I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.
Part III. A Ghost In The Machine
Preparations for the December holiday break were officially underway in Trino Vercellase, Italy, nestled in the bosom of the Piemonte foothills. The sleepy village, populated by 38,890 people, rested peacefully between the twin metropolitan areas of Milan and Turin near the southern edge of the mountainous Alps. It was the Monday before the Feast of Epiphany that teacher Ms. Noemi Carboneri, sat in a circle of twenty children reading a brand new book all about a little rooster that wished to help La Befana pass toys to the children of Italy for the Feast of Epiphany. It was called Gallo Rosso (The Red Rooster) and she constantly had to remind the extremely wiggly group of children to pay attention.
That is, except for six year old Alessandro Bellarmine.
Her blue gaze peered over the spine of the book she was reading to observe the child for a second, noticing his hand was waving eagerly because he wanted to make yet another comment about the story, his third time since she began to read. Alessandro had never been a problem for her, and was excellent at participating in class. Except for this peculiar habit he had of predicting what would happen in the story before the other children did. Noemi found it quite remarkable how this little boy could sit still and be attentive enough to retain every detail of the story, something that the nineteen other children in her Level One class at Scuola Primeria Santo Pietro could not do. Of all the teachers at the school, it was always Signora Carboneri to be the first one to tend to the kids owies, and mend their hurt feelings when their friends weren't being kind to them. Noemi faithfully doled out heaps of kisses and plenty of hugs to her young charges.
But there were some boo boos she could not fix, like the traumatic brain injury Alessandro suffered just before Christmas last year.
Everyone that lived in the district of Casale Monferrato-Trino, held strong beliefs that Alessandro's miraculous recovery from his persistent vegetative state was an act of Almighty God. Noemi felt likewise about this miracle child. She remembered Alessandro when he was five years old, when she was still involved in her senior practicum and was assigned his nursery class, the American version of kindergarten. Before the accident, Alessandro was still a gregarious, bright child but could be cheeky and rambunctious. Noemi had just chalked it up to his age level and his being born a boy. As she observed him, she silently compared the child she remembered from last year to the one sitting across from her now. There was an obvious contrast between the two. For the next twenty minutes before the lunch bell rang, Alessandro drilled his teacher about parts of the story to come before she could get there, and it had nearly caused her to snap angrily at him.
Because it was the first time she'd read this book to the class, and he was ruining the tale for the other kids.
As the youngest teacher at the school, Noemi was only age twenty-five, but the children's parents enjoyed the special flair she had with her creative lesson plans. She recently became a new teacher, having graduated from the University of Milan in May, feeling blessed to be assigned this group of children for the next five years of their elementary school experience, taking the place of a retiring teacher. During lunch, she became involved in an animated discussion about the children in her class, discussing several students with other teachers, including Alessandro. Many of the teachers believed that Alessandro used to be hell on wheels just like his older brother Matteo had been at the same age. That is, until the course of his life had been altered by his accident last year.
The conversation shifted to another topic as her lunch break came to an end. Noemi began her trek back to her classroom thinking about the circle time incident, since it had been one of many occasions that something premonitory happened where Alessandro was involved. In the classroom she busily gathered her children for their next lesson with the hopes of keeping their minds warmed up before releasing them from her care for the holiday break. That way when they returned after the week was over, the children could share stories of all their festival traditions that they were looking forward to now.
She had already planned the January lesson plans and he Level One class would be studying Carriere (careers) and get to show and talk about the subject in greater detail then, but she initiated a brief discussion about that with the kids. For many people that had or knew someone who had young children, they were closely familiar with a six year old's mannerisms. Ms. Carbeneri wasn't married yet or had children of her own, but had learned plenty about child development during her training as a teacher. As Noemi asked each child: what do you want to be when you grow up? it produced a multitude of answers, and quite a few uncertain shrugs from the class of first graders in her room. Most of their answers seemed impulsive or were fairly cliché.
Eight of the girls wanted to be a nurse, chef, or a teacher like her. One wanted to be a mother. Most of the boys wanted be a doctor or a football player. After dealing with Alessandro's constantly waving hand during the morning lesson, he got to tell what he wanted to be when he grew up last. There was a chorus of giggles when his dark curly head tilted up to look at the ceiling as if he were gazing at the heavens themselves while pondering her question about growing up for a moment rather thoughtfully before answering Noemi.
When he finally decided to speak, his voice wavered a little bit, and was so soft she had to ask him to repeat his answer. Alessandro innocently gazed at his teacher's smiling face with crystalline depths of peridot green as he uttered softly. "Voglio ballare il balletto ed essere un danzatore primo, Signora Carbaneri. "(I want to be a star ballet dancer, Ms. Carbaneri.) His answer was rather candid for a child his age and refreshing to hear. In Italy, it was not unheard of, as ballet was the center of all things athletic, artistic, musical and lyrical and was part of the cultural tapestry of their country.
"I think that is a wonderful job Alessandro! I think you will make a wonderful star of the stage!"she said excitedly, observing the rest of her class because they were giggling behind their hands at Alessandro's answer. "Let us be polite. No laughing." Ms. Carboneri reminded her class, but her reprimand came too late. The titters of laughter from his classmates had caused Alessandro's dark lashes to grow wet with tears, his bright smile wiped cleaner than the chalk board on the back wall. As the final bell of the day rang, it was time to get her class ready to go home. "When we get back from our holidays, we will talk more about the jobs we would like. Get your coats on children, and grab your belongings. Its time to head outside!" she said giving hugs to the group that was milling around her legs until she placed them all in a straight line. "Besos! Have a good holiday!" Noemi waved. Alessandro missed her hug and kiss that day, but it would not be the last tears he'd ever cry for the sake of his calling.
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