This is how my nose reminds me that, ultimately, I’m always responsible for my own actions (see Week 8).
Back in the Summer of 1994, I went to England, on a language course. It was my first time abroad without my parents.
Exciting stuff!
And, since my diet at the time consisted mainly of mars bars and coke, the convent-come-summer school in Eastborne, where I was to spend the next three weeks of my life, soon revealed itself as the perfect place to be.
What made the whole experience even more thrilling, for a 70% heterosexual boy like myself, were two key points:
1. The presence of dozens of new girls, who didn’t know me. And, perhaps more importantly, whose mums didn’t know me, so they wouldn’t be able to say: “Oh, I think Federico is such a lovely young man, so polite and well-mannered.’ Instant street cred: -500.
2. An outdoor swimming pool.
Exactly three years earlier, at the age of 10, I’d started playing waterpolo and it had basically changed my life.
As a kid, my spirit (but also ‘body’) animal had always been the seal. Picture a seal playing football. Or running around in the playground. Or doing pretty much any earth-bound activity.
Now picture it in the water. I was in my element. Literally.
Problem is, of course, you can carry a football with you anywhere you go. A swimming pool, not so much. So it’s not as easy to show off your mad skillz.
But this time, Lady Luck was on my side. Now I just needed a non-metaphysical one too.
So off I went in search of love and my very first kiss, armed only with my slightly-above-average English for an Italian kid my age, my flamboyant catholic guilt and that 7.6% extra confidence provided by the small stretch of water, quietly ebbing away at the back of the dormitory.
That extra 7.6% must have truly made all the difference, because, after only a week or so, this beautiful, tall, long-legged, 17-year old named Sara, started to hang out with me more and more. I don’t know why. I assume 17 is when you start listening to those who say you should do one thing that scares you every day.
I felt euphoric, but also deeply unsettled. She was four years older than me. How could this be happening. But, what the hell, I was in a Country where people put pasta and steak in the same plate…together... I was in the Land Of Crazy. Anything could happen.
So, after a couple of sleepless nights, I summoned all the courage I could muster and finally asked her to sneak out during the afternoon rest and meet me at the swimming pool, alone.
She agreed.
Next thing I knew, there I was: standing tall on the edge of the pool, the waist-line of my red swimming shorts way too close to my armpits, baby fat proudly glistening in the pale English sun.
I ask her if she wants to go in first. She says: ‘No, I’m scared it’s too cold… You go first!” I think to myself: ‘Perfect.’ She smiles… I look at the water. I take a few steps away from the edge, for the optimum run-up. I say ‘Look at this.’
And then I run. I jump. I fly. A wave of absolute elation shakes my entire body.
I enter the water. Which, in that very moment, I discover being only a couple of feet deep.
And I smash my face against the swimming-pool floor.
I smash it hard. So hard, I’m taken out of my own body, so I can look back at myself and laugh. But I can’t really, because of the searing pain.
One of the useful tricks waterpolo had taught me very quickly, was how to hold my breath for a fairly long time, so I just kept swimming under water, desperately trying to find my composure and the nerves to resurface.
I finally did. She was standing close to the edge now, slightly bent over towards me.
She asks: “Are you ok?!’
I say, casually: ‘Yeah. Why.’
She explains how she was pretty sure she'd seen me plaster myself against….. I say ‘No, no no. It's cool.'
But I’m all nose. I FEEL like my whole head, my whole being, is now ‘throbbing nose’. I remain calm and collected. Though I’m screaming inside.
She carries on talking, but all I can hear is: ‘NOSENOSENOSENOSENOSE NOSE.’
Awkwardness must have obliterated the rest of that memory, because I can’t for the life of me remember how that day ended.
I only know that, from then on, I’ve been checking my nose in the mirror regularly and, although it miraculously didn’t break, it has never been the same again. It almost looked like it grew some extra bone… The only bone to feature during the rest of that holiday, goes without saying.
