HOME | DD

Description
I stopped in the stairwell outside the gym, I was just moments from laying my hand on the door handler, when something snapped inside of me. No more treadmill, I could hear myself protesting, no more weight lifts or stationary biking. As soon as I realized I was fed up with the situation there was only one course of action I could think of. I turned around, dashed out of the building and back into the heat of the Eternal City.

I knew that tracking down a writer wasn't an easy task. These people are everywhere and nowhere at the same time, a state of affairs I'm sure reminds some of them of one conception of deity. Is it called Pantheism? I cannot remember. I probably shouldn't know anyway. Bottom line was that I was stuck with searching for her in the city and Rome is a big place.

4 hours later my feet hurt and I was getting cantankerous. I had looked everywhere. Everywhere I could remember having been, or where scenes with other characters had taken place, or that I'd heard described by other people; finally washing up at the Salient Queen a bar surprisingly few people knew about. I had been there once for a meeting about a job that got derailed. The meeting had always felt like filler, but I liked the venue. Dark, subterranean-feeling, dirty light filtered through big, stained glass windows. It looked and felt exactly as described so I thought it likely she'd really been there, rather of merely having read about it. She wasn't there now, though.

I had a cappuccino nevertheless before leaving and heading down a small alley. It was mid-afternoon and finally starting to get colder, at least in the shadows. So I walked, and I walked some more, past the old remnants of what once was and where the tourists like to hang about, down the Spanish street, through crowds of Asians – I can never tell the Chinese from the Japanese. Then over and down into the Vatican because I didn't seem to know it very well, since I'm not exactly a Roman Catholic, I've could have been an atheist, had I bothered, but religion holds no interest to me. Zip. Nada.

No sign of her anywhere. I didn't know what I was expecting, if I was hoping I'd just run into her on a street corner or something, but it didn't happen. She evidently didn't know what was going to happen next, how to get me onto the next series of events. But the short paragraphs were a giveaway, she was treading water. It was a hiatus. Therefor I made my own choice.

I was down on the fringes of the old town when I spotted another hole in the wall sushi joint. I had already been inside of about ten and she's forever dropping this place called Harajuku into the run of play; situating events there, revisiting recollections, or having people pick up a take-out to engineer a beat of real life texture. The Harajuku was well-described, as though she'd actually been there, but there is no sushi joint with that name anywhere in Rome, so it was clearly made up, a blend between sushi joints all over the place.

The interior of this place was big enough to have three separate, yet miniscule tables marching down the left wall and it looked comfortable and welcoming. It smelled like always, soy and steamed rice. A young couple was sitting by one of those place, looking into each other's eyes, saying nothing. Puppy love having nowhere to go.

Weird thing was, the place felt familiar. If that sounds strange, as I didn't know the place, but it felt like I could have. Then I realized that somebody was looking at me. I turned and looked back at him, he was on a highchair by the counter by the window. Late twenties, with sharply defined and well-described facial features. Handsome, but that's not what struck me most about him. It was those eyes, they looked way too young for his body, as if he was just a pre-schooler.

I took a pace in his direction. "Do I know you?"
"Don't see how."
"That's what I thought. Why are you staring at me?"
"You're a beautiful lady. And I'm a hetero guy."
"But why do I recognize you? You're a celeb of some kind."
"No, I'm a pharmacist. They seldom make the limelight." he shook his head, sat back in his chair, ready to disengage. "Sorry to have bothered you."

I was struck by a crazy thought. "Who's your writer?"
"Patricia Celli," he said, diffidently, fully expecting the name not to mean anything to me.
I stared back at him. "No way!"
"What?," he said. "You're... you're one of hers too?"
"Well yes, and no. Actually I'm in a Patricia Cell novel; different name, different genre, but same city."
He looked at me, dumbfounded. "That's outside the box. I never met someone else before. I mean, the people in this place, obviously, but never someone from another story."
"Me neither," I said as I climbed the highchair next to him. "You mind?"
"Go ahead," he smiled, and I sat. "I'm Paolo."
"Gianna," I took the hand he offered, looking into those youthful eyes.

We looked at each other for a full minute. It felt very weird. I've met other characters before, of course; but only the ones from my own story. It was like Paolo said, they had their place and were all situated in relation to the star at the centre of their firmament, which would be me. Paolo wasn't like that. He was totally other. I had no idea what he was about.

"How come you're here?" he eventually asked.
"I got tired of it," I said. "Sick of just going to the gym to torture myself to not get an ounce to stick to my hips. And she barely even knows the area. Spent half a morning walking around it, like, five years ago, that's all. There's a couple of streets that are pretty convincing and she nailed a few local shops; including a deli and an espresso house - but after that it's basically atmosphere and a few well-chosen adjectives."
"How long do you have?"
"About a hundred and fifteen thousand words."
He stared at me. "You're in a novel?"
"I'm the protagonist."
"Lucky girl! I'm only in a short story, and even by the standards of the form, it's pretty brief. Three thousand words. Whole thing takes place right here in this sushi joint, I don't even get to go out the door. I know my name and I know my profession, but I know very little else. I don't know the city but its name – Rome. I can see it, though that the window, but that's all I get. And you know the kids over there, they just sit there holding hand. He has one line, he orders maki rolls. They're just interior, poor things."
"That's tough."
"Tough is right, and look at what I'm wearing!"

I had already noticed that Paolo's clothes were nondescript. Jeans and a shirt in some indeterminate colour. Shoes that I couldn't even see. "Pretty vague."
"Exactly," he said. "I don't have a jacket or sunglasses because I don't do anything but be here, so she didn't bother to describe it, not even a thin jacket hanging over the back of my chair!"
"That chair doesn't have a back," I replied. Then again, old Patsie can't be bogging down with extraneous details, not at your kind of word length. Besides, if she did mention a coat, people might assume it was going to become relevant at some point and get pissed off when it wasn't. Any good editor would pick on her for it, blue line it out."
"Perhaps, but it gets cold in here in the middle of the night."

I thought about that and about the idea of being trapped in a location forever. It made me feel cold too. "Paolo, I'm going to find her," I said. "Tell her that I'm grateful for being; though some pretty harsh things happen to me, especially in the back story; but I'd like some broader horizons now."
"Find her? How do you hope to do that?"
"By searching the city; the parts of it she knows, at least. That's what I'm doing now and it is how I ran into you. Which is something that has never happened to me earlier and that makes me think that I'm achieving something at least."
"But what are the odds of finding her?"

"Not good, I know. But weren't there any coincidences in your story?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Things that were kind of convenient, that helped drive the plot forward without too much hard work?"
He thought about it. "Not really."
"There were in mine. Small things, she was happy to pave the way with circumstances that were a bit convenient."
"I guess in a novel you have to, maybe. My thing, happens in real time, so she didn't need to resort to that kind of kludge."
"Right. But given that I'm driving this story, I'm hoping that my rules apply. That it's possible that if I keep on walking, there's a small coincidence out there waiting to happen. Like meeting you was."

I waited for Paolo to think about this. It was strange, but also exciting, to be dealing with somebody new, somebody who wasn't subservient to my protagonist status. It felt as if doors might be opening. I didn't know where they would lead, but I was beginning to think that I could find them if I alleged I could. Maybe I could make it back to that leafy town where I had been for those brief first chapters. I could start a new life, do new things. Perhaps I could even find someone, fall in love. Now, Patricia Celli wasn't into romance, but perhaps just a little something as an extra spice. That would be great, but actually any new would do, a place where I could stretch my wings and find some other way to be.

"Gina?" Paolo was frowning at me. "Are you okay?"
"What do you mean?"
"You stopped talking. Just sat there looking intense."
"Sorry, I had a stretch of interior monologue. Slightly lyrical. Takes a while to get through."
"I guess you first-person guys get a lot of that. Me, I'm in third. I just do stuff, pretty much."
"So let's do stuff! " I suggested to him. "Let's get out of this generic place and go looking for her!"
"I can't."
"Why?"

He looked sheepish. "I don't think I can leave here. I've never been through that door. My whole life, I've been in here. I think that's it for me."
"Have you ever tried?" I asked. "Gone up to the door and pulled on the handle and seen what happens?"
"Well, no," He looked down at his feet. "I'm just supposed to do what I do, right?"
"Not necessarily. I think she kind of likes when some of us does something on our own accord. There was a minor character in my book, he dies in the end, but he sometimes got the chance to do his own thing, and the writer would work around it. Maybe you're the same way."

"I don't want to die in the end."
"No, of course not. Not saying that's going to happen. Just... if you're like me, if you're the narrator, the audience knows you're going to live; unless the guy's prepared to do something tricky. So there's a set arc for me and I kind of have to stick to it, because I manifest the story and vice versa and she cannot screw with that. But with the more minor characters; no offense; she can let them roam free a little more, see where they end up."
"None taken," he paused. "So what did you get?"
"A university. Brief. A marriage, even briefer. Then I got my antique shop, my flat and some blocks around. A gym, I'm quite often in the gym."
"You were married?"
"Yup."
"Lucky you."

"No, he was an asshole. A rich asshole, mind you but an asshole nevertheless."
"My character's not a very nice guy either. There's a pervading sense of guilt throughout, though it's never clear what for."
"Doesn't matter. Come on, let's go!" I stood, and waited for him to follow suit.

"I just don't think I can, Gina," he muttered, looking wretched. "I look out that window and all I see is two-dimensional." We turned and looked together. The light outside was beginning to fade. "Barely even that," he resumed. "It's just two sentences, to me."

I felt bad for him, and realized how lucky I was. "I'll be back," I promised. "I have to keep looking for her now that I've set my mind to it, but I will come back."
"Really?"
"Sure. I know where you live, right? And you're in this new story now, too. That's something, at least. You branched out. You're recurring."
"Yeah, I guess. Though I'm still stuck in the same place."
"I'll be back tomorrow."
"Okay," Paolo said shyly. "That would be cool."

When I went through the door I heard him wish me luck. I turned back and winked. "Thanks. And keep the faith, my friend."

When I stepped outside however, everything changed. I knew right away that a decision had been made. It has happened to me before. I stroll aimlessly through a chapter, with lots of thinking and not much doing, and then suddenly there's a blank line break and then the next event arrives. I noticed a woman on the other side of the street. She was wandering along, slowly, aimlessly scrolling on her phone, then she lifted her face and looked my way, but not seeing me as she glanced across at the sushi joint which I had just left and I could see her wondering if that was what she wanted for takeaway.

I had never seen her before, but I immediately knew who she was. I knew that I had found her. She looked a little bit like me, but a bit shorter and pudgier and a little older, with more lines in her heart-shaped face and a sagging chin. Less distinctive overall. Suddenly I realized what this could mean.

I felt myself smiling as I saw her eyes snatching on this and that; store fronts, parked scooters, passers-by; absorbing everything and passing it down to the part of her mind that stored these snippets of local colour for later use. Then I turned away, suddenly petrified, not wanting her to see my face. When I left my well known streets that morning a meeting had been exactly what I wanted. Now I didn't, the notion scared me.

Then, I heard something distinct behind me. As I turned, I spotted Paolo standing in the doorway of the sushi shop, and the sound he made was a yelp of disbelief. He had done it. He had tried the door and opened it. Cautiously, he went out onto the pavement. "Gina!" he exclaimed, seeing me. "Look!"
"Paolo!" I called back at him. "You did it!" The joy I felt was partly for him, but mainly for myself. He had come out because of me! I had met him and changed things. If that was possible, then maybe everything else was too. Perhaps we were all capable of independent movement, even worthy of further development.

Paolo was staring around in wonder. He took a couple of steps up the pavement, turned and looked back the other way. "I did it!" he shouted. He waved his hands triumphantly in the air, still hollering, making a lot of noise now. Enough that it reached across the street, evidently. Because at that moment, Patricia Celli looked up. She spotted Paolo of course as he was dancing around on the pavement. She frowned as if something about him struck her, but she wasn't sure what. It could be that she was merely wondering if she could use him for something, not realizing that she'd already had. She'd probably forgotten poor Paolo.

Then her eyes skated past him and landed on me and she froze. She knew who I was!

She was bound to, I guess. I'd recognized her immediately and she had spent nearly a year with me inside of her head. Nearly every day, every working hour. Could be that she'd already been thinking about me as well, only moments earlier. She kept on looking at me, blinking. The hand not holding the phone came up to rub her eyes.

"You're Patricia Celli, right?" I asked but she started to back away up the street. I felt confused; as this was the last thing I'd expected. But then I realized. She was scared. I'd assumed that she would understand how things worked, but maybe not. I supposed that Patricia Celli and her likes just to put down the words and chased their deadlines, not realizing what came to life between the sentences the way Pallas was born from Jove's head. No, she thought she was losing hers mind.

"It's okay," I said, hurrying up my side of the street, trying to catch up with her.
"Go away," she said, between clenched teeth, hurrying backwards as I got closer. Her eyes, the same blue as mine, were wide. "Go away!"

"It's okay," I insisted, trying to sound comforting. "I've got no problem with you. Not anymore. I think I know why you're here. And that's cool. It's great, in fact. I don't want to scare you or anything, I just wanted to say 'hi' and, you know, wish you good luck."
"You aren't real," she hissed as she kept backing away, lifting a hand as if to ward me off. Then she realized that she was right up against the main street and that she had to stop. "I'm very tired, that's all."
"Absolutely," I said. "You are. I just happen to look a bit like a girl you wrote about. Look, we'll go our separate ways now. It's the way it should be. But let's at least shake hands, okay? No hard feelings. And, you know, obviously I love your work."

I raised my right hand and Patricia Celli's eyes got wider still. Then she began to back away again, so scared now that she had forgotten where she was standing and stepped right out into the street. The next moment a car smacked straight into her, and she flew up on the bonnet and then down on the hardtop to the sound of blaring horns and screaming voices.

****

I haven't been back to the sushi joint. I said I would but I don't know what to say to Paolo. I don't know how to explain what happened. I don't want to have to describe how it felt to look down at Patricia Celli lying sprawled like broken doll in the street, with all the blood leaking out and watching her eyes as they went from clear to glassy to frosted. I don't want to admit that I was the author of that event.

I also don't want to see Paolo again, because I tracked down one of Patricia Celli story collections. I found it in the antique bookstore just by the corner to the main street right where I live, the little joint I've never been in before. Just like so many others. I read it, it's rather good, but kind of spooky and it heads toward a dark, bad conclusion. I don't want to have to explain to Paolo that he do die in the end.

And I don't. I'm sitting at a café now, a place I never been into before, and I'm eating a cake. Earlier Gina didn't taste cakes because she was conscious about her weight. Now it doesn't bother me anymore. I've stopped going to the gym, instead I walk and walk down the streets of Rome, discovering more and more of the eternal city. Perhaps I've put on weight as I've traded in salad and water to steak and pasta and wine. But I don't care, I don't step on the scale regularly every morning anymore. There's a world outside Rome too. And one day I'll take a look.

Patricia Celli is dead and Gina is free to do as she chose.