"Figlio! Torna qui!Son! Come back here!" A young woman with wavy black curls pushed through the crowds in the busy terminal. She was new to the country and knew little about how to speak the language. She had told her son to keep close but he had gotten distracted by the hustle and bustle of the airport and wandered off. She saw which way he went but she soon lost him in the crowd.
"Figlio! Dove sei?Son! Where are you?" Looking for her son, she didn't notice the large, burly man in her path. She collided with the ground and looked up to see the man sneering down at her. "Watch where you're going!"
A few people had stopped what they were doing and started to stare. The brunette winced under the man's churlish glare and ducked her head. "S-sorry. M-my s-son."
The man tisked and stomped away, muttering cruel words under his breath as he went. The few people who had stayed to watch dispersed, leaving the woman crumpled on the floor in the middle of the airport. People trampled over her, not caring to look down or just ignoring her completely. She fought back the tears that were threatening to fall, not wanting to show weakness in a place she didn't know. She cupped both of her hands to her mouth and tried calling out again, "Figlio! Son!"
"Excuse me."
An angel was standing over her. Black hair that tumbled down her shoulders in curls and waves. She looked down at her with confusion and compassion, nothing like how the burly man had glared at her. "Do you speak English?" The woman gave a confused look. "English. Do you speak it?" She used hand gestures to better explain.
"Only a little." The woman's accent was heavy through her words.
The beautiful woman nodded. "Ok. Parli Italiano? Do you speak Italian? "
"Sí. Yes."
She smiled. "Bene! Come ti chiami? Good! What's your name?"
"Mi chiami Camila Bellini. My name is Camila Bellini."
"Che bel nome. What a beautiful name." The blue-eyed woman held her hand out to the woman on the floor. She looked from the woman's outstretched hand to her eyes, once, twice, a third time, before she warily accepted the hand up.
"Stai cercando tuo figlio? Are you looking for your son?"
Camilia nodded. "Sí. Ho perso mio figlio. Continuo a chiamarlo, ma non viene. Yes. I lost my baby. I keep calling him, but he won't come."
"È di questa altezza, capelli castani chiari, e indossa una camicia di flanella rossa è jeans blu? He is of this height, with dark hair, wearing a red flannel shirt and blue jeans." Again using hand gestures to explain what she was saying.
Camilia eyes widened and she smiled. "Sí. You've seen Andrea?"
"Come." The beautiful stranger grabbed her by the hand and led her through the thick crowds of the airport, pushing anyone out the way who wouldn't let them by. "Is everyone in America this rude?"
"No, not everyone. Ti traferisci qui? Are you moving here?" There was silence. "Ti trasferisci in America? Are you moving to America?"
"Sí. Me and Andrea, my son."
"That's a beautiful name."
"It was my late husband's." A crestfallen look fell over Camila's face. "He died before we come here to America."
"Oh. Mi dispiace. I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
She had led her to the Terminal 1 food court. The Italian women's mouth dropped at all the different restaurants and concession stands there were to choose from in such a big space. They stopped in front of a restaurant called 'New York Hot Dog & Coffee'.
Still, hand-in-hand, the woman used her free hand to pull open the door and they went in. The inside reminded her of her favorite deli from back home. There was a concrete countertop with a few workers behind the counter tending to the customers and serving coffee with the kitchen in full view of the customers who are sitting at the tables and booths that are lined up around the sides.
In a booth seat by the window, a little boy was sitting by himself. His hair was messily mopped on top of his head and his bangs swept over his right eye. He was wearing a red flannel shirt and blue denim jeans. He was eating a hot dog. A cup of coffee was on the table across from him. The woman pointed to the boy.
"Andrea!" Camilia rushed to her child and crouched down to pull him into the biggest hug. "Are you okay? I was so worried. Non farlo mai più! Don't ever do that again!"
"Sì, mamma. Mi dispiace."
"Thank you." The Italian woman rushed to her feet. "How can I repay you? I'll do anything."
"No need." The brunette picked up the cup of coffee and gently brought it to her lips. "Seeing a son and his mother happy and together is thanks enough," she said before taking a sip. She grabbed her black satin purse.
"Are you leaving," Andrea smiled dropped as the disappointment settled in.
She smiled a coy friendly smile that held such boyish mischief and charm that Andrea had to smile back. She crouched down to Andrea's height, "Here." A small white envelope was passed from the woman's hands to Andrea's. "I'm sure we'll meet again."
She lightly ruffled his already messy light brown hair before standing up. "Enjoy America!" The brunette patted Camila's shoulder in parting before sashaying out of the restaurant.
His fingers stumbled with the glued down flap before he finally got the envelope open. It was a flyer. The letters were written in cursive.
The Magic Show of the Century
Featuring the Mistress of Magic herself:
Zatanna Zatara
Performing On All Week Days
9:00 to 10:00 and 11:00 to 12:00
At Dante's Lounge
Andrea flipped the note over. There was a message written in cursive with light blue ink.
I'll be here from 9 to 12. If you need anything or just need to talk. The back door is always open.
~ Z
Andrea found himself grinning ear to ear when he finished reading the letter. He quickly stuffed the letter into his jacket pocket before his mother grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the restaurant and back into the terminal.
But neither of them noticed the purple sparks that flew when their hands touched.
Sorry if the translations are wrong. Italian is not my first language and I didn't trust Google Translate, so I tried to go for the next best thing. Feel free to correct me if you see anything wrong with the translations.