how i met my neighbors

Final exams: a few years of Hamilton and Hustoles classes really paid off with my postwar italian cinema final... terms upon terms upon terms had to be memorized, and I admit I was a bit overwhelmed about taking that final (almost all essay...) and my italian exam in the same day. However, all turned out to be pretty swell, and five hours, two written exams, and a conversation in italian with my professor later, I was done with school forEVER! I took a last walk through the villa sciarra — a beautiful giardino, or "garden" (the name for all parks here is "garden" unless referring to an amusement park). After a final farewell to this wonderful place for studying, walking, and people-watching, I rushed home to begin packing for another epic dinner at le fate.

The first thing I did (no, the second-first was to pour myself a celebratory glass of Prosecco) was step out onto my balcony to retrieve my clothes (no dryers here... the simplicity is lovely). However, to my dismay, my new favorite hand-made skirt from the Sunday market in Pisa was missing. As the wind was very strong that day and I'd forgotten to clothes-pin my skirt down, I deducted that tragedy had struck. I ran down the seven flights of stairs to search the street for my oh so lonely piece of beauty. It was nowhere to be found on the street itself, but due to the angle of the sunlight and what could only be good karma, I saw its orange flowers twinkling above me on a neighbor's balcony. I counted the floors up, but as the balconies are staggered, the apartment entrance itself could have been on the third, fourth, or perhaps even the fifth floor. I ran back up the stairs, starting my quest on the fourth floor. Here began the first of my tours through my neighbor's homes. Each person (save for one elderly and gruff sir) was obliged to bring me inside their apartment and through to their balconies, offering suggestions as to which of my neighbors had my skirt. One girl about my age answered the door in tears and apologized profusely for crying as she showed me around. The grace she exuded, although she was clearly upset, was astounding in the best sense of the world. I wished that I knew how to ask her if she wanted a hug. The few moments we shared in her apartment really solidified my appreciation for the people i've come to love so much here. Seeing another person in clear distress, one whom spoke a completely different language than me, made me realize how connected we all truly are, as everyone experiences the same feelings. I suppose that we just communicate them differently... a moment of food for inspired thought.

After checking all of these apartments with no luck, I trudged back upstairs to further investigate the dilemma. As I was peering over my balcony and onto my neighbor's, where my skirt hung nonchalantly, I happened to see him as he stepped outside. "Scusi, scusi!" I shouted. However, just as the sound of my voice hit the air, the tram outside my apartment zipped by, resulting in a deafening sound much louder than I. My neighbor sauntered back into his apartment, unaware of my desperate need to get his attention. I decided on a plan of action: throw water bottle caps onto his balcony, in hopes to make enough noise without disturbing the whole neighborhood (I am so lucky it was past siesta...). After missing my target about three times, I finally got one to land. No response. Melissa and I then searched our room for other things to throw, and she happened to have an empty cigarette pack. I tossed it down-again, no response. I myself had a cigar tin, which I snapped in half (to increase my chances of success) and taped to it a note in my best italian outlining my dilemma. This one was stopped by the window ledge between my apartment and his-blast! I re-wrote the note and threw the second half of the tin down. Although it made quite a noise, it was clearly not enough to get my neighbor's attention. As I stood and stared down at my skirt (so close and yet so far)! I realized that the entrance to his apartment was on the other side of the building-to which I did not have key. In a final attempt at victory, I ran down the stairs once again and buzzed a few random apartments until someone let me in (quite trusting, I must say...). I started with the third floor, and had no success until the third apartment. The old man who answered the door pointed upstairs-ah! Fourth floor! As I debated which apartment to ring first, I heard a child laughing behind one of the doors. As I remembered seeing a tricycle on the famed balcony below me, I figured this apartment would be my best bet. And to my much-awaited relief, the man who answered the door was indeed the one i'd seen on the balcony an hour earlier. I explained to him what I had explained to a dozen other neighbors, and he as well brought me into his apartment and out onto the balcony, where I finally got ahold of my skirt. It was more beautiful than it ever had been before! Before I left, I awkwardly apologized for the things that I'd thrown on his porch, and he was (of course) lovely about the whole thing.

I ran to my building and up the stairs once again to drop off my skirt before dashing downstairs to meet my friends for dinner. As I told them the story and we walked to Le Fate (best chocolate souffle EVER), I felt an elated happiness due to my bizarre hour-long excursion, as well as a sense of accomplishment despite the language barrier. However, I felt a bit sad that I would not be able to get to know the neighbors I'd so abruptly introduced myself to. Their willingness to help me and my consequent glimpse into their lives made me even more eager to return to Italy. I smiled, thinking how grateful I was to be experiencing this life, with these people.

I am so, so happy to have been here.