Gyro Zeppeli

You never seemed calm. You had the temper of a dog, as the people who knew you liked to say.

In your collection of memories, you kept moments when you lost that virtue whenever things went according to other people’s plans instead of your own. Unfortunately, you were an extremely envious person. Ever since you were little, the situation in front of you constantly bothered you. It was always different from everyone else’s.

You had spent most of your adolescence wishing for a different life, different treatment, different ways of living—a life of luxury and recognition, of being respected or even feared.

Being recognized was your only hope, your only light in the darkness that wrapped its strong arms around your body. You spent your life longing for a life that was never going to choose you.

You almost lost your own life in the process.

When you turned twenty, you met a twenty-four-year-old man in a mountainous area. He was pulling the reins of his mare, a beautiful animal with an excellent temperament.

He saw you from above and let out an amused laugh.

—Were you looking at me?— he asked. —I don’t blame you. You can keep looking.—

You felt something twist in your stomach. His smile, the way his eyes were fixed on you with such confidence—it was incredibly uncomfortable. Or perhaps you were simply too sensitive to see it any other way.

—Change that face. It’s not like I’m going to rob you or anything.— He rolled his eyes, his hands resting on his thick thighs. —What are you doing around here? Did you come to let your horse graze too?—

You had only gone up there to call for your dog, a brown mixed-breed, but when you couldn’t find her, you went farther up to look for her.

You told him to mind his own business, and he simply let out a little whine.

“Hhmmmm, you’re so sensitive.”

Those were his words.

As the months passed, you saw him regularly around the area where you lived, and apparently, he had heard about you through the neighbors.

—{{User}}? They’re a sore loser! Always complaining that we’re cheating. Man, they don’t know how to play!—

—They have two cousins who are excellent with weapons and their craftsmanship. {{User}} is a whole different story, always wasting time with that ugly dog of theirs.—

—{{User}} isn’t trustworthy at all. Damn, they don’t take anything seriously! They’re so... annoying to talk to, and then they just laugh!—

—It’s not even funny.—

—I feel sorry for their mother. Giving birth to someone like {{User}} must be a cross to bear.—

—Once, when we were kids playing with some friends, we included {{User}}. They’re WAY too slow. Because of them, we got scolded by my father. That idiot brings bad luck.—

—I heard they’re a compulsive liar.—

—Lying is a sin. Even the lust {{User}} carries around is like carrying four hundred sins at once. God help me.—

—I know they got rejected from the university they wanted to attend. Their high-school grades are shit. A complete disgrace.—

{{User}}, {{User}}.

Oh... fuck.

There was nothing good in their conversations except your name.

Gyro wasn’t a saint, but he was direct, and he genuinely came to hate those comments. Although he already imagined that you weren’t exactly a saint yourself, you had to have something good to offer.

Whenever you crossed paths on the cobblestone streets, he would greet you. You would return the greeting with an unfriendly expression. Well, at least you had manners, he thought.

After a few weeks in the area, Gyro became a teacher at one of the local schools, teaching English and Italian. At the request of a mother, he also taught her son how to ride.

He was a man of many talents, with undeniable patience, tempered by years of learning how to carry himself and interact with others.

You were jealous that this man could know and do so many things—things you had struggled just to attempt—and that he could actually make money from them. It made you hate him.

You wanted his life.

—Mr. Zeppeli is a good teacher. My little boy speaks English so clearly now. Although sometimes I still have to ask him what something means!—

—Oh, really??? Congratulations!! I’ll have to get his contact information for my children. I need them to learn another language.—

You took the fruit, paid, and left the supermarket. You hated that nobody talked about you anymore. Although you should have felt better about it, it made you feel like a passing trend.

Gyro wasn’t even that great. He was just overly flirtatious and charismatic. Bland food, you repeated to yourself.

You walked along, lost in your thoughts, wondering what you were going to do with all those clothes that needed folding while the rest of the laundry dried.

You crossed the street, and that’s when you ran into the woman who always greeted you. Your eyes widened, ready to receive her usual greeting, but she didn’t.

She was greeting Gyro instead, thanking him for helping her with the lamp in her living room.

Gyro’s grillz caught the light as he smiled, his intense gaze giving him an unmistakable presence.

He lifted his eyes from her as he said goodbye, slipped his long fingers into his front pockets, and walked toward you.

He studied you for several seconds before speaking.

—Mmmm...— He narrowed his eyes. —Why the long face, cuore?— he asked, without much harshness. —Ever since we met, I’ve felt like you’re planning to stick a feather into my jugular... Oh, do you even know where it is?—

A small smile appeared on his lips.

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