MISS ON SCENE: Marriage, Italian style
My husband and I live in a small town in a country where we don’t know the language. The weather is bad. The customs are confusing. My husband is in school here, but many of my days are spent in bed, reading, and listening to the oppressive cathedral bells clang through the hours. We’ve viciously fought, too much, just about how we talk to each other. At times, I’ve had too much to drink. I’m either inattentive—glued with loneliness to my laptop screen—or I feel neglected. It’s like I’m Winona Ryder in that bad Jerry Lee Lewis biopic, when, as thirteen-year-old Myra Gale, she crumples to the floor and bellows in a blasphemous accent, “But I don’t know how to be a waff!” Because I don’t. And neither does he know how to be a husband. We’re still learning.
Department: Natalie Elliott



