Being Melvin: The Thin Line between Fiction and Reality

By Vittorio De Agrò

BEING MELVIN
The Thin Line between Fiction and Reality
Synopsis
Parents, school, friends, feelings, commitments trace a path along which Melvin, a young landowner of Sicilian origins, tries hard to venture. He has been in conflict with his family’s aspirations and projections since childhood. The use of his imagination, odd braggadocio, and lies seems to be an escape from a reality perceived as unsustainable. However, it merely drags him slowly into a dimension where the real world constantly slips into the imaginary one, producing relentlessly irreconcilable contrasts in personality development and emotional relationships with women despite being constantly surrounded by them. The virtual rites of the web and digital communications lead him to obsessively participate in a forum dedicated to the starlet of a television drama, the Diva. A genuine feeling grows between the two of them, only to magnify Melvin’s crisis, consequently creating a split personality and an increasingly dramatic, psychotic and self-destructive drift. He is forced to undergo a mandatory medical treatment. Melvin asks for help from the Gleam, a unique but lucid psychiatrist, to whom he runs when the weight of memories and the feeling of guilt for betraying someone’s trust will be unbearable, to the point of further restricting the already narrow margins of his psychic survival. His memory, having suddenly reappeared after prolonged amnesia, allows him to retrieve incidents and situations – which he calls files - and to explain them, with great detail, to his therapist. The result is a discussion between doctor and patient, in many ways fruitful and enlightening, but not at all a prelude, as one might expect, to a predictable and comforting ending. That is because we are not facing fiction, but an intensely experienced story on a person’s own skin and at the risk of his own life. Therefore, no invention, no artifice, no hypocritical censorship, no qualms to strip. It offers the reader testimony that a conformist reserve would prefer to bury in the basement of removal and modesty. Melvin is a true story. For real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cavinato Editore
• Release date: Feb 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9788869822421

Book preview

now."

CHAPTER 1

Now I realize how sailors must feel in the middle of a storm. Unable to stand up. Desperate and at the mercy of the sea. I'm scared of my thoughts. I'm losing my mind. Mom took me to the Gleam again. My head is spinning. I feel like I'm inside a dark and cold well. I don't know what to expect from this therapy.

For years I've heard a lot of people say they were satisfied with this therapy. I feel like a mouse in a trap. I have no choice. I want to cry here in this cold a silent waiting room. The blonde secretary smiled at me. The other patients wait for their turn. I anxiously stare at the closed door. I try to make sense of my thoughts. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to think of the Gleam. Finally the door opens, I can't get up. The Gleam smiles and invites me in. I gather all my strength and I drag myself in. I feel like dying. I fall into the chair. I feel the blood pulsing in my temples. The silence fills the room.

Hi, Melvin how are you? Are you taking the Zyprexa that I prescribed for you?

Yes, Doctor, I am. I feel so dazed. My head is killing me. But I came back. I don't know where to start. I'm ashamed. I made a mess.

Mel, like I've told before nobody will judge you here. We are here to reconstruct your identity and to figure out how to start a new chapter of your life. Let's take one step at a time. We'll start a journey through your memories. Tell me who Melvin really is. For each person there is a beginning. Tell me something about your childhood, your first love, your family. Do you feel up to it?

I was born in Sicily. My family was ordinary and simple. My father was an engineer and Mom was a housewife. We had a big house in the center of town that I used to call magic castle. Me and my brothers used to play in the big garden or in our room for entire days. I was cooped up in the house or at a relative's house. When I started primary school I began being in contact with other kids but my parents preferred to keep us at home. We couldn't go out much. The city where I was born wasn't safe in the eighties. After 8 o'clock there was a sort of curfew. For me my house was like a magic castle from where I could control the city. I was so happy when I could go out and visit my relatives; I thought it was a special occasion. My parents made sure I had everything I needed. I have good memories of my childhood.

It seems to me that you lived like a prisoners even if it was a golden prison. You mentioned your grandparents. Tell me something about them.

"Unfortunately, only my maternal grandmother is still alive. We have a close relationship and she has been like a second mother to me. She raised me. Every afternoon she came to the house and brought us pastries. In the evening she made me eat. She literally fed me. You know, I've always been a bit a fussy.I lived at her house in Sicily until May 2008. She is always informed about my life. She always asks me if I have a girlfriend and if the farm job is a safe one. Vittorio, my grandpa died in 1944. He had a degree in literature but he worked in the field of alcoholic beverages. I saw him in a couple of pictures. He was intelligent, creative and steady. I can't remember much about the other two grandparents. I see my grandmother Elisa busy at sewing machine or cooking with her apron. She had such a serious look. She was very stiff, a bit bigoted, so they told me. She was very elegant, he liked to dress well. She lost her husband and a son within fifty days. I remember Grandpa Walter took me to eat granita at the seaside or for a walk in the mountains. I also see him in pain, lying on the bed after his brain surgery, trying to call me, or the day of his death lying

in a coffin. He, too, was very quiet, serious, precise. Both of them died of cancer."

The Gleam takes notes.

Why don't we talk about your parents?

It's not easy, Doctor, it's never easy to talk about your parents. Anyway, I'll try. My father's name was Andrea. A lymphoma took him away in '96, in less than a year, when he was 65. Our relationship was prettyd complicated. We used to have heated arguments over how to behave with women. We didn't see eye to eye. This situation always made me suffer. It's not fair to mention only the negatives. He was cheerful, creative, outgoing, intelligent, generous and kind. He was always present and careful. He loved spending time with younger people. He was shaken by his brother Angelo's death at the age of eleven. He burnt alive in a storehouse where there were tanks of gas that my grandfather had placed there. He saw his brother running like a human torch on the grass. At that time my father was only thirteen but he was already able to drive the car and so he took his brother to the hospital in vain. After that, my grandpa died of guilt. My father suffered greatly. He no longer had a father figure and his relationship with his mother was problematic. My mother told me that they fought hard. He was keen on academic studies but the jealousy and envies stopped his career. He was into politics. I remember the meetings at my house until late at night. But even then he was unable to succeed because he wasn't tough enough. He worked hard and others got all the credit. He loved cars and was even a test pilot for Ferrari. He had a very troubled youth and he never found serenity. He suffered from bipolar disorder. He was always in a bad mood and he became worse and worse. A neurologist cured him for about three years. He got married for the first time when he was thirty six. It was a bad choice. His wife and her family were crooks. He left her and after that he met my mother and finally he found some happiness. They got married when he was fourty three and my mother twenty three. When we talked about women to marry he used to say, 'II hope you find a woman that is half as good as your mother. Only she could bear such a neurasthenic like me.' My mother's name is Elena. She's the second of three children. She's always been quiet and studious. She spent her youth with her nose in her books. She rarely went to parties because she didn't like chaos. She is proud, stubborn and honest. She has no fear. I've never seen her back down in front of anything or anybody. Her moral integrity is unbelievable. She looks deep in your eyes. She rarely speaks, but when she does, her words are like stones. It was really love at first sight. Despite the difference in age, they complemented each other. My father was a volcano that my mother always tried to calm down. My grandmother often told me this anecdote, 'After officially meeting your father, there was a bit of concern. Your grandfather was skeptical about the wedding. We thought the age difference would be a problem. Even the whole story about the failed first marriage. So the conditions were not the best. Your grandfather faced your mother and tried to reason with her, but she cut him off by saying that she would marry Andrea or no one else.' My mother sacrificed everything for the family. She was supposed to defend her thesis, but never did because I was born. All of my life she has been close to me, especially during my school years. She saw me as a slacker so she worried about me. She always tried to stimulate me. We used to do my homework together. She gave me freedom for all the rest. The only reason my parents argued was over me. My mother wanted my father to reprimand me because I didn't put enough effort into school. My father was more worried about the fact that I didn't have a girlfriend yet. Often Dad told me, 'Mel, I never used to have a fight with your mother and I can't divorce because you don't like to study. So, please, make her happy and study, because I'm sick of hearing her complain.' But apart from this, their love story was like a beautiful film. They loved each other despite their differences. Often I wonder what love is. I could look for famous quotes and many examples in literature or history, but they wouldn't be as strong as the memory that I keep. In the autumn of 1996 I was in Acireale at my grandmother's house. My father was still and no longer talked; he was on his deathbed. I couldn't stay in the room and see him in that state. I convinced myself to go in but I stopped at the door because I saw my mother in his room holding his hand. It was so quiet. I couldn't understand if she was crying or not, I decided to leave them alone. I will never ever forget that moment.

I'm sure that your parents influenced your personality: your father with the story of the girls and your mother concerning your studies. We'll talk about this later on. How is your relationship with your brothers?

It's always been pretty good, even if we are all different. I'm the second son. Francesco has always been the reflective scholar while Pietro has always been the quiet stickler, and I was the dreamer. We never talked much about our problems but we were there for each other. I've never been envious of them and if you ask me who's my favorite I couldn't respond. I slept in the same room as Pietro for twelve years. He was the victim of my jokes. I forced him to be a competitor for imaginary broadcasts in which I pretended to be a brilliant presenter. Francesco is more distant, colder. I just know that I can't imagine different brothers. My life without them would be surely much more empty.

Fine, Mel, I have an idea about your family. Now I would like you to tell me something about your first experiences with love in Sicily. If there were any, and what happened.

"We're going into a minefield here, Doctor. As I said before I always had an odd relationship with my father. He always wanted to see me on top of the world, especially with women. Starting from elementary school he pushed me to get a girlfriend. I was probably less interested toward the fairer sex than other boys and I still looked at them with innocent eyes. I remember that in my class there was a girl called Sara. She had blue eyes and blond hair and she had a beautiful smile. I used to enjoy looking at her during lessons and sometimes I went to talk to her. I don't know how but my father found out that I liked her and he decided to get involved. He started to show up at my school and tried to get us to talk. I was so embarrassed, I didn't know how to react. I couldn't understand his behavior. He said to Sara, 'My son is a little shy, but he's interested in you, so would you play with him?' Obviously these interventions produced the opposite effect. Sara ran away as soon as she saw me. At that time I had a really good friend called Gianpiero. We used to see each other after school, too. He was the closest and my first friend outside of my family. My father used to tell me to invite girls and not only Gianpiero. He was convinced that it would be more normal that way. By the time I'd finished elementary school I'd never kissed a girl and the transition to middle school was by far worse. I was in the same school as Francesco who was considered one the brightest students of the school. Obviously, I couldn't hold a candle to him. And even then I didn't pay attention to the girls and my father couldn't believe it. I remember a girl named Charlotte. She was nice, cheerful, and energetic. We used to joke around. As you can imagine my dad ruined everything again. He tried in every way to shake me, only to make me close up even more. I was beginning to feel his behavior as an invasion of my space. I could feel the pressure growing on me.

Later on I liked other girls: Valentina, Rosanna, Valeria, and all were older than me. But I didn't know how to go about i. I was twelve and no one had explained to me how

to behave with a woman. The more time passed and more Dad became pressing. He asked me every day if I liked someone. He said it was not possible for me at my age

to not bee intersted. When, tired of being interrogated, I mentioned a name, it was worse. The girl in question was made the subject of attention and invitations. The whole family was to examine the problem. It became a riddle to be solved at the table and at family gatherings. Dad and Mom argued and I was in the middle, listening in silence. Dad often said to my mother, 'Mel isn't doing well because you sent him to school a year early. He was not ready. But he will make up for it in time. The real problem are the girls. Elena, he isn't growing right, don't you understand?' Mom replied: Let him be, he is young, let him grow up in peace! Instead we have to insist on his education, which will decide his future.' I listened and then I shut myself in my room and cried because I was disappointing my parents.

Without doubt it's tough to grow up with that kind of father, but now I want to analyze your precocious lack of interest towards school.

Surely studying was never a priority for me. I went to class unenthusiastic and bored. I couldn't wait to get home and play. I always preferred to watch television especially series and cartoons. I hardly ever read anything. My teachers weren't very good, so I never had a solid foundation. I loved watching and reading about soccer but my family didn't think it was suitable for my future.

Did you have friends at that time?

"My world was a bit closed. I got close to Vincenzo who was the son of a family of seven lived above us. We spent a lot of time together and had an album of picture cards. He was older than me. I really enjoyed his company. I also had friends from school. I invited them to my house to do homework or for lunch. There was no close friend in particular. It was a better in summer when we used to go to my family's beach house. It's beautiful and has a fantastic view. I consider it my pleasant retreat. Every summer I had a group of friends. Even then my father couldn't stay away from my private life. He couldn't stay home with Mom. He'd come down to the beach and look for us. He talked to the guys and offered everyone ice cream. He used to push me and my brothers to talk to girls. I almost forgot to tell you about my father's hobby: boats. He often went to the annual boat show in Genua. No one else in my family liked boats but he forced us to go. Obviously, we weren't enough. There had to be guests, preferably women. There would be huge scenes over it. It was grotesque.

The Gleam nods and says, I would like to know the reason behind your move to Rome in 1989.

"There were different reasons. The first was because my father was such a good engineer that he became the technical manager of an important construction company. He intervened when there were disagreements with the Ministry of Work, so his presence in Rome was necessary. The second reason was for his political disappointment. My father felt betrayed by the other party members, so he decided to have a change of scenery. Another reason was the decline of the farm he started where he spent a lot of his time, money and passion. He didn't want to run it anymore. Maybe the most important was that he wanted to ensure us a better life. He hoped for an environment with more opportunity. He was disgusted by Sicily and its inhabitants. To be honest, crime was at its worst. It was like the Far West. But the straw that broke the camel's back was when somebody tried to set fire to my house but fortunately the flames only burned the front door. We never found out who made the orders. A few days later, my dad told us that we would move to Rome in September. I protested, 'But Dad, I don't know anyone there. Don't make me leave my home, please… '. Dad beat a blow on the table and bellowed, 'I said that we move to Rome, Mel, that's all.' I cried all night. On the day we left, after packing the suitcases, I walked around the house with a heavy heart. I entered my playroom.

I wanted to bring everything with me, but I couldn't. My wolf-dog Rex,

seeing us go, howled in despair. It was the 18th of September 1989."

Very well, Mel, that's enough for today. We'll go back to this subject next time. I leave thinking who knows what he thinks about me.

CHAPTER 2

Rome

A new week has gone by. Talk to understand. Where will this journey take me? I've been thinking about my life and how the people in it have influenced it. It's like seeing my life in a movie and it's helping me to understand what happened to me. I'm once again in the waiting room, but this time my heart is relaxed and my mind is more carefree. Finally the Gleam opens the door, smiles and calls me in.

Hi, Melvin, how was your week?

It was better than usual.

Great. Let's talk about your arrival in Rome. How was it at the beginning? Did you have trouble adaptating?

We arrived in Rome on September 18, 1989, on Piero's birthday. In the new house I finally had my own room, after 12 years. I looked out of the window and looked at the street: it was a whole different scenario compared to my old magic castle. The day after I landed in Rome I had to begin the third year of middle school. I was emotional and worried about this new life. Just to make things easier my alarm clock didn't go off and I arrived half an hour late at my first day of school. I knocked on the door and I stepped in the classroom. I felt like everyone was staring. I walked towards the teacher's desk. The teacher was a very big man, grouchy and not very communicative. I introduced myself and, without raising his eyes from the register, he said, 'What do you want? Where are you from? Find you a seat and don't bother me.' The whole class started laughing while I was searching for a seat. The only vacant seat was next to Mario. After a few words I discovered that he lived near me. During recess the other kids came near me and asked questions. One of them said, out of the blue, 'Now you live in Rome. You have to support Lazio!' I told him that I was sorry but I didn't really like that team. During the day I met all of my other teachers. I thought I had passed the test. I went home with Mario. I was very wrong. After the initial curiosity, I became a target for my Sicilian accent and my clothes that weren't fashionable enough. No one talked to me. Actually, it would be fair to say that I didn't know how to start a conversation with them. I felt like they were from another world. Everyone was lightyears away from what I knew. Besides the environment, my education problems started to emerge. My Math teacher once said, 'Do you study Math in Sicily?' And the Italian teacher threw her hands up in the air after reading a composition and said, 'Son, you don't know the first thing about grammar or sentence structure.' The English teacher, after hearing my pronunciation and testing my knowledge of grammar, even wrote a letter to my mother. Finally, the Music teacher one day called me out in front of everyone and said, 'You're nothing, you're less than nothing. Do you understand?' At the end of the first semester my report was awful the only subjects where I was good at where geography and history. My mother was worried. The teachers were already convinced that I wasn't ready for the end of year exams. I felt lost and lonely. I spent my days watching TV and talking with Mario. I used to go to Villa Borghese to find other kids I could play soccer with. As usual, my father did what he always did: he got involved. On day my father noticed a girl called Francesca and he insisted: 'That's a very pretty girl. Is she one of your classmates?' I told him that I didn't know her, I had to lie because I was scared. Once he invited a girl called Piera over for lunch without telling me. She was impolite and gross. It was a horrible day. After that he convinced himself that I should date Anna. 'She's good and nice and she can help you study. Why don't you invite her over some time?' We started arguing and I tried to contain him, but it didn't work. One evening we fought because he wanted to throw a party at my house but I begged him not to. I didn't feel comfortable. There was no way to convince him otherwise. It was a fun night for him, while I was uneasy playing host and being forced to smile. In the second semester, thanks to my mother and some private lessons, I was able to raise my grades and have a chance to pass the exam. Despite everything, the teachers were convinced that I would not have passed the obstacle. Instead, as has often happened in my life when everyone gives up on me, I my reaction impresses. I passed my oral exam with flying colors. The same Math teacher had to admit it. The Italian teacher, who over time would become a family friend, confessed to my parents, 'Now I can say it, we admitted Mel to exams as an act of generosity, but then we were really surprised. Clearly, the kid has so much potential. Too bad for his weaknesses.' The first year went well. I passed the obstacle, but I felt really alone. I couldn't wait to go back to Sicily for my vacation.

The Gleam takes note of something and says, Without a doubt the first impact with the new city was not so easy and your parents' behavior was ruining your self-esteem. Go on, please.

"Warmed by the Sicilian sun, I was ready to start high school in September 1990 and Mario was once again in my class. The impact with the new class wasn't so good. All the kids were snobby and snotty. Only very few didn't get on my nerves. With my Italian and Greek teacher it was hate at first sight. She thought that I wasn't suitable for Classical studies. Doctor, I was aware that I wasn't brilliant, but she never missed the opportunity to add insult to injury. More than once she found it amusing to correct my schoolwork aloud. I still remember the laughter of my classmates. I still wonder why she was so nasty and aggressive. They were two awful years. Two years of ups and downs where I was alone in a kind of voluntary isolation. My father just couldn't get how I could be so reserved. He tried and tried to break down the wall. Usually at 14, kids have to pester their parents to get a moped. For me it was the other way around. He insisted so much that I was forced to ask for a car with three wheels, which was the latest fashion at the time. I liked the idea of driving something close to a car. He took his time to teach me to drive it. It was a bit stressful for both, but it was the first time we were doing anything together. It was a red Piaggio 50. In the end I was very happy to use it to go to school. When I arrived, everyone looked at me as if I were a Martian. Anyway, I thought about dropping out more than once. I couldn't keep up. The subjects just seemed to much for me. My father professed that I could take a year off but my mother didn't agree. At the end of the school year I was failing in two subjects: Greek and Latin. The following year I was also failing English. But here I should tell a backstory. After passing the retest of the first year, the nice teacher said, 'Bravo, you passed, but watch out! Next year I'll fail you in Italian, where you are really a disaster.' Sure enough, at the grading meetings of the following year, the teacher wanted to maintain her promise and it was only thanks to the intervention of the English teacher, who decided to fail me in her subject rather than see such a biased fellow teacher win. The principal, a family friend, advised me not to present myself at end of year exams because the teacher was determined to fail me regardless. At that point my father found a private school in Sicily and I went there to take my exams. I was grateful for his help, but I also felt as if I had run away from a commitment. Once again my father tried to find me a girlfriend, he was obsessed with Elsa: a cute but unpleasant girl. He invited her and her family over a couple of times. We had nothing in common. He urged me to call or invite her. One day, after an exhausting fight at home, I had to ask her in class if she would like persimmons as a gift. She looked at me like I was an alien. I went out only with Mario. Dad saw us and shook his head. He said to Mario, 'You tell him that you have to go out with girls. If not, then you'll both make a bad name for yourselves!'

The Gleam jots something down again and says, It's clear that between you and your father there is trouble communicating. His interventions are detrimental. Even your teachers don't help you with their behavior. But was there really no girl that you liked?

Yes, Beatrice, my brother's friend's sister. She was beautiful, her smile was magnificent. Her skin was white as snow and she had brown magnetic eyes. She knew she was beautiful and had a lot of guys at her feet. She was out of my league. Every time that I saw her, my heart skipped a beat and I couldn't even say a word. I used to watch her from far away and I was fine with that. I even got to the point where I used to write every time I saw her on a piece of paper. I managed to get a picture of her and I would keep it in my wallet. For the first time in my life a little part of me agreed with my father when he invited her over to my house or to the house in the countryside. He probably figured out that I liked her and he told me that I shouldn't be so shy and that we could arrange to have her come with us to Sicily. Beatrice was aware of my crush for her and she liked to provoke me by saying things like 'Why aren't you like your father?' He is so sweet and chivalrous with me.' I remember that I wasn't able to answer her provocations. I just stood there speechless. I was also jealous and when I happened to see her with other boys it made my blood boil. I knew that all of that jealousy made no sense at all. In my mind Beatrice was my muse. She lingered in my heart and mind for a while. It was probably my first big crush, even though it was only platonic.

Beatrice represented your first sentimental film and the blocks caused by your father prevented you from getting involved. I noticed that you talked about a house in the countryside. Would you kindly talk about it please?

My dad always wanted a house away from Rome where we could rest during the weekends. He found this house near the lake of Bolsena, a beautiful villa. After signing the contract, he said, 'You'll see just how many great parties we'll have here! Then I'll spend my old age here.' Well, Doctor, soon it became an obligation to go there every Sunday and holiday. Any protest was useless. Dad woke us up on Sunday morning and dragged us there. Of course, we weren't enough. During the week he started inviting guests. Once again fights and screams in the house were strong. I didn't want to invite anyone, but Dad forced me to do it systematically. He even bought a van, thinking he would use it to take kids to the countryside. I could no longer decide how to spend my Sundays.

And what about Sicily, what did you do when you were there?

"I used to spend my holidays there. The sun, the sea and some friends. They could've been days of joy, jokes and peace and quiet, if Dad didn't continuously try to intervene. I avoided like the plague, as a reaction, anyone he showed me, not

giving myself the chance to figure out if a person was worth getting to know or not. I understand that he was trying to help me. But, each day that passed, everything became more difficult. He hated soccer but he wanted to stay with me so he came every summer to watch me play in a tournament that I organized against my brother's friends. I called it Melvin Trophy. I organized it until last summer. He stayed there in the bleachers taking thousands of pictures. My dad was like that. There was no in between."

Sometimes the love of a father can be unintentionally painful and harmful. You have to be clever enough to distinguish the bad things from the positive ones. But let's go back to Rome. What happened after the second year of high school?

It was 1992 and my parents decided to send me to a private school near Piazza di Spagna. I wasn't comfortable with the idea to attend a private school because I always went to public ones and I thought I'd be admitting to an inferiority of my intelligence. Anyway, on my first day of school I sat in the first row just in front of a little guy with black hair. His name was Carlo and I didn't know it yet, but he was going to become one of my best friends. Finally my classmates were quite normal people and I started to meet new people and to hang out on Saturday evenings. For the first time Rome didn't seem so hostile. Even my teachers were the best teachers that I had ever had. They were well-prepared and kind. In particular I bonded with the History and Philosophy teacher. His name was Roberto. We talked about everything. He respected me. I couldn't believe that that year was going so well. I felt like I had found my place. Beatrice was still in my mind, keeping me company. Dad didn't take long to come to school and make friends with everyone. He invited the whole class more than once to the country house. For my sixteenth birthday he organized a surprise party in class. I was moved, I really wasn't expecting it.

Very good. So there was a bit of light in your life. But tell me, when did you start telling lies? You said to me that you are a liar. Here every lie has to be revealed and analyzed. I'm listening.

I started around that time when I told the whole class that I was going out with Flavia. I told the story as I saw it in my head. I don't even remember how it started, but I remember that it sounded credible. My classmates listened and smiled. Why did I start telling lies? I think that my father's behavior started taking a toll on me. I didn't feel normal in the eyes of others without a girlfriend. Lying made me feel stronger. I should've understood that it would be the beginning of a more serious problem. But back then it seemed harmless.

Wait a minute. Who's Flavia?

In September of '93 my brother Francesco organized a great party for his eighteenth birthday at the country house. There were a lot of people there and I was attracted to a girl that was sitting on the sofa. I looked at her closer and realized I knew her. It was Flavia, she was fifteen and the sister of one of my friends. I had seen her the first time in February at a dinner with our families. She was very cute and she was dressed in a classic way with long hair on her shoulders. I got closer and smiled. She smiled back. I invited her to dance but she turned me down. We chatted for a while. It all seemed to end there. The following Saturday, it was October 2nd, I got home and the housekeeper told me that had called on me, so with the help of my mother I decided to call her back. She told me that she and her friends normally went to see some volleyball matches on Sunday afternoons. I loved sports in general so I proposed to go with them the next time. That's how the volleyball group started. At the beginning it was only an excuse to get out of going to the countryside. I could nip any argument in the bud by saying that I was in the company of women. Then, as the weeks passed, the situation began to change. We used to call each other so many times and we spoke for hours and hours on end. We talked about everything. She was a fan of soccer, but unfortunately she rooter for Roma. We had a very similar personality and often argued. This routine went on for months. We saw each other only at the Sport Venue and then we had our long calls. I felt different. It was a new feeling to talk to a girl freely and without pressure. At home I started to get questions about us. I acted indifferent. Dad didn't think she was my type. When there were no matches to go and see, I was sad, but I didn't have the courage to call. For Christmas, I wanted to give Flavia a CD of Christmas songs. After the Holy Mass, I saw her leave the church with her parents. She was really beautiful, wearing a dark jacket and pants to match. We looked at each other for a few seconds. My heart was pounding. But I couldn't speak. She told me that maybe we could get in touch during the holidays, I nodded. I saw her get away in the crowd, without having had the courage to give her the CD.

The Gleam writes something and says, For the first time you were very close to achieving your first relationship with a girl, but once again you were blocked. Flavia was also young and immature in this sense and this didn't help you at all. I don't think that your father is the cause of all this. For today that's enough, see you next week, Melvin.

I was still thinking about my past, so I couldn't really hear a word the doctor was saying, I just smiled at him and left his office. Another visit down.

CHAPTER 3

1994-1995

By now I'm getting used to the environment and I feel at ease. I say hello to the secretary and then I sit down to wait for the Gleam. When he comes out of his office he smiles at me and says, Come in Melvin, it's your turn.

Hi, Melvin, how are you? You look much calmer…

I really feel better, Doctor. Seeing my life from this perspective is not so easy. I hadn't thought about certain things in a long time but it's helping me to understand a lot.

Let's begin from where we left off last week. It was a crucial point I think.

"We spent the Christmas holidays at my pleasant retreat. My soul was crushed because I hadn't had the courage to give Flavia her gift. We went back to Rome at the beginning of January. I had just arrived and was relaxing in my room when suddenly the phone rang. I thought it was my mother but I was wrong. It was her. Flavia. She asked me how I spent my holidays and how things were going. I tried to be pleasant and my heart started to beat like crazy. I could feel it in my throat! I tried to talk about homework and books. Her voice was hesitant, as if she were expecting me to say something else. I wanted so badly to tell her that I missed her but I didn't have the courage. The call was so surreal. I felt from the tone of her voice that she was disappointed. I knew that she was hoping for something else. She decided to end the conversation by saying, 'Well, see you around.' And like an idiot, I answered, 'Sure! At the first volleyball match!' In the following weeks we met up for the matches but she was different, more distant. She replied coldly. Then something clicked in my mind. Maybe I was not considered enough. Maybe it was a way of getting

attention or maybe it was the wrong way to ask for help. The fact is that I invented that I had been attacked by a so-called hooligan inside the Sports Venue during a match, and was hit in the head with I don't remember what. At first I said it in class, then I told my friend Gaspare on the phone, and he was shocked. I realized that I had exaggerated, but I could not take everything back. Pandemonium was unleashed. Gaspare's mother phoned my father to inform him what had happened. Obviously Dad had no idea and he wondered what had really happened. I continued to lie, trying to make it credible, and I told him that I was fine. The Gaspare's father, a well-known journalist of an important Roman newspaper, wrote an article about the incident, denouncing the violence of the times. I was upset with myself and what I had set up. Twos days later I was home alone and I was bored, sad. I wanted to do something different so I decided to get drunk. I