Training in Love by Manuela Pigna Page B

my real motivations.
    He
is quiet and then says softly, even if the volume doesn’t mitigate the
bitterness in his voice, “Right, good for you. Go tell it to someone else.”
    I
turn to look at him a little stunned. I don’t understand what his problem is,
if I’ve done something to him or if he has personal problems and is taking it
out on me, but I decide to not let him do it, so I don’t answer.
    “What
is your real motivation?” He repeats when he sees I’m not going to answer his
comment, and I don’t answer his direct question either. I wouldn’t be able to
anyway, even if I wanted to, because I need my air to remain alive at the
moment.
    He
runs a hand through his hair, agitated, and huffs. Differently from myself, he
has no respiratory problems. “You always do that. If someone asks you a
question that you don’t want to answer – for obscure reasons only you know –
you don’t even try to say something. You just shut up. And a person finds
himself there, in front of a wall of silence.”
    I
turn to look at him, completely dumbfounded as I gasp for air.
    He
looks at me in turn and repeats slowly, “What is your motivation?”
    I
jerk towards the road in front of me without answering.
    “At
the least, it has to do with some guy. You’re all like that, all the same.”
    I
freeze again, in a completely different humor than the one before. I stare at
him a moment, waiting for him to notice that I’m no longer beside him. He
doesn’t take long and comes back, like before, but when he’s about to raise his
hand, I beat him to it. “I’m going back, today we’re stopping here,” I say
turning around and going in the direction we came from.
    Andrea
wants to argue with me, but I won’t allow him to.
    I
feel my arm grabbed roughly. “Oh no you don’t! We aren’t finishing anything!
We’ll finish when I say so!”
    “What
the he-” But I can’t finish the sentence because he’s pushing me in front of
him.
    I
take two running steps after his push and then I stop again, trying to turn
back, but he takes me by an arm and turns me around again, pushing me, again
and again. “Andrea stop it! I can’t breathe anymore!”
    He
continues to push me and his hands on my shoulders keep me going forward for a
few more meters, mostly because I’m trying to get away from them, but as soon
as I manage to free myself, I feel them again. As a result of this little game
I’m running even harder than before at too fast a pace and, in fact, I stop
shortly afterwards, breathless. He pushes me again and I lurch away from his
hands, again in the opposite direction. He tries to grab me and I take another
step backwards yelling, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
    He
doesn’t answer. He stares at me and puts out his hand which I manage to elude once
again.
    “What
is your problem today?” I yell in his face again.
    He
pulls a half smile. “Annoying, isn’t it? When people don’t answer you?”
    I
glower at him. He takes my right arm, trying to pull me, while I push in the
opposite direction. “Let me go!” I yell, totally confused by his behavior. “I’m
dying, I can’t do it anymore!” I tell him in a lower tone of voice, to get him
to reason. “I can’t breathe!”
    He
lets me go and says, “Let’s continue.”
    I
shake my head even before speaking. “No… I’m dying…”
    “You
can’t die because of a bullshit little run like this one.”
    It’s
at this point, faster than a thought, that my arm comes up by itself to slap
him, but unfortunately he’s faster still and blocks my hand five centimeters
from his face, grabbing my wrist. Instinctively I try to hit him with the other
hand and he blocks that too. For two seconds we stay like that, with my hands
almost on his face and my wrists in his hands. Suddenly he twists both my arms,
bringing them behind my back without letting go of my wrists. This position
brings me closer to him, closer in the sense of glued to him from chest to
knees.