About a Girl

An airport is probably the worst place to be for a day. Especially when you’re leaving a place that you’re leaving so much behind. Staring at the people, wishing they were others, wrapping your head around the people you’re leaving behind. I met people that will live on in Rome, they’ll live their lives, they’ll love, they’ll regret, cry, and laugh, when I’m on the other side of the world hopefully doing the same. And the whole experience of living in a city like Rome for a month and some change is that you get to know people, and if you want to, you really get to know them. Which in the moment seemed like a good thing to do, the natural human thing to do, interaction, kisses on the cheek, a friendly ciao when I walked by, but now it just hurts, its painful in the weirdest way. Even though I said, oh yeah I leave then for this place and going to do that, and see this, it doesn’t really matter. When that last day comes and you walk down the stairs or open the elevator door it seems like just for those little moments right then and there that you made them believe that it was never going to be like this. I can go to LA or even NYC for a weekend, or a week and meet people, people that I’ll care about and want to see again. But those places are comprehendible; it’s not as difficult. But Rome, Paris, Barcelona? Those are places that will only live within the time I was there, and the people too. I don’t know there’s no real answer but it seems like when a place and people touch you, and really do, past any fabricated bullshit, hold onto it, and remember it for as long as possible. Because even when I go back, it’ll never be the same, and I’ll always be searching for the same rhythms.

Golden Hours

The sun and clouds cut colorful bright reveries down on the coastal countryside.

“No God here, babe, this isn’t the Italian Dream.” Verita said.

“Oh yeah, yeah, how about Utopia? Maybe further?”

It seemed as if the hills just kept rolling and colliding over one another, the dropping sun closing in on the far reaching horizon on the cusp of creation and where the land falls into the deep blue.

“You feel that breeze coming around?”

“Mhm, I can almost smell the salt.”

The trees in the Italian hills were plush and perfect from above it would be like a great green carpet tossed over rolling rocks.

“This is where they used to bury their dead, right here in these tombs.”

“Dark and dreary, not a place where I’d like to lay my soul.”

We sat down in the near café watching the heat rise, yet the soft cool breeze rustle the trees. True happiness, true peace, I could feel it everywhere in me.

“What for tomorrow, en la manana?”

“The ocean, the sea, that deep blue out there.” I looked over at Veritas, exhaling a drag, and uncorking the white. As she poured 2 heavy glasses,

“Love.. if this isn’t living, I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I think many would agree.”

The sun dropped, and bottles clanked. The next morning rose, and with it the heat. Veritas and I hopped on the scoot and rod the graceful winding cypress filled hills down to the oceanic beauty. She clutched my waist and leaned in with me on every turn. On one long stretch and I reared my head to the empty heaven sky and bugled nothings up at the sun god, and we reached the beach without a soul around.

“Let’s run down the water’s edge, right down with every vibration.” She proposed.

“Oh hell, sure.” We ran and tossed in the water, then set up the big beach umbrella and hid from the sun. I pulled out the gin, limes, and tonic, and started brewing.

“Oh hey love, I have some fun little things I picked from Jupiter’s garden.” She hands me 2 pieces of angelic looking remedies, and I threw them back. “Supposedly you’ll feel God, the holy trinity, and maybe some of those good old boys of the past.” Veritas said.

“If you say so.”

Modern love I thought, what a ride, for reality or for not, it’s hard to tell some of these days. I sipped my gin and listened to the rhythm of the waves, and crashing, and receding, and the dripping of life. It was a different time right then and there, rolling down the edges of the red, white, and green, creating our own stories, and possible truths, not caring about the whole damn world, but maybe just reason, and the answer to the moving of time.

“Yeah.. I see that grin, how is it?” Verita asked.

“Wild, but I think I’m here.”

“The Italian Dream, I’m pretty sure we found it.” She said.

“Yeah, yeah maybe.”

“You see him?”

“I think I feel him, like a quacking out there in the blue, I don’t know, is this the point? The reason and all?”

“I think, not everyone sees the big man, some see other things and feel other dreams.” She said.

“What? The ole boys? Them toga-ed cloud dwellers?”

“Whatever fits with you, whatever you want to see, right?”

“I don’t know Verita, what about you?”

“I think it’s all bullshit, it’s just the high.” Verita said with a smile and then with no warning to any heaven she faded into that cool zephyr flowing off of the sea.

The gin still poured, the palliatives worked, and it was all good and fine because it I knew it was real at one point, and never actually too far from the truth. I took a deep breath and looked at the unveiled sky, and then that’s when the strange music started to play, but I swear I could’ve died in those days without a worry in the world.

Wild Fires of North America

( I KNOW THE FORMATTING IS KIND OF WHACKED OUT, BLAME IT ON BLOGGER FOR BEING STUPID, SORRY!!!)

      

Ben, Devin, and I set out to find a special place, a spot where nobody else in the writing program was thinking of going, or seeing. A location so real, and untouched that tourists would be foreign, and the experience would be new. We left for Sorrento, a beach tourist town, and we would stay there at night and go out the next day for the remote. Just getting to Sorrento was an odyssey all on its own. We hopped on the fast train out of Rome Termini next to The Capitol after catching the tram there from our place in Trestevere.

It had to have been the most interesting yet berserk train ride I’ve ever been on. About an hour and a half in I was awakened by what it seemed like 3 tanned chubby brothers yapping at each other walking through our cart, half way through the biggest likely to be the oldest brother planted a foot, pivoted, looked the poor soul of the medium sized boy in the eyes and absolutely slapped him into oblivion. The culprit without any doubt turned back around and kept walking. The brother that was struck let out a gasp and kept walking too; he seemed to have known his place. Almost immediately after that the train came to a complete stop next to a wild and raging brush fire. My flight senses shot to my bag, which I slung over my shoulder, and I jumped in the direction of the nearest exit, completely oblivious to Ben and Devin still sitting but wide-eyed watching the flames grow,

“What the fuck, why is the train stopped?”

“Dude this is not good.”

“Damn if I blow up in the Italian country side, not yet.”

Then the train slowing started chugging again leaving the ripping flames behind, I sat down and just shook my head and closed my eyes.  

I woke up in what seemed to be the Detroit of Italy, Naples. From Naples we were supposed to take another train to Sorrento. We wanted to leave immediately; the place seeped of dirt, and fear. It wasn’t a place to stay, or see, at least from the train station. We jumped on the second train, which was more reminiscent of a subway than anything. The damn thing came after we waited in the dank train station for it to roll up for 30 minutes. The amount of people waiting was far more than its legitimate capacity, and as soon as those doors swung open everyone on that platform ran through as if their lives depended on it. We pushed and pulled through the maze and got to an area where we could stand and hold on through every screech and stop. We met a couple from New Jersey that were backpacking right down and around the whole continent. The man, a history teacher, and the woman, a nurse. Real salt of the earth, I turned to Devin, and said, “Those are the kinds of people that make countries.”

He nodded as if he was thinking the exact thing.

Eventually we were able to sit and I wrote down each stop’s name. The road, or way to Sorrento was long and hot, flying through Ercolano, Pompeii, Portici, Bellavista, Cavavilla de Bronzo, flowing in and out of dark tunnels with rattling trains blowing by, past South Gorgio a Cremano, Pozzo. Us guys had been split up and Ben was sitting with 3 other men, and Devin with 2 and a younger lady. She was on the phone going back and forth with the person on the other end. The Barra stop came, and the man sitting across from her got up and left. I went over and sat down and started talking with Devin, mostly cursing the elements, and the dark atmosphere of the subway even with the cabins scorching hot. The younger blonde lady looked up at me and said, “Ciao.”

I looked back, and said, “English?”

She smiled, and nodded her head.

“You ever been to Nettuno?” I asked.

“No, I heard it’s beautiful, but hard to get to kinda.”

“Yeah, we are from America, and want to see real Italy, the small towns, and stuff.”

“You staying in Napoli?”

“No, no, Roma, we are students, writers.”

“Aaah, I study Economics, much easier than writing.”

“I don’t know about that.”

We sat talking for a few more stops until hers rolled up, San Giovanni. She added me on Facebook, and said she’d be in Rome for the Holi Festival. I nodded and waved goodbye.

            About 20 more minutes and we were in Sorrento. We dropped our things off, grabbed some sandwiches, a few beers, and a couple bottles of wine and went to the beach. It was already about 8:30 or so, and we just sat there on the beach and watched the night come in. It was all good and okay there, no real worries about anything.

            The next morning came and we hopped on another bus to take us to our special location and beach. Netunno. The winding crazed road in made me think that every bus driver must have been a real professional, there was no messing around in those parts, you had to have ice cold veins, and strong white knuckles, because past the small brick ledge was infinity down the plush beautiful hills. I imagined the headline: 3 good old American boys, and a few random Italians blow up in beautiful spectacle seen from every corner of the coast.

            About an hour past and we woke up in Nettuno. We found the nearest bar, grabbed a few beers, and sandwiches and laid out on the rocks. At first you see a rock beach and it looks terrible and crude, but after a while it wasn’t too bad, and I came to appreciate the fact that I didn’t have sand in every corner of my body. We sat there talking, sleeping, making stacks of rocks. I saw two young Italian boys playing volleyball in the water, and I went in for a swim. I went over to them and asked if I could play, 10 minutes past and Devin was in on it as well. We dove, jumped, fell over, laughed in the water for 45 minutes or so. The little boys probably around 10 or 12 were just as old as Devin and I were, and me and Devin as old as them, they didn’t speak English, we didn’t speak Italian, but it didn’t matter, we were all just kids playing in the water enjoying a break from the heat, and I thought sitting back on the beach, these are the things I’ll remember. I won’t remember an assignment sitting on my deathbed moments away, I won’t remember the score of that game, or how great that song was, I’ll remember the interaction, the meeting of people, her smile, the ways the boys would laugh, the essence of things, places, real beauty, and all the colors.

            One of the mothers got my attention, and said that us playing with them was very nice. She spoke great English, along with a few of the other ladies that were with her.

“You have to go there for dinner, and get an ‘uggo’, good seafood too.”

“All right, yeah we will.”

“And how’d you find out about this place? We never see tourists.. well, tourists from so far away.”

“You know, I’m not really sure.”

“I guess things just happen sometimes.” She said.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

The last bus left for Nettuno at 11, and it was only 8 or so by this time so we headed up for dinner. A kind middle-aged Italian man sat us to our seats, and I ordered 3 uggos off the jump. Minutes later he came out with the cold beverages, along with some appetizers that never were counted into the bill. The drinks were so perfect, and the view so gorgeous, watching the sun drop into the sea that I thought now everything will be underwhelming, not a goddamn thing will beat this moment. We sipped 3 more glasses of the celestial drink, and all got the spaghetti, with seafood just as the women advised, and jesus I’ve never felt so alive. We sat there and watched the colors become more purple, and rapt, and the upper regions come alive. There was nowhere else then, nobody else, just the stars, and the open sky. It eventually got dark enough that the moon came out and it was almost right on the edge of the horizon, huge, and bulbous, and the darkest shade of orange. Over the next half hour it rose, and ascended into the high sky illuminating more with color in every stage. It didn’t seem real, and I don’t know if it still was, we all could of been dreaming drunk off the celestial drink just imagining life to be that wild, and impulsive, mother nature was truly messing with our minds right then with no regret, just whispering, “just keep watching boys, you haven’t seen shit yet.”
And I kept sitting there and thinking, hell, I don’t know if I even want to anymore.