A Veil of Glass and Rain by Petra F. Bagnardi Read Free Book Online

fond memory of the place; after the
    gigs they actually payed us, instead of just
    offering the band drinks and snacks, like other
    clubs and bars usually do.
    The sound of an indie-rock American band
    welcomes us. The DJ, who now occupies the
    same stage where we played, is all sweaty and
    jerky movements. He looks young, and this is
    probably one of his first jobs.
    The small, rounded tables are all taken. The
    dance floor is crowded.
    I follow my friends to the bar. Marco orders
    for Clém, Virginie and himself pint-size glasses
    of beer, and for me a soda.
    “Where is your friend?” Clém asks, her
    mouth close to my ear.
    Between sips of my sweet drink I look
    around; my gaze sweeps over the dancing and
    chattering people, I'm in no hurry to glimpse
    him, as I fear what I may find. My heart
    stutters when I finally catch sight of him. He's
    wearing black jeans and a dark red button-
    down shirt. The dim colors make is bright blue
    eyes stand out. He appears older and
    charming..
    He's with Enrico and the two women I met
    at the museum. They're sitting around a small
    table; hands nursing drinks, mouths laughing,
    knees grazing.
    I indicate him to Clém with the neck of my
    soda bottle. “That's him.”
    “You want to go say hi?” She demands in my
    ear.
    I shake my head. “Let's dance.”
    Clém motions for Marco and Virginie to
    follow us on the dance floor. They both nod
    and abandon their half-finished drinks on the
    bar. Marco grabs Virginie's hand. Clém wraps
    her arm protectively around my shoulders and
    guide me through the hopping and writhing
    crowd.
    During our first months in Rome, when
    everything was still new, including our
    friendship, we used to go dancing more often.
    At first it was just me, Clém and Virginie. The
    days were spent attending classes and film
    projections, or visiting art exhibits organized
    by other students. At night we went to parties
    and clubs with cheap entrance fees. It was
    amusing for a while, but then we felt the need
    to embrace new experiences.
    Clém and Virginie began to take Italian
    language classes; Clém founded her indie
    theater group; Virginie started to hang out
    with various Italian guys.
    “It's very good for the language,” she
    explained.
    I met Alessio and Ivan, who already knew
    Marco, and we created our punk-rock band.
    Our small group became larger.
    The university we all attend has special
    scholarships and programs for students from all
    over the world. The professors speak both
    Italian and English, though classes are mainly
    taught in Italian.
    In our heterogeneous circle of friends we
    communicate mainly in English. For Clém,
    Virginie, Ivan and Alessio it is easier. Marco
    loves it, because it's the language of his
    favorite music.
    For me, English is a link to Eagan.
    I dance with my friends until the crowd
    pressing around us becomes unbearable. With
    the excuse of needing some water, I drift
    away. I know I should find Eagan, it would be
    rude not to. Once again though, as my eyes
    find him among the other people, my heart
    lurches. Along with his friends, he's moved to
    the dance space. Eagan is not really dancing,
    more like swaying. The woman with dark hair
    has her hands on his shoulders. I recall her
    name now: Sara.
    She's wearing a light-blue, strapless tight
    dress, that showcases her curvy body. The
    color perfectly matches Eagan's eyes. They
    seem perfect together.
    I consider my outfit; a black mini-skirt, with
    black stockings, a white blouse and a black
    corset, which gives the illusion that my breasts
    are fuller. No make up, except for deep-purple
    lipstick. It is what I used to wear for our gigs.
    Ivan calls it “punk-rock-elegant” style.
    Tonight, a small velvet shoulder purse
    completes the outfit.
    When Marco saw me earlier, he whistled his
    appreciation. “Welcome back, rock star!”
    Now I feel inadequate.
    A hand on my shoulder catches my
    attention. I turn and find Clém beside me. She
    glances at Eagan and his