1998, Age 4, First Day at School

I crouch behind the bench, until I hear footsteps. Then I run, and turn back briefly, to see a face, a girl with brown curls, arm outstretched, five paces behind me. I keep running until my hands make contact with the wood of the bench. I’m safe.

"Non é giusto! Brava negli sports!" She shouts out. I catch Toni’s eyes as she stares at me from the place that the older girls hang out. She smiles at me and I smile back.

That’s not fair! She’s good at sports!

“Scusa! Sarò io a farlo ora. Come ti chiami?” I say, backing away from the bench.

Sorry. I’ll be it now. What’s your name?

“Graze. Olivia. Quello che è tuo?”

Thanks. Olivia. What’s yours?

“Lucia. Vuoi che siamo amici?”

Lucia. Wanna be friends?

“Sicuro!”

Sure!

And just like that, I'd made my first friend.

1999, Age 5, Moving to England

Mamma made me sit next to Toni, and she’s squishing me. There’s about 5 suitcases in the boot, and Papá is in the front. The taxi driver has a bobbly head in the front, and the car smells of candy. I feel sweat sticking the back of my sweatshirt to me, but Mamma says I have to wear it for when we get to England.

E N G L A N D.

The word feels funny, but Birmingham feels funnier. Burning Ham. Who would name a place after a gross smell. I feel Olivia’s bracelet on my skin, pressing into my wrist, as I sit on my hands. I’m going to miss Olivia, but she says we can send letters. The sky outside is really dark, and I want to sleep. I should be in bed, but I want to see everything. I want to see England, where the Queen lives.

My fingers curl around the racket, knuckles whitening just a little as the ball leaves her hand and slices through the air toward me. Four, five steps back. Two, three seconds to raise my racket. The thud of the ball, the swish of air as I swing. And it comes hurtling back at her.

A green blur, another thud, another swing. The rhythm takes over, instinct and muscle memory as I flick my eyes upward, tracking the ball against the washed-out summer sky. I flick my eyes upwards, shuffle left, arm back. I channel everything into this one. Everything. Adrenaline seems to lift it for me, and I swing it.

The soft sound of the ball hitting the strings, vibrating, sending energy all the way up into my arm, my soul, a rush of serotonin washes over me as I watch the ball fly in a perfect arc. I hit so hard that I clip my ear when it comes up. Sweat drips down my back, soaking into the collar of my shirt, but the heat barely registers. The world has narrowed to the court, the ball, the breath in my lungs. She lunges for it a second too late. The ball kisses the line and skids away

Toni cheers from behind the chainlink.

I tip my head back, and drain the rest of the water. I check my phone. He should be picking me up.

“Lucia, you are amazing. You are gonna smash this.” Ray turns to me, packing his gear up.

“If I have the energy.” I laugh, despite the looming of matches and practice sessions I have coming up.

Tennis on Monday. Gymnastics on Wednesday. Fencing on Saturday, two and a half hours like today. Cycling and running in between, and a busy school schedule. Still, I enjoy it. Somehow.

My phone vibrates, as we wander out of the gym. He’s here.

“That’s my ride. See you Monday!” I yell, as I walk up to the red Audi.

I open the door and get inside.

“Who’s that?” First thing he says.

“Uh…Ray?”

“Yeah. Ray.” He spits his name.

“He’s just my training buddy, Zac. Nothing to worry about.” I say.

“Really? I’ve never seen you look at someone like that. Other than me.” There it is. That last minute ego stroke and pity ploy.

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

I know exactly what he means. Mostly because his perception of 'the way I look at Ray' is how he looks at most every other woman. And so, I give up trying to further the conversation. I open the glove compartment. It’s empty, other than a pair of sunglasses and loose change.

“Where are they?” I end up saying out loud.

“Where are what?” He replies.

“My cigarettes. They were here before I left.”

“I had the last one.”

“You stole my cigarettes?” I practically yell.

“I didn’t steal anything. We shared. That’s what couples do.” He says, reaching a hand to my face. I pull away, and guide his hand back to the wheel.

"Eyes. On the road."

He rips his wrist from my grip, and I see the red marks I've left on it.

"God, you're feisty today. What, did Ray teach you that?”

No. You did. The thought finds a place in the crowded mass of my mind. It’s a wonder it’s not there all the time, just like the imprints of his hands on my body. The ones I try to get away from me, before realising that they’re just ghosts of the real thing, despite how well they imitate the feeling of true, warm flesh. Travelling to places that I don’t want to think about, places that will forever feel wrong. The knife pressed up against my shoulder; a vein in my shoulder no less cold and sharp, his legs intertwined with mine, mouth locked shut. Fear paralysing me. Not just the fact that resistance meant possible death, but one slip, for me or him, and that knife…that knife could’ve killed me.

But he was drunk, an it wasn't his fault, and the knife was just a joke gone too far. It still happens though. Not as badly, but its still there in every kiss I can’t pull away from, every embrace that dragged on a second too long, made up for by a single night alone, or a pack of cigarettes. The cigarettes he got me hooked on.

I try to speak, but I can't. I don’t have a true, valid point anymore. Ray did teach me to be on edge. And to be aggressive. And to be in my 'power mindset'. The kind that shouldn't be involved in a relationship. Maybe I should've let Zac…

“You shouldn’t be smoking anyways, not if you wanna win.”

Once his words sink in, I resist the urge to remind him of the matches he has coming up too. God, even he's an athlete. The realisation hits me like a train, shattering the illusions we've been weaving for the past year. But they stitch together again. He's not that serious about sports anyway, and I've been trying to quit. He's just trying to motivate me. We both have that 'power mindset'. But it's empowering, to know that he thinks the same way I do. I think he tries to have another go at me, but I zone out.

As best as I can without the nicotine, anyway.