The first time
The first time I was seven, or maybe eight. The ophthalmologist was quietly talking to my mother. He just visited me, and there were the results. I had to wear glasses. Donno why, don’t ask me, but as soon as I heard his words, I started to cry. Both my mother and the physician got really afraid. What did happened to you, they kept asking. I cried and I cried. I was inconsolable. It’s kinda funny. It is more than 30 years that I am wearing glasses, and they are somehow part of my life. But that day, I cried as if they were going to kill me there.
The second time
The second time it was for love. And it was not going to be the last time. I was fifteen, and she had long brown hair and chestnut eyes. I had to wait almost twenty years before sleeping with that girl. I wish I knew it the day she dumped me: it would have spared me a lot of pain. Sometimes the future gives us unexpected surprises, but I could not imagine one day our paths would have crossed again. Still, that day of 25 years ago I closed myself in my room and I stayed there crying until I had tears, and then I started again and again.
The third time
The third time I cried in the night. For the first time I had to practice the cardiac massage on a three months old baby. That little thing died under my two fingers pressing her chest. Yes, I have seen so many people dying, of every age. I have massaged and ventilated so many of them, that I lost the count. But that day, for the first time, once home, I cried thinking about what happened in the morning. And still I cannot forget.
The fourth time
The fourth time I cried when I closed the phone. We should move on, she told me. In the morning, when she took the train, we kissed for the last time. I love you, she said. Somehow I knew it was not true. Things were over since a while. Still I cried. My mind went back to a day 15 years before, when the girl with chestnut eyes decided it was over. So maybe, that day, I cried more thinking about C., than I did for E.
The fifth time
The fifth time, I cried for joy. And for love. Bella was there in front of me. Auntie is beautiful like a princess — said my nephew, looking at her. And yes, the white dress, the veil, her eyes glittering of love. I was there, and I felt as all the world was mine. Everything had suddenly a meaning. We were holding our hands, and we were walking together down the aisle.
These beautiful — and tearful — pictures are copyright of artist and photographer Jill Greenberg: http://www.jillgreenberg.com/