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A Rather Startling Normal
On this particular night , we were winding throughout the hills of Tuscany, starting to feel like throwing up curtesy of my parents spectacular driving. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my my parents, but I feel like every parent has that one flaw that has the ability to drive you absolutely insane. For my mom that happens to be driving, and it has become a long standing joke between my friends.
I remember one time when I was in 7th grade, she was having a particularly hard time driving straight enough to not cause a crash. She pulled off this really busy main street, looked at me and said “See I’m not that bad a driver,” and proceeded to run over a snow plow marker into someones front yard.
3 years later, halfway across the world, nothing had changed. I happened to be sitting on the right side of the back seat, one of my friends on the other side. This, when I thought of it, set me at a distinct disadvantage given the fact that we were going to be walking back and I was vacantly staring at some very indistinct shubbery. Ah well, I could definitely survive the haunted forest in the middle of nowhere following someone else right? Cue horror movie script writers.
After about 15 minutes of winding we arrived at the rustic bistro with a suddenly recovered appetite. It was, without a doubt, one of the best meals I’ve ever had. Simple to almost an extreme, and so delicious. Bruschetta with fresh tomato mixture, Pasta alla Bolognese, and Tiramisu. My parents actually served my friend and I both wine. You would think the restaurant would be concerned about losing their license or something, but they kept breezing past us without a word.
The sun kept sinking lower and just about dusk Rus and I started to walk back to our apartment. Okay, allow me to explain; Rus is a good friend who I decided was not going to get boring for 3 weeks so I dragged him with me to Italy.
On our three mile walk back home we talked about the last few weeks. We talked about the Forum, a missing friend at home, the Coliseum cat, Apple Toffee Cookie Puddles, and getting lost on a schedule. At this point, if it sounds like the is either an incredibly humorous story or a magic book, you would be sorely disappointed. Unfortunately these names are due purely to my disastrous imagination, my parents and/or a tour guide.
After a few times walking the route, and a few slightly questionable cars, it became a bit of a routine to have a conversation along the lines of:
“Creeper?”
“Hold on…..Nope”
However small that sounds let me assure you of how much it meant. I can honestly say I have never had routines or inside jokes with anyone except Rus, a rather interesting friend left stranded in the US, and anyone who has watched Psych. In my opinion, you only get the chance to have these jokes with people who are actually compatible with you, and I’ve only found a small handful on those in my (admittably short) 15 years. Though you hopefully know the feeling yourself, I still cannot describe the sensation of actually living, however briefly, in such a picturesque scene.
For me this happened to be walking up a hill in Italy, shoes in one hand, struggling to stop laughing at a joke, cracked by my best friend (at that moment), and scuttling off the road so you don’t get run over by drivers who seem to believe they are training for a car race. Sound’s just a bit too much like something written in a romantic fiction book, right? Unfortunately, anything worded proper can sound perfectly nostalgic.
I don’t know how many little things we picked up from each other, but I can tell you we were both different after those weeks. Admittably these little things wore off, but for however long I had them it was just a tiny bit amazing.
