The Photographer (Ignazio Boschetto Fanfiction)

Chapter 44

Chapter 44

      

I hated the days that followed after his leaving, in which I stayed alone in that desolate hotel room, waiting for something to happen. With nothing to occupy my time except for the few preparations for my travel, I was entirely aware of the absence of him, and there was an incessant longing in my chest. I tried to distract myself, leaving the room over and over to find things to do in the city and look for places to photograph, but everything was cold and dead in the bitter wind, and the loneliness of the room was almost preferable.

The suite was one of the last places I’d seen him, and it was agonizing to think that only a few days earlier I had been dancing with him in that very room, hearing his voice, feeling his arms around me. It took all my strength not to jump on a place and fly to Boston to meet him. The minutes stretched out long and teasingly before me as I waited in agony for the day when I was to leave for Africa. There was nothing to do in the hotel anymore but sit and miss him, and I missed him so much it felt like my chest was always sore and my eyes were always wet.

*****

Finally, the day came when I would leave and meet Monica at the N.G. Headquarters to leave. I knelt on the cold floor of the hotel room as I put my things one by one into my suitcase. I somberly folded my Il Volo T-shirt and put it in, stacked up the Il Volo CDs, rolled up the tour schedule, and looked around the room, one of the last places Ignazio had been. It was as if I felt the ghost of him in the room, and I clung onto the knowledge that at one point, he had been in this room with me. I finally gathered the strength to get up, gather up my things, and, after a moment’s hesitation, turn off the light. I stepped into the hallway, still staring forlornly into the dark room, and then slowly closed the door, locking myself out and his ghost in.       

Monica was a spirited, eager, professional woman who was very pleased to have me along on her project. She was tall, caramel-colored, and very beautiful, and I liked her immediately. She greeted me warmly and as we went to the airport together she told me all about the project and Malawi, the first place we would be staying in. Hearing her speak so passionately about the project excited me, and I listened intently and energetically as she spoke. I dreamed about what it would be like to be there, and for a while I played contently with the idea in my mind.

Eventually, though, I reverted to my somber anguish as the plane took off and we were leaving D.C. I looked out the window sadly, and felt the pull on my heart toward Ignazio, who was already long gone. We had both come to D.C. to depart from each other, and now I was taking my leave.

“Tamzin?” Monica asked, and I straightened and turned my head to her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“You can tell me what it is, Tamzin.”

Her face was inviting and motherly, and I sighed and leaned my head against the window.

“I’m so excited for this job, Monica! I’ve been dreaming of it for so long! But…I had to leave someone I love behind, and it hurts.”

“Was it a boyfriend?”

I nodded.

“His name was…is Ignazio. He’s the one who contacted National Geographic for me.”

“Did he?” she said, her voice understanding and comforting, “That’s great of him.”

I nodded, and then sat up straight. “His name is Ignazio Boschetto, and I was the photographer for the group he’s in, Il Volo.”

“How was that?”

I smiled and turned toward her, thinking of where to begin.

*****