Never did I think that a rosary beads could move me and move me. But to receive one from B’s hands, at a time when he was leaving the House, to know that he spent some of his precious time and resources to leave me something tangible from the short time we spent together really touched me deeply, and this gesture helps restore meaning to this experience of mine in Scalabrini House 634.

B left the House yesterday and moved in with D, about whom I told a few posts ago. The moment of the exit moved everyone. The two appeared tense, worried and very sad. We are talking about young men not so accustomed in legitimizing themselves to express and tell their emotions. Yet they did so, telling us of their fears and uncertainties, with respect to this new station on their journey.

So far Italy, Rome in particular, have meant the various facilities that represent first reception and are called by cold acronyms: CAS, SPAR, SAI. Places where space and personal freedom are limited, but which offer the cot on which to rest, the hot meal, two pennies for coffee and a croissant.

Then, in more or less random circumstances, the landing in this strange place, Scalabrini House 634, better than the centers, but still far from autonomy and freedom. The reprimands for cleanliness in the room and common areas, the constant reminders to hurry up and find a room to rent, as if it were easy, and just when you think you’ve gotten away with it for the day and can finally throw yourself on the bed to laze around, someone invariably comes to flush you out for the House dinner, the who-knows-what party, the facility meeting.

But the garden and the painted wall that separates from the Casilina are a moment of peace after a day of hard work and a protection against a world where everything is so entangled.

Freedom, autonomy are scary, and then, in a part of the world where everything has a price, freedom you have to be able to afford it.

Last night we were all moved and we were all trying hard not to start sobbing. It was then that B took out of his pocket a small silver package wrapping a rosary beads, “This is for you, for the good you have done me,” he said. I broke down suddenly and could not hold back the tears. I lowered my head and muttered, “I apologize .” But B put a hand on my shoulder and reassured me, telling me that, sometimes, it happens to him too. I thought, bleep, if this happens to B… Do you want it not to happen to me? Then, by now, I have reached that age in which you are even moved by La Pimpa.

We loaded the van and headed to their new quarters. Unloading our luggage, in front of the gate we looked at each other and, almost in chorus, exclaimed, “Selfie!” Now we were smiling but that one the picture, you will excuse me, I keep it all to myself.

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