A Little Story

In Rome, on any given day of the week when Italians have an extra marital fling, they call it “una storia” – a story.  Nothing major. Not grounds for separation, home wrecker, I’m gonna divorce you and take you to the cleaners.  Just a story.

“I tell you, it’s a shame you’re blind,” I say to the woman beside me, “because I’m gorgeous and well, I think you’re missing out.”

She laughs.  I lift my head and smile at the guy sitting opposite.  

“And that guy’s gorgeous too,” I say winking.  “He wants to come over and join our party. Come on over, that’s it.  I’m Ros and what’s your name? Pete?  Hi Pete.  And this is… Mirabelle.  Mirabelle? Wow, I was not expecting that.”

Pete laughs.  His shoulders move up and down.  He can’t hide his nature.  Powerful shoulders.  The scent of shower gel rising.

He catches the eye of a woman passing by.  She smiles and sits down at the nearest free seat.

Mirabelle taps her cane.  “I was named after the minister’s wife.”

“The minister’s wife?”  I say.  “She sounds like a hottie. Was she?”

“No, not really,” says Mirabelle.  “She was plain. They had seven children.”

I bend closer to Pete and whisper, “Not that plain.”

Mirabelle laughs too but she leans back, sensing something between me and Pete that excludes her.

“I grew up in the church too,” I say, trying to be serious.  But I can’t help adding, “Yeah. Some good lookers there too.  That Monday night meeting – phew!”

Pete laughs again.  Mirabelle laughs.  The woman who just sat down laughs and the couple opposite begin to laugh.  We allow the moment to unfold as it was intended, like a letter, uncensored.

“I don’t know what’s come over me,” I say.  “I’m not usually this forward...  At least not on a weekday... Unless of course it’s a Mon-day…”

Pete is laughing with all his teeth now.  Good teeth.  Brought up with the right values kind of teeth.  Clean fingernails, a light tan, outdoor hobbies that involve nature.  A natural man.  A man who marries his childhood sweetheart, has plump healthy babies and a wife who can sing.  A man travelling back from a meeting in Wisconsin, who orders juice on the flight home then changes his mind and asks for a beer.  A man who always says please and thank you and holds the door for a lady.  A man who looks the lady in the eye and allows…

...the twinkle of bright blue eyes to become bedroom eyes, stiffened bodies pushed against the walls of elevators and hotel bedrooms, dreams shared, truths told, numbers exchanged…

An announcement over the tannoy.  Flight BA540 to Rome now boarding.  I stand up.

“That’s my ride Mirabelle,” I say.  “It was so lovely to meet you.”  I reach forward and pat her hand.

Pete stands up.  “Really nice to meet you Ros.”  We shake.  “Hope you have a safe flight home.”

His hand is firm in mine.  His fingertips reach all the way to my wrist.

I blink. I offer the green of my eyes for him to think about on his journey home.  Just a little story.  I glance back.  Nothing to write home about. 


Nina Couser


This short story was first published in Arthorse E-Zine Inner World, 2021

It actually almost happened.  There was an airport, and there was a blind woman.  Was Pete also there? You decide...

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