Hi, I’m Michael

Another day, another cup of coffee. A crash from beyond the kitchen doors jolted me and all the other customers - a plate, or maybe two, had smashed onto the floor.

Uncle Bill sighed from behind the bar, as a muffled “Sorry!” from my cousin, Lillian, reached our ears.

Despite making it all the way into her late twenties in one piece, she’d remained as clumsy as ever. Between her and Kami, I genuinely wondered how much of Marilyn’s monthly budget went into repairs and spare tableware.

Every week, from Monday to Friday, I came to my uncle and aunt’s coffee shop to write the rough drafts for ‘Poesie’ - always at the same time, getting the same order, working at the same pace. It was a safe routine, comforting even, as much as Marilyn’s itself, and neither had changed at all over the years.

Halfway through my cappuccino, taking notice of what I’d highlighted in my books and of where I’d left sticky tabs, I scribbled more ideas for my next article. Like always, I wrote on paper first - it just felt so much more satisfying to fill up a blank sheet with ink.

The distant ringing of the coffee shop’s phone called for Uncle Bill’s attention, back in the kitchen. The small distraction, however, led my gaze to fixate past the large front windows, where people were walking and chatting along Corbetta’s historical high street. All while, inside, Lillian’s heels kept on familiarly clicking against the marble floor.

I took a deep breath, peaceful smile gracing my face, hoping things would never-

“BOOM, baby!” Jeff kicked the front door open “Wassup~? Mikey? Lils?”

The explosive entrance had startled me, but I was not surprised.

“Hey, Jeff!” Lillian distractedly welcomed, carrying on with her duties.

My brother shouldn’t have been here.

“I thought you were meant to be in class” I deadpanned.

“And, I thought you were meant to get a real job- Hah! Just kidding, kidding- How’s your blog?”

“It’s not a blog, it’s an online magazine”

“Same thing”

With a sigh, I let it go - if he was skipping school again, something was up.

“Tell me what happened”

“Nothing really” he dropped himself in the seat before mine “Aside from my prof kicking me out of class, again. So, I left the premises” in contrast to his nonchalant shrug, his tone grew in annoyance “He said I was being disrespectful- But, I know I wasn’t! He just thinks I’m useless…”

“Well, you’re not”

“Try telling him that”

Jeffrey had been labelled as a ‘problematic student’, which meant that he’d ended up in a vicious cycle of no support at his school. A dynamic that was, unfortunately, fairly common in Italy - it was no wonder that a third of students dropped out before getting their high school diploma. Either you were an impeccable pupil, or you were cast to the side.

My brother was a bright kid, though - his teachers just refused to see it, which left him to deal with all the consequential frustration. Therefore, I knew there was no point on insisting, or lecturing him, or trying to motivate him to go back to school.

What he really needed was enough space to blow off some steam.

“After this-” he huffed “-I’m gonna meet up with Bello and the rest of the cumpa”

“I’m guessing they got kicked out, too”

“No, not today… But, they’ll be out in a few more hours” a little mischievous smirk snuck its way onto his expression “Thought I’d come by to bug you, in the meantime”

That was endearing, but I had to warn him-

“Uncle Bill will find out even sooner, then”

He slouched forward, reluctant to admit reality.

“I’m sure the school’s called him by now…”

“Also, Aunt Cel is gonna kill you”

Our aunt had always been impressively strict when it had come to our schooling - few other things were prioritised as much, while under her roof.

“I’ll deal with her later”

He fell uncomfortably silent, secretly sorry to have likely let her down, once again.

Clicking heels and dialect conversations from surrounding tables kept our ears occupied.

When Viola walked out of the kitchen and proceeded to hang a paper near the entrance, Jeff stopped her, grabbing the opportunity to leech onto a new subject.

“What’s that?”

“An ad” she flatly replied “Shit keeps getting busier around here. We need another waitress”

Brief and rough, as always - that was Viola for you.

As she marched straight back to the kitchen, Uncle Bill stomped out of it, visibly angry. It took him a few seconds to realise Jeff was even here.

“THIS is where you are!?” he scolded, pointing our way “I just got a call from your school! What the hell were you thinking? You better get your ass back over there-!”

“They don’t want me there anyways” my brother frowned, arms crossed “So, why bother?”

“This can’t keep happening, Jeffrey!” Uncle Bill insisted “Every other day you’re skipping! This is your final year-! Even if you hate the place, just do what you gotta do to get your maturità diploma and get the hell out! If you fail, you’re just gonna be stuck there another year-!”

“I don’t care!” Jeff barked back “Who knows where I’ll be in another year-”

“Cleaning toilets at Destriero, if they’ll even hire you! C’mon, do it for your Aunt Cel”

Jeff stayed quiet.

I’d learned to keep out of these conversations.

“Fine” he groaned “I’ll go back”

“Good”

My brother got up, with a lot less energy than when he’d come in, and took his leave.

“See ya later, bro”

“Later, Jeff”

But, I knew he wasn’t going back to school.

……

Fortunately, my routines were the same every day: going to my uncle’s coffee shop in the morning to draft ideas for the magazine, going back home in the afternoon to type out the article, then, spend my evening answering emails, reading books and, perhaps, even writing some of my own poetry - if inspiration overcame me.

Just like always.

So, around noon, I packed up my stationery, ready to return to my courtyard. I would cook some tortellini - I always had a carb-based dish for lunch - and get straight back to work.

Entering my house was a daily joy, as it managed to stay nice and cool inside, no matter how warm the outdoors were, with stone walls erected centuries prior, typical Mediterranean tiled floors, and marble stairs… The only flaw was not its fault - the humidity of the Pianura Padana would make the paint crack and fall off the walls. I regularly had to clean up after it.

Within a second of closing the front door and putting my bag down, someone knocked. I had a clear idea of who it could be. And, I was right-

“I made too many mandorle atterrate!” Nonna Rosi grinned through her wrinkles, eyes sparkling behind her thick lenses “Here! Take’em!”

She handed over her latest batch of the Pugliesi sweets, wrapped in crunched up foil. Quickly placing them on my marble counter, so the chocolate wouldn’t have the chance to melt, I made sure to thank her.

“Eh, bravo ragazz’!” she took the cigarette out of her mouth “Come by more often! Otherwise, I’m gonna have to hunt you down!”

“I will, Rosi” I smiled - she was a lovely lady, but I braced myself for her cussing “Don’t worry-”

“Good! Or else-!” her hand swirled in the air for emphasis “Imma gonna have to tell you to go to fanculo!”

She burst into hoarse nicotine scented laughter, making me chuckle back.

“I know, Rosi, I know”

“Bravo! Ti voglio bene, you know dat!”

“Yes, Rosi - ti voglio bene, anch’io”

And with that, I shut the door.

As I nibbled on one of the mandorle atterrate, I knew that the likelihood of me going to her place for a visit was quite low.

It was time to get back to my routine.