did not know his name, nor needed.
had just left the bags in the cabin and said goodbye to my friends, who were testing the resistance of the bunks, to give me a ride and explore the ship. I took a book and my mp3 and if found a quiet place to read.
After seeing several fellow travelers and provide a lot of laps, walked around the four bridge deck watching the waves breaking against the ship's hull and the wind gave me in the face with such force that did not stop surprising me.
The snack-bar tables were nearly empty except for a few Italian cocks little girls at one end, two teachers in another and him.
I think it was the saddest young person I've ever seen. That's what attracted me to him since the first time I saw him.
was at the far end of the bar and people sitting in a chair with headphones on discman ears and playing a guitar. And how he played ...
foot climbed into the chair next door and I read some time with your music background. The melodies ratified my theory of deep sadness. When the turkeys were tired, they left and I hardly noticed it (and no, I must admit, what I was reading in the book, I was rereading the same page over and over again).
He was very focused, and frowning in the more complicated compositions. Bored of the book and haunted by his brilliant interpretation Polly, I took pen and paper and I started drawing. This was a habit she had acquired when I was bored in class, which put me to portray a fellow of interesting features ... not handsome, but rare.
is the best way to study the traits of someone, reproducing yourself.
The boy had dark eyes, but I could not see much more because they looked the guitar constantly. The nose, median. The chin was accurate, brief but noticeable: character. Something pointy eyebrows, dark unkempt hair that covered half of his left ear, tanned skin. Thin lips and elongated ... ah, the feature easier, because he never moved. Musician's hands, of course, elegant and long. He wore a red hooded jacket and jeans Quicksilver.
do not know how long it was before he got up and left, but had less light. I waited a few minutes before back to my cabin.
At night I saw him glancing dinner in the dining room a woman with dyed blonde hair seemed to be her mother, apparently a normal person. His face remained unchanged.
not see him again until the next morning. I sat listening to my mp3, boring, same chair where I had sat the previous evening, when he appeared out of nowhere and sat in the front seat he found, on the other side of the pool. I froze. Should I go over and introduce myself? What could I say?
"Hello, are you the guy on the guitar? You play well, man." But what I wanted know was why he was always so sad.
I watched a couple of times, but I had my defense funky sunglasses. I got to climb the stairs to the terrace and so have an excuse to pass by your side ... but did not dare to introduce myself. Above the cold wind cleared my head and down again ... I dared not speak a second time.
Later, looking for my friends, I saw him in the living room of blue sofas, playing his guitar, with his mother and two girls (17 and 12 years appeared more or less) that seemed to her sisters. I got the feeling that little more attention made him the most or the mother, who would better relationship with her ... but only thought so because he was expressionless.
was not going to talk in front of his family, if it was hard to talk when alone. I sat a while, I read, I left. Upon returning, I sat with some friends and one of them, a rare and special girl there ever told me that if I had noticed the guy with the guitar. Then he said he had heard his mother call ... were Italian and his name was Marco.
What would have happened if he had spoken? Had he kept quiet at me blankly, he would face would have laughed or not understand a word of what he said in English? It would have been a good story to remember. And I took it, a coward.
What he thought when he saw me? "Come on, if the aunt who sat here yesterday," or perhaps "Another leading headphones, I like him." Or for that matter to imagine thoughts of others: "I wish to approach this aunt talk so weird, maybe we have things in common," I am attracted by its lively and cheerful look ...".
I never saw him speak or smile. And the sadness was etched in every movement, every feature, in their eyes.
Funny how it all began in an Italian port ...
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