, premature “sprouts” since then!”

“Let’s stop delaying, let’s meet! I’m coming to you next week!” – said Aldo smiling narrowly and then becoming very serious, he declared bluntly: I have to see you!

The distance between Rome and Lazio was not great. He hadn’t seen each other yet. Aldo would disappear from Facebook for days, wouldn’t call for days, and would give Roberta all sorts of excuses even when he told her he needed to see her. When the day came to reach her, something happened. Because his mother had an accident in the garden of the house and sprained her ankle, and he is the one who has to take care of her, because he is leaving the country for two weeks in the interest of work, because he suffers for hours on end, of muscle cramps squeezing his strength… Reasons hard to believe, except muscle cramps which, she also knew, cause terrible pain. The other reasons, especially that during those two weeks, Aldo had been interviewed, live, on a local television in Rome, had fallen from the start. He was in the country, not gone. He knew he was dealing with a mythomaniac. And yet… to want to cure a mythomaniac of lying, she must have been even more naive than she knew.

When she talked to him about her former loves, Roberta borrowed her style by switching the discussion to her memories, for her ex-husband to see his reaction and to know if Aldo would know how to listen to her or the whole confession prepared by him, when he was looking for her on the phone, it’s just his permission. Trying to attack him with the same style, she noticed that Aldo was changing his mood, becoming irritated by the memory of her ex-husband and seemed affected to the max. It was as if sometimes he knew he had a reason to be angry because he needed time to hide.

“I look for you, my dear, when I consider. Now I really can’t leave! Oh, and… get over your husband!”

“Aldo, what’s up? My husband is dead.”

Traducere automată ,, Jurnalul unei Eve” de Camelia Vlăsceanu