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304 pages, Paperback
First published March 2, 2023
Of course, now I know Vita’s little bird-heart, I remember those one-sided conversations differently. I see that my frequent muteness was a convenience to someone who was soft-feathered and sharp-eyed. And who sang away to herself in my presence, happily and without interruption, for she knew I had no song with which to call back.
The year of Vita began as a demonstration of sunshine, a visual performance of summer without real heat. Those early days were memorably bright with a hazy quality of light promising a warmth it did not provide. On reflection, that time seems now like something of a dress rehearsal for what arrived later that year, for the explosion of heat that paced up and down our hazy streets, with a fixed grin and outstretched arms aflame.
I did like my life, and I did not want to live like her, or like Vita, however easy they found it. Everything came effortlessly to them, and was therefore replaceable and without value. Dolly does not know if she has it in her to struggle, I thought. Or even to try hard at something, or with someone. She does not know what it is to be misunderstood, or disliked, or simply not adored. When I put my hands on my plants, or immerse myself in Sicilian culture, I am gifted with something more than I really am. The awkwardness of being no longer exists when I am part of these other worlds and aligned with something bigger. I would rather be a tiny person who wonders and trembles at their surroundings than rule over everything, manipulate it to my preference, and in doing so, come to despise it.