The soft sound of a key turning in a lock.

The faint whoosh of air as a door was opened.

The change in sound from heels on concrete to heels on carpet.

Sounds so common. Sounds she had heard hundreds of times in the past couple of… what was it now… anni*?

But they weren’t this key. This lock. This door. That concrete and this carpet.

Behind her the movement as he brought in her bags… or at least her travel bags. Smoothly, silently and deftly he moved around her, heading toward the back, already at ease again here. But then again- when wasn’t he at ease? It was part of why should couldn’t let him go.

Turning around, she looked out the glass windows of the doors at the city beyond. Street lights, store front lights, car lights… again…. Sights she had seen every night for the past few years, but they had been different lights. It had been a different city.

She had thought she would only be gone for a few months. No longer than a year. But notti* had turned to mesi* had turned to anni*. Even now, looking back she couldn’t recall how she had managed to get so pulled into the business of her old famiglia*. But that was what had broken it, a stray comment said in gest during a frustrating evening of debate.

“Questa è la famiglia.*”


And all she could think was *No. Questa non è la mia famiglia.* Because her family was here now. Anything back there was storia- history.

And so she had parted ways and returned. Back to this city. Back to her casa*. Back to her true famiglia.

As the lights of Sacramento filtered through the glass to fall softly on her face, she smiled, a deep dazzling smile that no one but she saw via her reflection. But despite that, she knew that it was a smile meant for the entire city before her. The city and those in it. She was back and the city should be happy for it.

Turning on her heel, she walked away from the door and deeper into the theater, the smile still curling the corners of her lips upward.

Italian