There are days when the sun rises to lure out the dreamers, who would otherwise spend their time imagining how they would live their lives instead of actually living them. But who are the dreamers? How do you imagine a dreamer to be? Perhaps unattractive? Maybe chubby or extremely clumsy? Likely! And awkward? Yes, very awkward! But now close your eyes, even if only for a moment, do you feel uncomfortable? Of course, you’re so used to looking around that a bit of darkness oppresses you. But in the dark, dreams reside, and in dreams, our true selves manifest. Now try closing your eyes again, but before you do, decide to visualize something beautiful – your loved one, your mom or dad, a motorcycle, a bike, or a flower – it doesn’t matter, but if you do, you will understand why so many love to dream. In dreams, even the most timid realize what they may never have the courage to do in life. The problem is all there, you act, while we dreamers imagine doing so. But this story will turn the issue on its head, let me introduce you to Fulgenzio and this is his day of action… Or isn’t it?
In all the splendor of my 95kg for 165 cm, I left the house wearing black shorts and a flashy bright green tank top. I had left all my dreams in the drawer, today we live!
With a brisk step, I arrived at the bar where I used to bet on football. The barmaid is a very beautiful girl, but for some reason, the owner, that seems a brown bear, always served me. I enter and say, “hey, gorgeous, can you bring me some luck?” She looks at me, perhaps she had never done so before, and I realize that she’s listening to me, in fact, she leaves. Ok, I exaggerated, but today is just not my day, so I settle for playing the lottery with the bear, then I go out and look at the ticket for a moment before throwing it away. I’ve never won with the bear. I walk, feeling great, and arrive at the park where some girls take photos of me and ask if I usually roll around. I respond with absolute courtesy that the only thing that’s probably rolling is their brain lying on a bed of butt cheeks, then I grab my phone and take a selfie with my tongue out. This is art! They are speechless and I leave laughing. Acting seems fun, I’m starting to enjoy it. I arrive at the square and encounter a broken down police car, so I stop and ask if they need help. The young man asks me, “are you a mechanic?” And I say, “no, but if it doesn’t matter to you, know that I’m curious.” From the way the guy starts shouting, I understand that it’s better to get away. I walk amused, searching for other ideas, and I enjoy every single thrill of this day without brakes. I wonder how I managed to resist for so long without doing anything, living life and causing mischief makes you feel alive! And here’s a young, elegant priest passing by, a thousand ideas cross my mind, but I don’t choose any, ok, it’s my day of freedom, but it’s better not to do things you regret later. I walk towards the sports bar to offer wine to the old men, who once drunk, would tell me incredible stories. There it is, all red with a dark green canopy of a well-known beer brand. But the outdoor tables are empty. A shiver, I can’t miss the drunk grandpas. I enter, find the desolate bartender, and ask where his customers are. “At the bowling alley, damn it!” he answers angrily. So, I go to the bus stop and get on the bus that crosses the city more slowly than usual. As I get off, I look at the driver who smiles at me and I say, “thank goodness I didn’t validate my ticket, you were slower than my grandma during the Patron Saint’s procession.” I hear shouting, everyone’s a little nervous, it doesn’t matter, I’m finally in front of the bowling alley. I read out loud: “City final of the grandpa’s cup” and I can’t help but laugh. Before entering, I buy eight boxes of two-liter red wine and a pack of plastic cups from the nearby minimarket. I enter and find a small group of gray-haired old men who start approaching at the sight of the well-known brand of boxed wine.
They were ten, 4 teams of 2, and two judges. But I gave them the rules: the grandparents had to drink a glass before each shot. They accepted confidently, but I could already taste the result. The first shot was perfect for everyone, but by the third round, between crooked trajectories and holy flying objects, things got heated. On average, the grandfathers were right – with a liter of Tavernello in their system, they thought they were gods. Well, we had already surpassed that threshold. “Artist! Give me another glass, I need to enhance my aim.” However, during the decisive shot, the irreparable happened – Ernesto looked towards the cup and screamed: “Help, a thief!” Yes, the eliminated grandparents had stolen the wine. Result: the tournament was suspended, and two grandfathers ended up in the emergency room in delirium. In doubt, I flee content. Continuing on my way, I find myself in front of an “ohm” gym. Just as I approach it, a flamboyant instructor catapults me into a yoga class with haste and curses. I don’t know who he mistook me for, but the idea of meditating with girls didn’t displease me. Moreover, clearly my karma for the day was starting to make me more active with the world, and vice versa. To my great surprise, however, I cross the threshold and find myself facing 45 scantily clad girls eagerly waiting for orders from the great yoga master… me! Luckily, I see a poster for the event and read “Master Octon,” so I begin: “Greetings to you, girls. Are you ready to experience this great yoga session with your master Octon?” And they all reply in unison: “Yeeesss!” In the meantime, one of them throws her bra at me and shouts, “This is for you, master!” At that point, noticing that nobody is shocked, I scream, “Would anyone else like to pay tribute to the master?” At that point, no one understood why, but Octon finds himself with 44 bras in addition to the previous one in his hands. “I never would have imagined that such things really happen,” and while my mind wonders how a strange name can influence people, I ask for a brief truce to begin the session. I ask everyone to close their eyes, and I disappear just as the real Octon comes screeching in – his weight was at least double mine. But the funniest thing is that I have his “trophies” and he doesn’t know it. Octon enters proudly like the magician Otelma and screams, “Bring me your chest lids!” And the girls all shout in unison, “Go away, imposter!!” Another brawl, another chuckle, and I disappear even prouder of my conquest and of having exposed an imposter by being an imposter myself.
The day is coming to an end when I am stopped by the police officer with my 45 bras in hand. He was the same officer I had teased that morning and he says to me, “Making conquests, eh?!? But now come with me to the police station, there has been a bra theft and I think you know something about it.” I candidly reply, “But Mr. Officer… they are mine!” Never was a more mistaken phrase uttered. I am dragged to the police station, interrogated and incredibly released because the stolen goods were recovered in another area of the city… apparently near the car of a guest of the “Ohm” gym, a certain “Master Octon”. At that point, the police officer and I apologize to each other and, given the distance, I ask for a ride home. Giovanni, the officer, bids me farewell and I thank him in return, then I turn around, open the door and…
I wake up suddenly. With palpitations and shortness of breath… “My goodness, what a scare!” I say to myself in the mirror… “Another nightmare where I leave the house and act like a fool… These things are not for me.. I’m 60 years old now and I don’t understand which corner of my brain creates these experiences… I can’t take it anymore! Maybe I should stop confessing certain characters, with all the nonsense I hear I’ll end up going crazy!”. And then, with a amused smile, I put on my clerical garb, my black shoes, straightened my collar and said to myself: “my dear recurring nightmare, there’s no such thing as a perfect day, but every day in its own way is perfect, remember that!”