Beyond death

Alba POV Sitting in the plush passenger seat of Papà’s dark silver Ford Focus, I marveled as the scenery transitioned from the lively bustle of Rome to the tranquil countryside of outer Lazio. The familiar journey, a ritual since I was four, guided us back to our holiday haven in Bracciano. My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and as I retrieved it, I found the front camera inadvertently activated in selfie mode. A swift self-check revealed my straight, mousey brown hair, brown almond-shaped eyes, button nose, and heart-shaped lips. My athletic build, a testament to my love for running around the ancient Roman chariot racing stadium, Circo Massimo, filled me with a sense of pride. I couldn't resist capturing the moment with a quick selfie, puckering my lips before delving into a message from Zia Giulia, expressing her anticipation of my return. The echo of mysterious circumstances surrounded my mother's passing when I was only two. Papà, tight-lipped about the details, ushered us to Bracciano each summer, allowing Mamma to return on the eve of the Summer Solstice until the 24th of June, aligning with the ancient Roman tradition. The in-between periods waiting for Mamma's return in Rome proved challenging, prompting Papà to transform our childhood home in Bracciano into a cherished holiday retreat. This village, where my mother grew up, held painful memories in her absence and was the driving force behind Papà's decision to move from the south of Italy. He sought a fresh start, providing me with more opportunities beyond the confines of a small town. Despite our city life, every summer, when school let out, we returned to Bracciano to await Mamma's arrival. Over the years, I discovered that the miraculous return of deceased loved ones during the Summer Solstice wasn't exclusive to our family. It extended to all those in our village who had passed away around the same time as Mamma. Whether labeled as a miracle or magic, the phenomenon intrigued me, challenging the Catholic traditions I learned at school. Though baptised and partaking in my first communion due to societal norms, my fascination with the supernatural and Roman mythology led me to question the true nature of the events in Bracciano. If it wasn't a religious miracle, what mysterious force was at play? Seventeen years old and returning for the umpteenth summer, I was determined to unravel the enigma surrounding this "miracle." Was it a divine gift, an infusion of light magic, or something more ominous? Did the Christian God I grew up believing in have a hand in it, or was it the result of a different force? Questions about the elusive cause of my mother's death and its connection to countless others in our village haunted me. This year, I resolved to confront my paternal grandparents, aunt, and maternal uncle in Bracciano, determined to unearth family secrets. Zio Alessandro, a mere ten years my senior, held the key to the mysteries that had long eluded me. They seemed to believe I was still too wrapped in youth to grasp the complexities, but this year, I was determined to apply the pressure. My target for revelations was Zio (uncle) Alessandro. Our connection was strong in every aspect except the enigma shrouding Mamma's fate. During my time in Rome, I maintained regular contact with him, and he frequently visited us when seeking a city refuge. Despite being just a decade my senior, he appeared to hold the keys to the family vault of secrets. In this pivotal year, my resolution was steadfast—I aimed to extract every morsel of knowledge he harboured! “Papà's voice interrupted my contemplation. "What are you thinking about?" he inquired from the driver's seat. "Oh, nothing, just getting excited about seeing Mamma again. I miss her," I replied. "I do too, Alba. I do too," Papà acknowledged. At thirty-six, Papà, a young father by Italian standards, appeared more like my sibling than a parent. With almost black hair that glistened brown in the sunlight, clear dark brown eyes, a Roman nose, neatly trimmed beard, and tanned olive skin, he stood at 6ft 2 with a solid, muscular build. His half sleeve adorned with Latin symbols and designs hinted at mysteries I hoped to unravel when deemed older. As we approached Bracciano, the anticipation of our annual summer homecoming filled the air. We typically embarked on our journey a week after the commencement of summer break. This time frame allowed us to thoroughly clean and dust the house upon our arrival. During this week, we also caught up with my maternal grandparents, Zio Alessandro (Mamma’s younger brother), and Zia Giulia (Papà’s older sister). These reunions preceded our dedicated days with Mamma during the Summer Solstice. The significance of the summer solstice extended beyond our personal traditions. It was widely celebrated throughout Italy, with religious ceremonies and festivities echoing in the grand cathedrals. The architectural marvels of these structures were designed to align with the sun's path in the sky. In our quaint village, the summer solstice held special importance due to the annual miracle, making participation in these celebrations a customary part of my life. Mamma's return was a pivotal moment during the Summer Solstice, occurring precisely at midnight as the eve turned into the day. In previous years, I would be asleep by this moment, only to awaken to the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cornetti (croissants) from the nearby Italian bar (café), a delightful breakfast ritual my parents upheld. As the weight of another year pressed upon me, bringing me closer to adulthood, a newfound sense of responsibility settled within. Determination surged within me, fueled by the decision that this time, I would be the one to greet Mamma at the door when she arrived during the Summer Solstice. The mystery surrounding Mamma's return lingered, a perplexing enigma guarded by the shroud of "family secrets." Despite my many years of returning to Bracciano, the specifics of her reappearance eluded me. It was an aspect deliberately veiled from my understanding, leaving me with more questions than answers. A prevailing assumption held that she materialised at the front door precisely at midnight, a notion gleaned from Papà's limited revelations. However, the resolve to unravel this mystery consumed me anew this year. The anticipation of Mamma's return acted as a catalyst for my determination. I declared my intent: this would be the year I delved into the heart of the family's concealed truths. Bracciano would not release its hold on me until I unraveled the intricacies surrounding Mamma's reappearance and the mystique of the Summer Solstice. - The journey from Rome to Bracciano unfolded in an unhurried manner, just shy of an hour's duration. The confines of the car, shared with Papà, proved surprisingly tolerable, allowing me to immerse myself in my own melodic sanctuary with headphones in place or succumb to the rhythmic lull for a tranquil slumber. The vehicle, a haven of comfort, embraced any form of travel with ease. Departing Rome shortly after the riposo, or rest time, the clock approached 5 pm as we neared the scenic expanse of Lake Bracciano. A jewel of volcanic origin, the lake sprawled before us, its allure captivating. The view, seemingly destined for poetic praise, signaled our arrival in Bracciano, a familiar pilgrimage etched into the fabric of my memory over the past thirteen years. Nestled in Bracciano, our residence stood proudly, a two-story haven painted in a gentle hue of pale yellow, crowned by the quintessential terracotta tiles adorning Italian homes. A symphony of nostalgia and modernity, the upper floor cradled three bedrooms, including the main bathroom, while the ground level embraced a vintage farm-style mahogany kitchen. Intriguingly, a concealed servant's kitchen beckoned, its secrets veiled from my exploration. An open-plan dining and living area embraced the essence of our familial haven, a testament to the passage of time, renovated with care by our local kin, preserving the warmth of tradition amid modern comforts. Zia Giulia had recently revamped my bedroom, and it marked the first time I laid eyes on the transformation since the previous year. Her decree echoed through the room, an evolution from girly pinks and soft toys to a space befitting an approaching eighteen-year-old. Despite being only a couple of years older than Papà, Zia Giulia exuded a trendy and stylish air for her thirty-nine years. Resembling Papà's twin in her well-maintained appearance, she sported almost black hair that shimmered brown in the sun. The straight, flowing locks cascaded just above her bottom, and I couldn't help but recall my childhood perception of her as a witch. Her features, from deep-set almond eyes to a Roman nose, portrayed a beauty that radiated from within. Having outgrown the pale pink walls adorned with a floral border, remnants of my three-year-old self, I approached Zia Giulia for a change. While Papà clung to the sentimental aspects of my childhood room, I believed Zia Giulia could bridge the gap between nostalgia and adulthood. Trusting her creative touch, I expressed my desire for a revamped space. In this exciting venture, I specifically requested to retain only one artifact, a cherished blue fairy soft toy from Pinocchio, a sentimental gift from Mamma during my infancy. With this entrusted task, Zia Giulia held the reins for the complete overhaul of my childhood sanctuary, promising anticipation for the approaching summer. This year is destined to be mine, a time to unravel the tightly guarded family secrets, delve into the enigma surrounding the miracle granting the return of deceased loved ones in our town, and relish the transformation of my bedroom into a space befitting the threshold of adulthood. As anticipation courses through my veins, a surge of excitement propels me forward into the upcoming summer. The prospect of discovering the truth about the mysterious circumstances surrounding my mother's death and the subsequent magical occurrences during the Summer Solstice festivities fills me with an eager resolve. This newfound determination spurs me to embark on a journey of inquiry and revelation, pushing the boundaries of what has long been shrouded in secrecy. With every passing moment, my mind races with plans and strategies to unearth the concealed truths. How much can I uncover before the anticipated return of Mamma during the Summer Solstice? The countdown begins, igniting a sense of urgency that propels me into a quest for answers. The very air around me crackles with anticipation, a prelude to the summer that promises to be a transformative chapter in my life. No more secrets, Alba! The time has come to pierce the veil of mystery and uncover the hidden threads that bind our family to the magical occurrences of Bracciano. Let's embark on this thrilling journey together and unveil the truths that have long eluded us.