Toast, Tomatoes, and Scrambled Eggs

By Ava Marie

 

I live in a big Tuscan house out on the Amalfi Coast in Italy, but it’s not like any normal big house. The bottom floor is occupied by my Nonna Augustine and Nonno Thomas, high-school sweethearts. The top floor is occupied by my parents and me, overlooking the vast view of the ocean. It’s a pretty simple family, and I like to think so myself. I love them all so dearly; they make me feel safe, but when I’m on my own, I’m terrified. I’m scared I’ll mess everything up, or that I won’t ever reach my life goals. I’m scared of life. I’m scared of living.

Grades are a big part of my life, and I’m assuming it’s a big part of yours, too. I think grades are one of the main reasons I’m scared. What if I fail, or what if I mess up all my hard work? Do those thoughts ever cross your mind, too? And this isn’t just for grades, but… anything! See how terrifying it is to live? Constant standards and harsh expectations are being thrown at you. What have we become as a society?

My parents always encourage me, and it helps, but I’m still not convinced I’ll be alright. When I want to be convinced, I go to Nonna Augustine and ask her things I could do or just get some weight off my shoulders. She always knows what to say about everything. Sometimes, I wonder how old she really is. 

Back to the conversation beforehand, yeah, I’ll be honest, I’m a pretty good student; straight A’s, pianist + guitarist, team captain, and piano contest winner. But I’m not satisfied, I’m never satisfied with how I live. 

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Nonna: Grandmother

Nonno: Grandfather

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𓆝𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

I lean against the travertine railing, my fingers tracing the small indents of holes in it. I look out into the coast, the sun setting, ships sailing, my neighborhood’s music swimming through the air. Everything feels so calm and nice, the sound of the piano lifting me, but it’s only those small bits where you can really appreciate life for what it is. Then, life throws things at you suddenly, and you’re back on that track of feeling lost and scared again. Why can’t I stop being so scared? 

Mom calls me down for dinner, asking me to set up the dinner table. I rush down the steps, my hand on the circular railing, brushing against the wooden surface. I enter the kitchen, wind pushing my hair back, the scent of Chicken Piccata in the air. The sunset beams into the kitchen, and the rest of my family walks in. I love this, why can’t this be forever? 

I finish setting up the tablecloth, plates, and silverware on the table. Everyone sits at the table while Mom and I bring the black pan to the center, the heat rising into the air, the tea kettle whistles, its high pitch in the air. I sit down with Mom on my side and Nonna Augustine across from me. I play with my food, my fork scraping the plate ever so slightly. 
 

And of course, Nonna Augustine notices and speaks up.

“Allegra, you haven’t touched the piano in a while. Why is that?”

I look up and see her eyes gaze upon me, the genuine stare into my eyes. She smiles at me and nods her head.

“Well?...”

“Uh, I, uh,” I clear my throat, that awkward feeling settling into the pits of my stomach. I feel myself shrinking, as if the house were towering over me, as if I were nothing but a grain of sand, resting upon the beach, waiting to be washed away. 

“I don’t know, I’m… busy.”

She stares at me, then glances at the rest of the people at the table, especially Mom. Mom greets her gaze with a slight hold back, but ends up nodding at Nonna. What was that about? 

“Busy with what?”

“You know,” I shrug my head, the “obviously” look, “school?” 

“Mhm… I see. Don’t you think it’s good if you give yourself a break sometimes? Play the piano, have a little fun.”

Mom decides to come into the talk too, and she grabs my hand, caressing it, even caressing my hair, as if I were a little girl. She looks at Dad and Nonna and Nonno as she speaks, as if they had all planned this talk. Is that what that look was about before? Weird. 

“Yeah, Allegra, Nonna’s right, it’s good to take a break sometimes, even when you think you don’t need it. It’s like when I work, sometimes I have things to do, but it doesn’t stop me from doing the things I want to do.” 

I sigh, everyone looking at me. I finally answer, and they all relax, as if they were waiting for their test results. 

“Fine, fine, I’ll play. Is that okay? Does that sound better for you guys?”

“Oh yes, good, good, would you be a darling and play for us right now, Allegra?”

Right now? Are they kidding me? 

“Oh… you know, I’m really tired, and I haven’t practiced in a while, and I–”

Nonna Augustine stares at me, and so does Mom. They know I’m stalling, and I can never get out of situations like these. Dad and Nonno just sit there and eat, acting as if nothing is happening, and that this is a normal occurrence. How are they like that? Why can’t I live unbothered? 

I stand up from my chair and walk over to the piano, all the way in the living room. I take a deep breath as I lay my hands on the keys. It’s been a year. It really has been a year, and I can’t remember the last song I had been practicing. What was it again? Sienna? No, ah, right, Vienna by Billy Joel. My family’s icon, they can never get enough of him. But no, I can’t play that, it’s too complicated, so I just switch to Let It Be by the Beatles. My Dad loves the Beatles; he was born in London and grew up there as well, worked at a jazz club, and that’s where he met Mom, but that’s another story. 

“Allegra, you know you can sing too.” 

I side-eye Nonna and sigh again. I lay my fingers on the keys and begin to play. 

“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, Let It Be.” 

I play the rest of the song, letting the song take over me. I play and play, the notes flying through the air, the words slipping from my lips. I remember playing like this, playing so well. But then…

I press the wrong key, and everything goes wrong. 

I let go of the piano, my hands slightly shaking. Why did I do that? How did that happen? I look at Nonna, my lips beginning to tremble. Mom and Dad look at me, and Nonno Thomas smiles encouragingly. 

“Try again, Allegra, try again.” Nonno gestures his hands towards me to “try again.” 

I sit there and look outside the window. The tears slowly falling, my hands still shaking, the wrong note ringing in my head. I stand up and rush to my room, closing the door behind me. Why did I mess that up? It’s just a simple song. How could I have messed that up? 

Night comes, and the only thing still in my head is the mistake. You’re probably thinking I’m dragging it, but to be honest, not really! I won contests just one year ago. Now I just mess up a note with a simple and easy song. How embarrassing does that sound to you? I want to go back to contesting, but I’m scared. I can’t bear embarrassing myself in front of a crowd, let alone my own family.