The ugly part of life is that there are no instructions, unlike a cell phone. You can follow those instructions, and if the phone doesn’t work, there is the warranty. You take it back, and they give you a new one. With life it’s not like that. If it doesn’t work, they don’t give you a new one; you have to keep the one you have—used, dirty, and malfunctioning. When it doesn’t function right, you can lose your appetite.
“Leo, you haven’t eaten anything, are you sick?” asks Mom. I can’t hide anything from her.
“I don’t know, I’m not hungry,” I answer dryly.
“Then you are in love.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, ‘I don’t know’? Either you are, or you aren’t. … ”
“I’m confused, it’s as if I had a million-piece puzzle without the complete image to start from. I have to do everything by myself.”
“But Leo, that’s the way life is. You build the road as you go along, with the choices you make.”
“But if you don’t know how to choose?”
“Try to discover the truth and choose.”
“And what is the truth about love?”
Mom remains silent. I knew it, there is no answer, no instructions.
“You need to search for it in your heart. The most important truths are hidden, but this doesn’t mean they don’t exist. They are more difficult to find.”
“And what have you discovered in all these years, Mom?”
“That love doesn’t want to have, love only wants to love.”
I don’t answer. I start eating again while my mother washes the dishes in silence.
My cell phone is on the table, next to my glass. I take it and send a message to Silvia: “Tomorrow, actually today, at five o’clock at the bench. I want to speak to you! A question of life or death.”