Friday, March 18, 2011

Giselle's Diary (an original story)

Giselle’s Diary
March 6
One week!  Jerry and I have been married one week!  I can’t believe I’m now Mrs. Gerald Allano.  Giselle Allano.  What do you think?  It has a nice ring to it, right?  And I’m still sore.  I can’t stop thinking about it.  Who knew sex would hurt so much and yet be so nice at the same time? 
Jerry and I are leaving for Venice tomorrow.  We really can’t afford it, but he says that with the money he saved up from tips and now his new job at the shop, we should be able to make it.  It’s been like a whirlwind, like a dream almost.  I can’t believe it. 
I’m starting this diary because I think it might be nice to keep a record of our first year of marriage.  Besides, Jerry has always said I should write something.  He bought this for me as a sort of wedding gift. 
My parents have finally come around to liking Jerry despite the fact that he didn’t graduate from college.  I didn’t really care about that.  I love him.  I finish all my credentialing in June this year.  Only a couple of papers left and I can finally start teaching. 

March 7/8
The airplane ride was a bumpy one.  Storms all the way across the middle of the country.  I’ve never been outside of California.  New York had some late snow on the ground and we almost decided to make snowmen on the tarmac.  Jerry laughed at me when I said tarmac.  I had to explain that the airport runway was called that.  He just said that I’m too smart for my own good. 

March  8
We’ve made another stop here in London.  We had to walk from Heathrow airport all the way to the bus.  I fell asleep on Jerry’s shoulder on the way to the hotel.  I’m afraid I may have drooled on his shoulder a little.  Some romantic I am. 
I’m sitting here now while he takes a shower in that closet of a bathroom.  The hotel rooms here are weird.  Tiny.  The bathroom is split into two parts.  One has the shower and the sink and the other has two toilets.  One’s a regular toilet and the other, we couldn’t figure out.  I think it’s to wash yourself after.  It’s so embarrassing right now, all these little things you never thought about.  I mean, peeing in front of your own husband shouldn’t be embarrassing, right?  I’ve barely gotten over the being naked in front of him part, though I have to confess I like seeing him naked. 

March 10
We are staying in London tonight and leaving tomorrow.  The ticketing agency screwed up our train passes.  Jerry was upset because the hotel at first refused to let us stay on for one more night.  He convinced them for one more night but they charged us an arm and a leg.  I’m afraid we have to withdraw some more money.
The strangest thing happened today.  We were at the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral when Jerry pointed out that we could see the whole entire of London including the Thames.  It was breathtaking except for the height part.  I hate heights.  Then something happened.    
I was turning to hug Jerry when suddenly, one of the gargoyles on the roof moved.  I swear it moved!  I screamed and the next thing I knew, Jerry was hugging me and when I looked again, it wasn’t the gargoyle that had moved but a large crow sitting on its wings.  I don’t know why I panicked so much.  He asked me what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell him that I had seen a gargoyle move.  The marriage vows were “for better or for worse; in sickness and in health” not “for saner or for crazier.”

March 13 - Morning
I think I’m in love with Venice.  The town is magical.  Who knew that I would love all the little bridges all the little canals?  And the ice cream!  Oh my god!  Heavenly.  The Italians call it gelato.  I call it delicious. 
If we are what we eat, I’m going to turn into pasta, red wine, and gelato by the time this trip is over.  I’m going to take a few more pictures of the food we’re eating now before our gondola ride since Jerry is giving me the “what are you doing?” look.  I think he’s going to regret giving me this diary as a wedding gift.             

March 13 - Afternoon
The gondola ride was a disaster.  The gondolier cussed us out in Italian.  It wasn’t my fault, and Jerry, sweet man defended me. 
We were going through an old part of Venice, very quiet, very old.  The gondolier, an old guy, was trying to explain in broken English that sometimes when it floods the graves of the people in the churches would float in the water.  I don’t know if he was sensationalizing it, but I could almost picture it.  I was looking around at the walls when everything went black.  When I could see again, the town was still Venice and I was still in a gondola but everything was burning.  There were bodies everywhere and people dying.  And there was someone, someone tall and dark coming toward me and I couldn’t resist, I stood up.  He said he had come for me.    And then I came to, wet and in the water. 
Our gondola had capsized and the gondolier blamed me!  I thought those gondolas were supposed to be uncapsizable! 
Jerry won’t tell me what happened, but it must have been pretty bad.  He looks worried.  He says that it looked like I was sleepwalking.  I think I might have had too much red wine.    

March 14
We are leaving for London again and back to the US tomorrow.  I shall write again when we get back to California.  Nothing else happened while we were in Venice.  I guess maybe it’s just nerves or the time shift.  I do feel a little exhausted.  The wedding and the honeymoon were more stressful than I thought.  Or maybe my mother was right, maybe marriage is a sort of mental illness. 

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