Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu

Day 79 – Soap opera news, prisoners who have priority and the funeral of my computer


My phone is buzzing on the table. I look at the screen and I pick it up with enthusiasm. “Hi dad! What’s up? Haven’t heard from you in a while.”  I hear an almost imperceptible sigh on the other end and then: “Umm, I’m fine. I had some horrible couple of months and news flash…ummm…you know…I have to tell you something…” What came next was harvest from soap operas and thrown into my ears. I need it him to shut up and I began cursing my enthusiasm of answering the phone, but I had to continue listening. “Please, don’t be mad, I don’t want you to be mad. It just seemed to me that you had no interest to know about this ever. Are you still there? Are you still mad?” I look at Ephia who is enjoying her grown-up fork and shoves it in some pasta, then with a precise move, into her mouth. “No dad, I am not mad. I just need some time to digest this. It’s okay, don’t worry. We’ll talk soon, give me some time.” I hear the same sigh as before and he gives up cheering me up and says goodbye. As I hang up, I feel like my world is crushing into my skull and I desperately need fresh air. I think about soap operas. I have never liked that kind of shit. Oh I get it, if you don’t like it you have to live it; fair enough. I then remember some of my close friends who used to tell me I should write my story and prepare to be famous.

No time to be lame, we had important things to do. I get dressed and go to the computer. I turn it on. A message pops up on the screen: “Error; hard disk not found. To restart your computer press…” I do what the message advises me; once, twice, three times, four times… I stop and call our computer wiz – D. I don’t even panic this time like I did no more then two weeks ago. I have only one thing on that computer that I need – the upcoming interview, which I already redid three times now. I stare at the grey screen and already picture myself transcribing it again. It’s fine, breathe. We need to leave the house and Ephia jumps into my arms knowing what comes next. Two buses and one tram ride away, we arrive at the hospital for me to do a normal post surgery check-up. I was next in line and I don’t know why, but I felt relaxed. 2 pm – a nurse comes out and she is preparing to call out my name when seven policeman come to the door, carefully escorting a girl inside the room. She had bruises everywhere and her look was that of a psychopath in pain. Out of instinct I grab Ephia’s hand and pull her closer to me. I understand quickly that she was a prisoner and she needed a check-up too. I don’t get why she has to go in before us, but I accept it. If you think about it, she has all the time in the world to wait, we, the other people standing in line, having appointments, don’t. Anyway, at 3 pm, I, like the other ones start to get impatient. Normally I don’t really care about these things, but when you have a toddler with you and she starts getting nervous, you start getting nervous too. I begin to pace the hallway, trying to trick my daughter that we are taking a walk. Well, toddlers may be a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. I try to cancel the appointment but there is a huge line to do that, so I give up and hold Ephia’s hand, asking her for a little more patience (it worked hahaha).  After an hour and a half, the psycho-eyes woman comes out of the room and they call out my name. It’s already extremely late and we are both really nervous, but we go in, smile and accept the apologies the doctor is addressing us. Seconds later, my daughter turns and twists on the chair, falls down and bumps her head. Needless to say that the nightmare began; not because she was hurt, but because that was the last straw she could take after all the waiting, so she exploded. We have tried everything, but this little human is not easy to handle if she doesn’t want too. They have offered her biscuits, balloons made out of gloves, water, kisses, but they only made her cry even harder. So, I have placed her on the chair and asked them politely to leave her alone and to go on and do the check-up, otherwise we will be there the whole day. I gave her a balloon and she took it while sobbing, but not crying anymore. A piece of advice, if your child is screaming, try to avoid having too many people around him/her, they only get more nervous. When we got home, after another two buses and a tram ride, we were both exhausted.

Later in the evening, D told me that my computer is dead and he can’t do anything about it. I didn’t panic, nor felt the claw that usually menaces my throat when something bad happens; I just stood there, smiling like an idiot, thinking that August will soon arrive and all this bullshit of July will be over. So, this was my amazing day. Today is the 29th; two more days to go and maybe all this bad karma, voodoo magic or whatever the hell it is, will be over. If not… well, people can live with worse, I think I’ll do just fine.

About the author

Ela Vasilescu

I’m a writer based in Florence, Italy.

Human nature inspires me, different cultures, traditions, folk stories and the differences which make us unique. Documenting stories is a privilege, a glimpse into humanity, an unforgettable experience, one which I embrace and honour every day.

If you have a story twitching in the back of your pocket, one that is ready to be told, shared and heard, chances are I will be ready to listen; so don’t hesitate to send me an email.

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Writer In Florence Ela Vasilescu