A Walk in the Woods

DAY 2-2: A WALK IN THE WOODS

The sun was setting. I trailed not far behind Rosa, unable to find any words to say. We remained silent. My mind was completely blank. If only I had planned out something to say in advance. If only I predicted I would end up in such an opportune one-on-one situation. From what I had gathered, Rosa was not the type of person to initiate conversation. If I wanted to get anywhere, I’d have to come up with something. She was also quite difficult to read, which did not help.

The Italian streets were brimming with atmosphere, even at dusk. Bicyclists struck their bells, conversing folks stepped out of stores, and the occasional moped sped past, bringing with it a light breeze. It was not nearly as active as the midday hours, but it felt all the more cozy. That small window of time when everything is winding down, when families are heading home, and when dinnertime has already elapsed—it’s just nice, even as an observer. As I began to pay more attention to my surroundings, I noticed Rosa was wearing a black sundress with a pattern of red roses and green leaves. It complimented her hair very nicely. She had golden hoop earrings that hung below the level of her chin. I seldom find an aspect of another country that I would outright call superior to my own, but everyday fashion here was easily better than what I had seen living in the United States all my life. Whether it was someone wearing pajamas to class or sweatshirts to a formal event, I was not overly happy with how people tended to present themselves back home. Here, it seems as though everyone is willing to put in just that extra hint of effort, and I appreciated it.

“Are you finding Italy to be much different than the States?” asked Rosa, turning her head slightly in my direction.

What!? She initiated conversation!? I underestimated her!

“It’s different in a lot of ways. People tend to be open in America, but they’re even more open here. The driving is chaotic back home, but here I feel like a moped could strike me down at any moment. Oh, and of course, people dress better here. I don’t think I’d see anyone back home wearing what you’re wearing now casually.”

“Oh, you think this looks nice?” she replied, turning back to me with part of the dress fabric between her fingers.

Was that a mistake? Was that too forward? Should I not have said that? Eh, whatever. It’s too late at this point; I already said it.

“Yeah, I think it looks good.”

I couldn’t tell if her face was red or if the reddish lighting of the ongoing sunset was giving a similar impression.

“Have you ever been outside of Italy?” I asked, shifting the conversation.

“No.”

“Do you want to leave Italy?”

“A lot of people my age do but I don’t know. I think it’s comfortable here.”

Her answer surprised me. Most Italians I have talked to wish to move out of Italy as soon as possible, as though it is holding them back. I find the prospect somewhat depressing. In a country where the average age is older than most, the population is decreasing, and the amount of native language speakers is dwindling, people are so desperate to move. It’s not as though those people should be forced to stay; it’s ultimately their choice. Whether because of the state of Italian politics or the economy, there seems to be a general displeasure among the youth. To hear Rosa’s simple but positive response was genuinely reassuring.

“That’s an interesting perspective. As someone who’s only going to be here temporarily, I think I understand your sentiment.”

Although initially walking behind her, I was eventually able to make my way directly to her right side. It seemed as though the sidewalk was shrinking. We steadily tread past a restaurant’s open door. A waft of sauces, oil, bread, and seasonings graced my senses.

“Have you had a chance to try the food yet?” asked Rosa.

“Well, you’ve been there for all my meals so far. Haven’t tried too much outside of what Ms. Maria has made.”

Rosa began to laugh.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing. I just remembered your experience at the restaurant yesterday.”

Her laughter was highly contagious.

There are few feelings that elicit the same rush as hearing a woman laugh. It’s an indication that she’s let her guard down, that she feels comfortable around you. It dispels any fear that things may not be going well between the two of you. In certain cases, it may let you know that you have a chance with her. It’s a high that most men wish to chase. It just feels nice.

The transition between the city and the forest was near.

Branches snapped under my feet. Leaves crunched. Pebbles tumbled. The air felt different—cleaner. As we plodded up an incline, I thought it useful to take the opportunity to learn more about Rosa.

“Are you in school at the moment?”

“I’ve been out of high school for over a year now. I’ll probably go to college soon,” she informed me.

“Do you know what you want to do?”

“I’m probably going to do something in the art field.”

“Oh, right! You said you do art. You like to draw places, right?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“What I do is similar in a sense. If not in practice, in motivation. I spend my time making 3D recreations of environments I really like. I don’t know, it’s kind of difficult to describe, but some places just elicit a certain atmosphere. It’s something I desperately want to replicate.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. I like feeling immersed in places. Art seems to be the most powerful tool for that.”

Never did I expect we would share such a niche interest. I was overwhelmed by my own luck.

“Now you need to show me some of your paintings when we get back,” I demanded in jest.

“No, no. They’re embarrassing,” she grinned.

Perhaps Rosa isn’t as difficult to read as I once suspected.

“I’ll show you my paintings if you show me how you make stuff in 3D,” she suggested, “do we have a deal?”

“Sounds good.”

“So do you know where Ms. Maria’s glasses are?” I asked.

“They should be somewhere up ahead.”

Once we got to the supposed area, we began checking all around. The task of searching for an object always sounds easier when suggested than it does in practice, especially if the item being searched for is small. We continued to search the bushes and surrounding ground. Nobody was crossing the trail. We seemed to be alone.

I walked through the trees, only to be struck with an incredible vista. We were on a hill above the city. The setting sun painted the outer Florentine buildings in light orange. The silhouettes of distant spires and hills accented the scene perfectly.

“Rosa! You should see this view.”

She walked through the bushes to the overlooking ledge.

“You know, I actually grew up in this part of Florence down here.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I know this area pretty well.”

I heard a buzz. Rosa checked her phone.

“Mom found her glasses. She left them at home.”

I didn’t know how to respond. We both stood there for a moment. Our shared silence was broken by sudden laughter.

“Actually, if you like locations and atmospheres, there’s an area I want to show you,” she told me as her laughter died down.

I never expected Rosa to be so forward.

“You see that building down there?” she pointed down, “I’ll show you how to get there. It has a great view. I always used to hang around there as a kid.”

“Oh and, sorry for breaking your phone earlier.”

NEXT CHAPTER: ROOFTOP