Under the Influence

 It wasn’t long before I learned to book my Saturdays to the rime. One Saturday my schedule looked something like this: 10:30 English lessons and Cappuccinos down at the bar, 12:30 lunch date with a motorcycle ride around the city, and at 7:30 a motocross show. I was diving head first into Roman culture, starting with the boys.

            There is something about Roman Boys, at all ages they are captivating. My little guys at home have become significantly more comfortable with me. I find myself growing very fond of them as well. They are very smart and active, challenging me to create more difficult and entertaining lesson plans. This takes a great deal of time, but the reward is almost as tasty as the gelato I win after an hour run. We have created our own traditions we do each day. On Mondays, after school we spend a little extra time at the park, which is always entertaining. These little Italian boys live for soccer, wearing their uniforms to school and playing a pick up match whenever they can. I particularly love to play with them, although the boys do get embarrassed when I beat them. On Wednesday, we have Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, good’old’american food! The boys love them! The youngest was telling his mother the other day how I make it, and his exact words were, “Mama, a la verita, Bounisma” (Mom, I swear it’s wonderfully good”). They always keep me amused, and busy. Staying busy is not hard in this city, there is always something to do, or trouble to find.

Lately, for some reason trouble has found me. I don’t know why at this particular point in my stay that I have found trouble, or yet it found me, but at any rate, it has. It’s not too bad, but there was a few nights that I honestly had to stop and thank God for sending angels to protect me when my thoughts and actions where not as elegant as usual. A few weekends ago I went out with my ‘new group’ of Roman friends. Fascinated by culture and longing to taste the true ‘Roman way’, I jumped at the chance to partake in their lives. We went to a fantastic dinner, we had at least 5 different appetizers, ranging from a pesto eggplant parmigiana, pure raw beef on pineapple, and fresh homemade ricotta, and for dinner I had Fire Roasted Rotisserie Pig and rosemary potatoes with a glass of prosecco and red wine. After our fabulous dinner, we headed to a small bar named Carrot, kid you not. The name is Carrot, and yes it’s orange inside. There we had to celebrate with a bottle of prosecco. I have no idea what we were celebrating, or if we even were celebrating, but I opened that bottle like it was New Years! I had another glass of prosecco. Then we were off to the club, oh and Italian boys do not just ‘go to the club’ and wait in line. Oh no, they have to do it big. They have to have a table and bottle service. I had a few more glasses of prosecco. Although I love each person I went out with, I over estimated my confidence and self assurance of being the only non Italian with my new friends. The though of the night being a bit of a challenge for me did not cross my mind, like maybe you might feel nervous, or awkward Nicole. Me Nervous? Never… Until this night. I was nervous, and so awkward, so I drank. And Drank…and drank a bit more. Humility has never been a gift of mine, but after this night, I felt like someone slapped me on the face with a bottle of wine and said, “Wake up! This isn’t Cali anymore, you want to be here, you have to try, and this isn’t supposed to be easy.” You humble me Lord, you make me call on your name and you teach me to grow… I really don’t care what people think about me. I never have, but I always care about how I make other people feel. I never wanted to embarrassed anyone or put someone in an awkward situation, and I felt that in this particular situation I might have done that to a great friend. And what great friends I do have. This was my way of ‘breaking the Ice’. I don’t recommend it, but it did work for me.

The next day I was in need of some girlfriends. Just in time, my dearest friend from Naples was visiting Rome. Rosie is a doll, I first met her last summer in Naples at the town’s local bar. Our favorite activity consisted of poking fun at the Napolitano boys. They are such an easy target, it’s better than George Lopez and Mexicans. In truth, I needed to see her, especially after last night; it’s great to see someone who knows me long than a month. We were meeting at one of the hottest clubs in Rome around 1:00am, so I left my house around 11:50pm, to insure I wouldn’t be late. I had to take the bus, the metro and a short walk to get there, dressed in a light silky black one shoulder dress and black heals, I headed down the street to the bus stop. I decided to take a quick nap on the bus before my long night out, until I was awaken by the stillness of the bus. It had stopped with all doors open, and alone I sat, on a bus and on a street I had never seen before. My heart started to pound. Where am I? I immediately hopped up and started questioning the bus driver. He had said that this bus was headed to the depositary for the night and he was unable to take me anywhere. Inside I was freaking out, what am I going to do. I have no idea. He must have been able to see the distress in my face, because the next thing out of his mouth was “non ti preoccupare”, (don’t worry), “Ti portero” (I’ll take you). What did he say? He’ll take me? I can save money on a 20 euro cab… Now this is when I hear my parents voice, “Nicole, do not talk to strangers, Nicole do not get in the car with strangers, Nicole, do not EVER RIDE A BUS ALONE TO THE BUS GRAVE YARD AT 12:30 IN THE MORNING IN A BLACK DRESS AND HEALS with a stranger.” Yes, Mother and Father at this very moment I heard your voice, and at this very moment, like always, I did not listen. I have constantly considered myself a good judgment of character (minus one poor judgment this past year of an ex-boyfriend). I feel that the Holy Spirit impresses on my heart an indescribable feeling, I honestly believe I can feel if a person’s spirit is good or not. This isn’t a new concept, but something that I have felt my whole life. Not in anyway do I ever recommend heading down a small road, 12 miles outside of the center, on a dark cold bus alone, but I did. And there I was, once we arrived at the bus depository, the driver told me to wait by the street corner. Again, not very good places for a girl in a black dress, so I sat down on the curb and prayed for an angel and a gun. I got in this 42 year-old bus driver’s WV black Golf hatchback, and headed down the road. The very first thing out of my mouth was, “How old are your Children?” “Tell me about your wife?” I figured, if I could keep his mind on his family, it would keep it from wondering other places. He was very kind and respectful, only once did he ask for my number to take me for coffee or pizza, and I politely reminded him of his pregnant wife, and asked him if he would like it if she went out with another man for coffee? He smirked and replayed, ‘no’, as if through my broken Italian, he understood my point. I made it safely to the bar, and took a tax home that night.