I remembered the first time that I ever had a glass of Martini. I was in high-school and was on a trip to a mountain resort with my mom and step dad. I was in my room (I had a room all for myself!!!) working on finishing a novel of mine (the only one I ever finished) and my mom came to take me downstairs, at the restaurant. I first drank a Martini with them (the ultimate sign I was growing up) and then I had this huge delicious ice cream.
I really miss my step father…He was always so nice to me and I wish there was something I could do to stop him from being killed by that stupid cancer…I remember once he told me how my honeymoon should be like. He described almost every day, giving me advice on where to eat and what to eat. I don’t remember very much of the itinerary, but I remember his smile describing some exquisite croissants from a cozy coffee shop somewhere in France.
I also remember another trip to the mountains with him when I was about 10 or 11. He took me on a walk, telling me stories about the places he had seen, as always. It was a very cold night, but somehow his voice and the bright lights of the resort made it warmer. One other time that we went to a mountain resort in the middle of the winter the hotel hadn’t a decent heating system, although it was a three-star hotel (such things happened often in the first years after the Revolution) and the front desk clerk brought us some kind of heater, mostly to make sure I was warm enough (man, sometimes it’s great to be a small kid!). The next day I went exploring on my own, imagining how great these trips would be when I’d be older and I’d go with my friends. The trips turned out to be just as I imagined them, but right now I would give anything to have the chance of another weekend spent with him and my mom.