anziano

Martina

Some four years ago, I was going to Tuscany to pay a visit to a dear friend of mine. It was the beginning of September and the weather was still very hot. It was 4 pm, I had just spent the last four hours and a half on a train and I was sweaty and a bit tired. I was wearing shorts and a light top, my usual outfit for summertime. I remember I was waiting for my friend outside of the railway station, sitting on my trolley. It was a very nice day, there were loads of people walking past me and I was feeling happy at the idea of seeing my friend again after such a long time. I noticed an old man who was definitely more than 80 years old; he had a walking stick and looked very fragile. He had a friendly and nice look. He saw me sitting on my trolley by myself, so he decided that I needed some company. “It’s hot today, isn’t it?” he asked. “Indeed”, I replied with a smile. He started with small talk, describing the weather and talking about summertime in Arezzo. Being a polite person, I listened to him and replied in order to maintain the conversation on a friendly level. He looked almost cute, just like any other grandad. “What is a pretty young lady like you doing here all alone?” he asked. “I’m waiting for a friend”, I answered. It sounded like an innocent compliment and I appreciated it. “Ahhh, your boyfriend?” he asked again. “No, he’s just a friend”. I took my phone and texted my friend: “A cute old man has just welcomed me to Arezzo with his adorable Tuscan accent!” However, my appreciation didn’t last. The old man started to come too close to me. I began to feel a little bit uncomfortable. I told myself that I was acting silly; he was old, hence innocent and harmless. My uncomfort kept growing, until I just shut my mouth. I didn’t know how to react: was that man trying to flirt with me or is it just me being paranoid?! I got the answer straight away: he was not only trying to flirt with me, he was trying to touch me. He was basically right in front of me, something like 30 centimetres away from my face. I froze and I decided that I would stare at the phone screen in order not to give him a reason to go further. His voice changed. It lowered and it became really weird, as if he were getting sexually excited. I shiver every time I recollect this memory. I heard him murmur something like: “Such a pretty girl… But she won’t look at me! Why isn’t this pretty girl looking at me? Very pretty…” His leg was now brushing against my knee. I didn’t have the courage to look at him. I was paralysed and ashamed because I couldn’t believe that I, a 19-year-old girl, was being molested by a 80-year-old man. Fortunately, after half a couple of minutes of shock and disbelief, I heard my friend’s voice calling my name. His voice took me out of that powerless state and brought me back to myself. I got up and ran towards him, leaving the slobbery old man by himself.