Salviettina Rinfrescante by Zeke Roth-Reynolds
“ Vorresti una salviettina rinfrescante ?” asked the flight attendant . He looked up from his iPhone and was smitten . She had a face fairer than the evening air — one that ’ d seen a thousand planes take off . And for all he was able to answer , she might as well have asked him for the molecular formula of the jet fuel that was going to propel his connecting flight across the Adriatic , or what the name was for the cloying shade of yellow faux-leather on the seats . In Italian he could tell a woman that she was beautiful , but not ask where the bathroom was .
She asked , and for a moment he froze with fear . What did she want from him ? In way of learning Italian he had done little more than selectively glance at a picture book his mother gave him to learn the language — Italian Through Pictures . The online schooling he did was all so that he could teach English to foreign language learners . He could recall a certain Dr . Shane Dixon , with eyebrows like restless caterpillars and a lavender sweater vest , telling him all about how language was like cake . He didn ’ t remember how it was like cake , but there were a lot of weird analogies throughout the course , and after a while it got hard to keep them straight : language was also like basketball , a camera , Dr . Dixon ’ s crazy aunt Ethel , and a colander — hell if he knew why . None of this helped him in his present situation .
After a brief moment of paralysis he told her all he could : “ Sei bella , e questo è tutto quello che so ”—“ you ’ re beautiful , and that ’ s all I know .” He had the words right , but after pronouncing them with his finest American accent and icing them with nervousness , his response was as unintelligible to her as her initial question was to him . She simply smiled , as if to say “ nice try ,” and placed a moist towelette on the tray in front of him .
4 by Gene Hopman-Whipple