It's been far too long since my last near-death experience, and, at the risk of sounding like a speed junky with no concern for self-fulfilling prophecies, I'm thinking it's time to hit the road again.
By the time Katie and I arrived in Napoli, we were ready to gorge ourselves on pizza and wine. The train ride from Sicily had taken about nine hours, but it felt like several days had passed by the time we stepped onto the platform. I wished a buon viaggio to the woman with whom I'd changed seats, feeling a touch guilty to be getting off the train bound for Rome, filled with hot and agitated Italians who had not anticipated so many delays.
Dinner was similar to others we'd shared: I spoke Italian to the waiter, who responded in English, and we ordered wine, two pizzas, and this time...stuffed, fried zucchini blossoms... On our way out after dinner, a busboy said a few French words to us in passing, filling me, yet again, with a wicked pride at having successfully hidden any conspicuous American-ness from the Italians.
We were filled up on fatigue and bellies full of wine and flowers, which made for a giddy walk back to the hostel. I could feel intoxication creeping through my limbs, making every step lighter than the one before, and suddenly, I had to move, and fast.
I weaved in between people on the sidewalk, unaware of my sister's whereabouts half of the time, just trusting that she was still somewhere behind me. We made it to the main thoroughfare, at least six lanes across, and I nearly stepped out into the path of a speeding Vespa. Katie held me back, though, ever the big sister.
Almost-dying is not nearly as big as the rush of life returning to your veins. With death's grip on your wrist, half of the blood in your body freezes, leaving you cold at the impending expiration of your physical body. Then it passes, and suddenly your body is on fire, the blood writhing beneath the skin like lava below the earth.
That wasn't the first time my lower limbs almost got me into trouble in Europe. In Rome, I'd stepped onto busy streets seconds before my mind had decided it was a bad idea, eliciting a couple of feisty horn honks, but I'd always made it to the other side. My legs have a mind of their own, and the rest of my body has no choice but to follow. If ever I slowed down to a leisurely pace, a crippling fatigue would set in and turn a simple walk into something unbearable. So I walked faster.
Confronting death, weaving in and out of wide-mouthed tourists in ancient cities, feeling like my identity could be defined more by one day than my 21 years combined...these things were on my mind when we got back to our hostel around 10:30 at night. The other women in our room were already all in bed, and we tried to slip in undetected, but the tiny girl in the bed next to mine sat up when she saw us. I must have been glowing like a lightning bug.
I felt like a giant when she came over to me, this wee person who was probably about my age, holding something rectangular in her hand. It looked like a phone, but it was the remote control to the air conditioner. She spoke to me in Italian, asking me to help her turn the air conditioner on. The words tumbled out of me without a moment's hesitation. It still took us a few minutes to realize that someone had unplugged the air conditioning unit, but I was giddy with pride at my instantaneous Italian!
I was bubbling over with excitement and pride as I got into bed, looking for someone to turn to and wake up to tell my news. But there was no one, so, instead, I told the venetian blinds and the orange light outside and the street traffic and the car alarms, and I fell asleep, purring like a baby rocked in a cradle.
I have never been so many people as I was last summer. Every morning, I woke up a blank slate, curious to meet the me I'd be that day, depending on where we'd been and where we were going next. I was lonely half the time, hungry all the time and only really clean for the five or ten minutes I was in the shower. The locals and the tourists were never sure whose side I was on, but I felt at home wherever I was.
This summer, the days seem to move ahead at a frenetic pace, but I haven't been following. I'm content, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm not praying for a path that leads six feet under, but I wouldn't mind feeling like my body were, again, engulfed in flames.
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