“Did something happened to Vinnie?” Grace asked on entering the room. “She has always been here before me.”

“Indeed!” Mommy almost jumped. “She is always among the first here… Anyone to know something?…” She opened the door of the room. “Fabricia, do you know if Vinnie has called sick?”

“She hasn’t… Wait, the elevator!”

From my place I heard the door of the elevator opening, and then the voice of Vinnie:

“Hi Fabricia, s-sorry for us being late!”

“Did something delayed you?” Mommy smiled.

“Well, I invited Gab yesterday to help me install the drivers for my new gaming station.” Vinnie showed at the door, looking defiantly at us. I could see Gab passing behind her. “It took longer than we expected, and we overslept and couldn’t get up in time.”

Mommy waited for her to close the door, then looked at her with a slight smirk:

“In my time, we called this type of gaming station ‘bed’.”

“I guess that it not only took more time, but also was more pleasant than expected,” Grace added.

“How many times did Gab install the main driver?” asked Lu. “And was it big enough to be worth installing?”

I felt myself blushing furiously. Despite hearing so many women-only talks, I still hadn’t got used to how freely the women discuss sex-related things away from men.

Vinnie took deep breath and glared at us so angrily that the chatter died instantly:

“I told you already, you are just hens. You will never understand that there is more in life than sex and family. Well, I do understand it! And I am glad and proud to have a man who understands it too!”

“Vinnie, every generation thinks like that while they are younger,” sadly smiled Mommy. “But they grow up, the biological clocks don’t wait, men turn out to be just men, children take a lot of the time… And the rebel girls one by one understand that being a woman is being a woman. With all of its burdens and inevitable things. You will see that you either are a woman or are not one. Call it a prison of flesh or whatever you like, that is what being a woman is.”

How right she was!

Being a woman was indeed that. Being imprisoned in a weak and delicate body, with reproductive ability stopping before you get to the middle of your life, responsible for children, for creating a family, always underestimated, always discriminated against… A prison of flesh indeed.

In my case – of a bodysuit. Which I, unlike them, could take off whenever I wanted.

And they deserved better than that. Every one of them…

“Umm… Vinnie is right.”

“It is easy to you to say it, looking like a dream,” replied Grace bitterly. “But even you will find it out. Sorry, Lexie, the life for a woman is that. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

And I could understand her too. Dedicated her life to care for her disabled child. But…

“Yes, this might be true. Women have a lot of responsibilities. Like the really decent men do, too. It is just harder for women to sneak out of these responsibilities than for men. Or maybe women are more responsible than men… But women can have dreams too. Can afford to sometimes live for what is their passion, joy and happiness. Looking not to ensnare men, but to just be happy with them. Much like some men look not to just use women for sex, but to be happy with them and make them happy too… And going after our dreams is what makes us real women, even more than the family and the children. Exactly like it makes men real men. Makes humans real humans… I say – go for it, Vinnie! This is your life to live, not mine or anyone else’s. You might decide to go for a family with children or something else – it is up to you. At a direction and pace only you choose.”

The women didn’t look completely convinced by this speech. I was not, too. But Vinnie deserved support. I had to give it to her. I was the only person in this room who knew what men really want. And I was amazed how similar to the women they are – with different prejudices and values, but yet so often ready to abandon their unique dreams for a success, career or other things… Vinnie deserved better.

The room was quiet during the rest of the day, too. There was no tension in the air, it was more like no one had made up their mind and was ready to say something and defend some position… That was why I was initially surprised when, after we left the changing room, while waiting for the elevator, Vinnie turned to me:

“T-thanks for the nice words, Lexie.”

“For nothing. I really think all this.”

“P-please accept my apologies. I was wrong t-to offend you yesterday. I was a-a-angry and…” Her voice trailed.

“Forgiven and forgotten. You were right to be angry, and deserved the right to vent it out. It is okay.”

“R-really?… You are u-u-unique, Lexie. Really.”

“No, Vinnie. I am a very ordinary person, exactly like you.”

“I-it was you who encouraged me to be my r-real self. T-to not be afraid… Thank you for this. With all of my heart… And I want to a-a-ask you for s-something.”

“Of course. Just name it.”

“T-there is a neighbor of mine. A g-girl about 30. We are g-good friends… She lost recently her mother, and is very shy and sad. Finds the life very hard. C-could you help her somehow? P-please!”

“Of course.” How could I refuse Vinnie?

“Are you f-free now? Yes? P-please come with me, I will meet you…”

The living room of Giorgia’s place had furniture made of massive dark wood and a huge library along two of the walls. The contrast with its slim, pale and melancholic owner was complete.

“Mom divorced Dad when I was seven,” she was telling me over the small glasses of wine she had served. “Said to me later that he drank too much and she finally had her patience exhausted. She had managed to convince the court somehow that he should not be given the right to see me. When I turned 18, I learned that he soon after the divorce had several times stood somewhere near my school and waited for Mom and me to pass, to have a look at me. So she got a court restraining order against him, forbade him to come to Milan at all… I don’t know if he was that dangerous when drunk, don’t remember seeing him drunk.”

“Sounds strange to me. If he really drank too much, you should have seen him drunk many times for seven years,” I noted.

“He worked somewhere far away, I don’t know what he did exactly, maybe in another city or the like. So, I only saw him about once per month, for a day or two. He would smile at me and lift me in the air, and hug me and be so happy that I am with him. As I was happy that I he is with me… I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t drink during these days, but drank during other times.”

“Was your mother seeing him when he was not with you?”

“Yes. I think that they spent the weekends together. Mom would leave me with Grandma and Grandpa during that time. Maybe he drank then…”

I nodded.

“Grandma and Grandpa died almost twenty years ago, just a month apart. Since then, Mom was my only relative, and friend and everything – I was too shy to make friends at school, at work too…”

Was she so shy because of losing the emotional support of her father? Maybe I would never know…

She took a delicate sip of wine and continued:

“And now I feel left completely alone. Dream every day that Dad will return somehow, from where he is working. That he will hug me again and I will smile again…” Two big tears rolled down her cheeks. “Even just once, to give me the strength to continue. I know that I must, I try it, but my strength is not enough. Maybe by very little…”

She rose up from the chair, went to the library wall and took something from there:

“This is my only photo of him.” She handled it to me.

I looked at it… and my heart jumped.

That was Uncle Franco.

Younger, with a short beard, but there could be no mistake. That was him.

I turned the photo. At his back was written: “Franco Santarosa, 1st place in Lombardy Climbing Competition, 2017”.

How this was possible?

What was the probability… statistically speaking?

“Is something wrong?” The voice of Giorgia was worried.

“Oh, ummm, he resembles a bit an uncle of mine… Not much, but there is some similarity. So I was surprised initially… But my uncle is from, ummm, Calabria, has never visited Milan, it cannot be him…”

Giorgia nodded sadly. Then suddenly something lit up in her eyes:

“Has… has your uncle ever hugged you, sometimes?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t a lie, Uncle Franco had done it several times.

“Did it feel like you are the happiest ever?”

“Ummm, mmmm… Maybe not the happiest ever, he is not my father, but I indeed felt happy… It was almost the same as when my father hugged me…”

Giorgia looked at me for some time. Then very quietly said:

“May I ask… for something?”

“Of course!”

“Could you… could you hug me, like your uncle hugged you? If he looks like Dad, maybe his hug would be similar too. Maybe it will help me… you know, continue with life.”

“Of course I will.”

I remembered well how Uncle Franco hugged me the first time he saw me, when I was five and arrived to the hut he was stationed in. How he would hug a daughter? Perhaps a little less strongly, but maybe even more protectively. Would lift her in the air, as Giorgia said… Well, she looked like she is not even 50 kilos, it wouldn’t be a problem for me to lift her in the air while holding her protectively…

When her feet left the ground, she gasped with surprise. But then hugged to me, as if trying to hide in me. And I felt exactly like a father, hugging his daughter. Feeling in the heaven with the happiness to be with her, ready to protect and defend her against the entire world. It didn’t matter at all that Giorgia was likely five years older than me. Or that she was a woman, and such a closeness would normally evoke sexual attraction. It didn’t now. Much like a father wouldn’t feel sexual attraction to his daughter even if she was Giorgia’s age…

Some time passed like this. When I finally put her carefully back on the floor, she looked at me with huge eyes. I waited patiently until she was able to speak again:

“How strong are you! I would never guess it by your appearance.”

“I have grown up with mountain rescuers. Was trained and taught how to carry an ill person, even a heavy man, on a steep mountain trail.”

Giorgia kept silent for some time. Then another two tears rolled on her face:

“You… You hugged me exactly like my father. I don’t know how. Maybe some miracle happened. But I swear I felt like he was sending me this hug. To tell me that he will always be with me. That I must find the strength to continue…”

I couldn’t find anything to say.

“Thank you, Alexandra. Thank you with all of my heart. I don’t know how I will be able to repay that to you… But you today saved me. From death or madness, I don’t know, but you did it. Thank you…”

… While waiting for the subway, I was thinking of Uncle Franco.

Until now, I didn’t know that he has been married. That he had a daughter.

And, most definitely, that he has been drinking. To the contrary – he was very intolerant towards alcohol. When not on duty, his colleagues could drink a glass of wine – he never drank even a drop.

Which was what someone that has quit drinking for good would do…

Until now, Uncle Franco was an icon to me. A saint whose perfection I wouldn’t permit to be questioned. The epitome of the real man, an ideal in flesh and blood. But he had turned out to be a human like everyone else.

Like the perfect woman Lexie, who was actually a very ordinary man.

Like the embodiment of masculinity Carlo, who was actually a girl.

Like the elderly company boss Sergio Montafun, who was actually the living god of the statistics.

Like the bitchy Grace who was actually a hero of a mother.

Like the nasty prick Tony who was actually a sufferer and a fighter.

Like the old gossip Aunt Lauretta who was actually very lonely, but strong and brave.

Like everyone else – an ordinary imperfect human and superhuman at the same time…