I was walking down the street admiring the Palacio de Comunicaciones and passing by the Banco Real de España. My thoughts were all over the place: What could have possibly prevented him from seeing me? What went wrong? Was it my fault? It probably was. Failure was all over me. And the worst feeling I had was knowing that I could not do anyting to make me feel better. I kept walking as I remembered how I met him.
We met in Rome walking around the ruins of Il Foro Romano. We bumped into each other “accidentally” – I don’t believe in accidents: everything happens at its time and at the right place. He apologized in English, and I replied with “It’s OK. Don’t worry.” He seemed surprised. His eyes widened as he stared at me for some time trying to figure out where I was from. Then he smiled. Gosh, how the boy smiled! He had this prince-like posture: tender and square face, with some stubble framing his masculine expression, round and sharp brown eyes, perfectly shaped nose, tall and slender body, brown hair, light flawless skin, thin and light pinked lips, and a smile that above all his features conquered my eyes. He was wearing a blue scarf wrapped around his neck, an unzipped woolen jacket with gray zigzagged-lines as a pattern, a white sweater with thin gray and black lines across, square sunglasses on his head that had the “AX” logo on the temples, and black jeans. To me, it was a perfect outfit to be walking around Rome in winter. My friends were next to me, and we were talking in Spanish joking around and guessing how the Romans during their greatest times used to live and enjoy of all the delights of their empire. We were having fun pretending we knew world history. I didn’t tell them anything about him. I wanted to keep him for me. This was going to be my adventure in Rome. As we kept walking around the ruins, I noticed he was following us- or so I thought. The idea of him walking behind us was intriguing but fun. Suddenly, he disappeared. I was disappointed. Where did he go? Was I going to see him again? What was his name? Where was he from? I wondered while my friends and I were walking towards the Coliseum. We were hungry and needed to find a restaurant soon. We had been walking all day. We had only had coffee and toasted bread with butter and strawberry jam for breakfast at the hotel.
We finally ran into Trattoria Luzzi, such a wonderful and authentic Italian restaurant. There were tables outside the street with the red and white checkered tablecloths and lit candles. The waiter welcomed us, “Quante persone?” I said three people. He led us into the inside of the restaurant and offered us some water. The inside of the restaurant was small but cozy; the walls were bricked with a reddish tone that made the place look older, and there were old pictures of the different places in Rome hung on the walls around the room. To my left hand side there were a chimney and some logs being burned. Right next to the chimney, there was a wooden door with a sign reading “La Cucina.” The environment was warm that we felt welcome in such a lovely place. My two friends were talking about how amazing the city was: narrow streets and old buildings, a trattoria located on every corner of every street, cold yet bearable weather, motorcycles parked on the sidewalks, old men walking down the streets speaking such a loud and fast Italian and moving their hands as they spoke trying to convince each other their argument was the right one. As my friends were pointing out the highlights of such a fascinating Rome, I looked around and saw him seated at the table near the window that framed the old peach-colored building across the street. Another waiter was with him, and he was ordering in Spanish with a Spaniard accent. I stared at him admiring his Spanish, his posture, his face, his voice… him. He sensed my staring and looked directly at me and smiled. I quickly looked down at the menu. I was shaking. He caught me staring at him! I couldn’t look back.
I ordered pasta and ate it uncomfortably because I knew he was right there perhaps looking at me and thinking about me who knows what. It might have been my imagination and my desire of him staring at me,and I wanted to impress him. I placed my napkin on my lap, kept my elbows off the table and my back flat and straight, ate slowly and quietly, used delicately the utensils, didn’t sip the red wine I ordered until I was finished with my dish, and nabbed my mouth when I finished eating. How I thanked my grandma for teaching me all these manners when I was a kid! After eating and paying the check, my friends and I took off. He was still there. I walked out of the restaurant wanting to look at him, but I couldn’t. The whole time we were walking towards our hotel, I was thinking about him.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and the whole city was quiet. Restaurants, stores, and museums were closed. Churches were the only ones open. So, we decided to go to Piazza Navona, which was about two hours walking from the hotel. We spend most of the day at that place. There were different tents around the plaza selling figurines for nativity sets, handmade wooden toys, and Christmas ornaments. As we walked around taking pictures and admiring everything we saw, we heard some Andean music and noticed there were people in a circle watching a band of musicians playing such music. We joined the group, and I looked around to see how Italians and tourists were admiring the musicians and what they were playing. Then, there he was again! His prince-like figure dressed so neat and so European. We looked at each other. He smiled again; I froze. How stupid I was! How could I freeze? The obvious thing was to smile back at him, but no! I had to freeze and stare at him like an idiot. One of my friends was asking me something, but I could not understand because I was paralyzed. She poked me and asked me loudly, “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” I looked at her but didn’t reply. I was still astounded by his smile, his eyes, his look, his prince-like figure. We went back to the hotel, and I was quiet again thinking of him.
On Christmas day we went to the Vatican, a two-hour-and-a-half walk from the hotel. It was a sunny yet fresh day. I felt the morning breeze and took a deep breath. I felt a rejuvenating and empowering mood: I was in Rome, and I was going to have a great day! As we approached our destination, I was amazed: the Vatican took my breath away. It was so beautiful and imposing, so grand and marvelous, so holy, and so superb. I couldn’t believe I was there! People were gathered around the piazza San Pietro: flags from different countries being waved and people from different races but only one faith. A mass was ending, and the Pope blessed us all in several languages from the balcony in the center of the basilica. Everyone screamed joyfully when the Pope was blessing them in their respective languages. The bells began to toll triumphantly as the Swiss guards began to march away the basilica. It was fascinating. We were able to go inside the church after the mass had ended and after having waited in line for about forty minutes. The beauty and sanctity of the sacred place made me forget for some time about him and his prince-like figure. I was looking up at the ceiling admiring the well-painted scenes from the bible. Suddenly, I ran into him! Oh good heaven! I ran into my intriguing prince. My feet were cold as I looked at him. I said I was sorry so timidly I could barely hear myself. He smiled at me, and I froze again!
We met in Rome walking around the ruins of Il Foro Romano. We bumped into each other “accidentally” – I don’t believe in accidents: everything happens at its time and at the right place. He apologized in English, and I replied with “It’s OK. Don’t worry.” He seemed surprised. His eyes widened as he stared at me for some time trying to figure out where I was from. Then he smiled. Gosh, how the boy smiled! He had this prince-like posture: tender and square face, with some stubble framing his masculine expression, round and sharp brown eyes, perfectly shaped nose, tall and slender body, brown hair, light flawless skin, thin and light pinked lips, and a smile that above all his features conquered my eyes. He was wearing a blue scarf wrapped around his neck, an unzipped woolen jacket with gray zigzagged-lines as a pattern, a white sweater with thin gray and black lines across, square sunglasses on his head that had the “AX” logo on the temples, and black jeans. To me, it was a perfect outfit to be walking around Rome in winter. My friends were next to me, and we were talking in Spanish joking around and guessing how the Romans during their greatest times used to live and enjoy of all the delights of their empire. We were having fun pretending we knew world history. I didn’t tell them anything about him. I wanted to keep him for me. This was going to be my adventure in Rome. As we kept walking around the ruins, I noticed he was following us- or so I thought. The idea of him walking behind us was intriguing but fun. Suddenly, he disappeared. I was disappointed. Where did he go? Was I going to see him again? What was his name? Where was he from? I wondered while my friends and I were walking towards the Coliseum. We were hungry and needed to find a restaurant soon. We had been walking all day. We had only had coffee and toasted bread with butter and strawberry jam for breakfast at the hotel.
We finally ran into Trattoria Luzzi, such a wonderful and authentic Italian restaurant. There were tables outside the street with the red and white checkered tablecloths and lit candles. The waiter welcomed us, “Quante persone?” I said three people. He led us into the inside of the restaurant and offered us some water. The inside of the restaurant was small but cozy; the walls were bricked with a reddish tone that made the place look older, and there were old pictures of the different places in Rome hung on the walls around the room. To my left hand side there were a chimney and some logs being burned. Right next to the chimney, there was a wooden door with a sign reading “La Cucina.” The environment was warm that we felt welcome in such a lovely place. My two friends were talking about how amazing the city was: narrow streets and old buildings, a trattoria located on every corner of every street, cold yet bearable weather, motorcycles parked on the sidewalks, old men walking down the streets speaking such a loud and fast Italian and moving their hands as they spoke trying to convince each other their argument was the right one. As my friends were pointing out the highlights of such a fascinating Rome, I looked around and saw him seated at the table near the window that framed the old peach-colored building across the street. Another waiter was with him, and he was ordering in Spanish with a Spaniard accent. I stared at him admiring his Spanish, his posture, his face, his voice… him. He sensed my staring and looked directly at me and smiled. I quickly looked down at the menu. I was shaking. He caught me staring at him! I couldn’t look back.
I ordered pasta and ate it uncomfortably because I knew he was right there perhaps looking at me and thinking about me who knows what. It might have been my imagination and my desire of him staring at me,and I wanted to impress him. I placed my napkin on my lap, kept my elbows off the table and my back flat and straight, ate slowly and quietly, used delicately the utensils, didn’t sip the red wine I ordered until I was finished with my dish, and nabbed my mouth when I finished eating. How I thanked my grandma for teaching me all these manners when I was a kid! After eating and paying the check, my friends and I took off. He was still there. I walked out of the restaurant wanting to look at him, but I couldn’t. The whole time we were walking towards our hotel, I was thinking about him.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and the whole city was quiet. Restaurants, stores, and museums were closed. Churches were the only ones open. So, we decided to go to Piazza Navona, which was about two hours walking from the hotel. We spend most of the day at that place. There were different tents around the plaza selling figurines for nativity sets, handmade wooden toys, and Christmas ornaments. As we walked around taking pictures and admiring everything we saw, we heard some Andean music and noticed there were people in a circle watching a band of musicians playing such music. We joined the group, and I looked around to see how Italians and tourists were admiring the musicians and what they were playing. Then, there he was again! His prince-like figure dressed so neat and so European. We looked at each other. He smiled again; I froze. How stupid I was! How could I freeze? The obvious thing was to smile back at him, but no! I had to freeze and stare at him like an idiot. One of my friends was asking me something, but I could not understand because I was paralyzed. She poked me and asked me loudly, “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” I looked at her but didn’t reply. I was still astounded by his smile, his eyes, his look, his prince-like figure. We went back to the hotel, and I was quiet again thinking of him.
On Christmas day we went to the Vatican, a two-hour-and-a-half walk from the hotel. It was a sunny yet fresh day. I felt the morning breeze and took a deep breath. I felt a rejuvenating and empowering mood: I was in Rome, and I was going to have a great day! As we approached our destination, I was amazed: the Vatican took my breath away. It was so beautiful and imposing, so grand and marvelous, so holy, and so superb. I couldn’t believe I was there! People were gathered around the piazza San Pietro: flags from different countries being waved and people from different races but only one faith. A mass was ending, and the Pope blessed us all in several languages from the balcony in the center of the basilica. Everyone screamed joyfully when the Pope was blessing them in their respective languages. The bells began to toll triumphantly as the Swiss guards began to march away the basilica. It was fascinating. We were able to go inside the church after the mass had ended and after having waited in line for about forty minutes. The beauty and sanctity of the sacred place made me forget for some time about him and his prince-like figure. I was looking up at the ceiling admiring the well-painted scenes from the bible. Suddenly, I ran into him! Oh good heaven! I ran into my intriguing prince. My feet were cold as I looked at him. I said I was sorry so timidly I could barely hear myself. He smiled at me, and I froze again!
Oh the suspense!!! You know what you're story writing just reminded me of?!! In a lot of European films, the plot of the story is concentrated on how two characters love each other mentally, not physcially. When I watched a lot of European films during my undergrad, I kept waiting for the couple to just do it and have sex because that's what usually follows in movies. However, as you know, many films here in the U.S. are like that and show lots of sex when two characters are in love or interested in each other. I love how your story, happening in Europe, goes along with with the idea of European films only describing and showing the attraction of two people. Loved it!
ReplyDelete