Moleskine

I had dreamt of studying abroad since my elementary school days. It was on my “to-do” list of life accomplishments, so when the college of performing arts accepted me into their program, I was practically on the next flight out of the states to begin my big adventure, right out of high school. My parents were skeptical, and in my opinion at the time, were a couple of worry warts, especially my mother. She always thought the worst case scenario was the only scenario there could ever be. Despite the worry, and constant arguments from my parents of why I shouldn’t be so far from home, I still made the decision and moved across the Atlantic Ocean to begin a new life in the beautiful, vibrant and cultural city of Milan, Italy.

I had just arrived in Milan and found a small apartment near the college campus, because, well. Let’s face it. Campus living is hard and can be expensive, and I wasn’t really into the idea of having a roommate. I was grown now. I could handle myself, and I was seeking a freedom that I was never given while living at home with my parents. It didn’t matter to me that I only had a few dollars to my name. I was free, and as I stood in the middle of the gorgeous city looking to the sky with closed eyes, taking in the sun’s rays and cool breeze on my face as I listened to the hum of the busy city, I felt as though I was the queen of the paupers, and that was good enough for me.

Suddenly, my peaceful glory in the sun ended as someone slammed into me, and hard. Our bodies collided to the cobble stone street and after calling out in pain between the weight of another human body, which was bigger and more dense than mind, along with the scrapping of the stone road into my skin, I opened my clenched eyes to find a young man, probably somewhere in his early 20’s staring at me with wide eyes. I looked into his hazel eyes as his dark brown hair hung in his eyes and his body remained over mine. He stared at me as though he had seen a ghost for a moment longer, then bounced to his feet and quickly glanced back behind him in pure fright. I attempted to get up from the cobble stone, wincing in pain as the scrapes from the fall were beginning to burn. Suddenly, his arm grabbed mine and pulled me to my feet like I was a rag doll. For a moment, I could see the defined muscles in his arms before my eyes were drawn to his again as he now spoke.

“Mi dispiace.” He quickly sputtered out as he took another glance behind him.

“I, I don’t speak much Italian.” I embarrassedly admitted as it hit me that I never really considered that my lack of knowing the language would really matter.

His eyes jetted back to me as slight confusion crossed his face with his reply, “American?”

Embarrassed, I nodded, not daring to speak another word to him. He smiled at me slightly before digging in his hand into his jacket pocket and shoved a small black book into my hand.

“Hold this for me. Tell no one you have it.” His thick Italian accent rambled on before taking one last glance behind him just before he took off, running through the crowded streets of Milan and disappearing into the crowds, not even giving me a chance to deny his request.

Alone and scared, I jammed the book into my shoulder bag and immediately headed back to my apartment as peace had left my body and a constant fear and paranoia took over. I now became like that stranger, and I was looking over my shoulder, trying to see if I was being followed, if anyone had seen, and what was so important about this little black book?

It seemed as though time slowed and the streets became longer as I rushed to get back to my apartment. At the door, I fumbled for my keys, out of breath and shaking as I suddenly found great difficulty in unlocking the door. Finally inside though, I slammed the door behind me, locked it, and leaned my weight on the door, now feeling safe and like I could once again begin to breathe. After only a moment, I made my way inside the small studio apartment and threw my shoulder bag on my bed and stood there, watching it as though it was going to attack at some point. I paced the small apartment for about an hour, periodically getting a false sense of bravery as I attempted to gain the courage to pull the book from its hiding place in my bag and look at what secrets it might hold. An anger came over me at myself and how ridiculous I was being. What could be so important about this book anyway? It was probably a trick that was played on hundreds of obvious Americans. So, I gathered myself up, and with a new found confidence, pulled the book out of my bag and sat on the edge of the bed as I began examining the little black book.

For a moment, I stared at the cover, appreciating the soft, fine leather craftsmanship. I ran my fingers along the textured body and across the letters that read, “Moleskine” as I whispered its name. I began opening the cover to reveal the first pages, expecting to find some horrific information that would imprison someone for life, but instead, I found nothing. The page was blank and so was the next page, and the next page. I knew it! This was just a dumb trick that had to have been pulled on vulnerable Americans, probably daily. I was angry for falling for this trick, and just as I was about to toss the book to the side and go on about my business, I thumbed through another page and was stunned to find what looked to be a phone number. I stalled in my tracks, staring at the digits that now stared back at me. Curiosity took over and I began thumbing through again, finally stumbling across what appeared to be coordinates, written in a corner near the binding. It was obvious that it was intended to be found, but not just by anyone. I set the book down and nervously fidgeted with my hands, wondering if I should be so brave as to call the number that was calling to me within the book. I convinced myself that it was probably nothing; maybe just an extension to a trick, or maybe a school child’s journal that had not yet been doodled with hopes of their future. I picked up the phone, referenced the book for the number and after just one ring, a man’s voice, deep and rough appeared on the line.

“Moleskine” is the only thing that was said through the thick, deep Italian accent.

I hesitated for a moment, letting it sink in that “Moleskine” is the word that had been engraved into the leather cover.

“Si, si Moleskine” I stuttered out, once again struggling with my Italian.

His deep, confident voice boomed back, “Segui le coordinate e prendi la borsa.”

I began to shake as I lunged for my shoulder bag, which obtained my English/Italian dictionary. “Borsa.” Bag. I knew that word. And “segui” meant for me to follow. But follow what and what about this bag? I quickly thumbed through and confirmed that he wanted me to follow the coordinates and take the bag. I whispered back into the phone his request as the phone went dead. I sat in silence for a moment contemplating the short, yet curious conversation that just happened. Just then, the phone rang, startling me. I answered with labored breathing, now afraid that maybe whoever I just called had found me out and that I was not supposed to have possession of the book. I hesitantly picked up the receiver, bringing it to my ear, and with labored hesitation, spoke again.

“Ciao?” I managed to squeak out.

“Sarah? Sarah is that you?” My mother’s voice rang through from the other end.

My shoulders dropped as a heavy sigh was released, and I put my hand to my forehead, closing my eyes as relief filled my body.

“Yeah, mom. It’s me.” I said as I sat back, still trying to calm my nerves.

“Oh Sarah! Your father and I have been so worried about you! We haven’t heard from you all day and you know I just can’t take that sort of stress.” She continued to ramble on as I rolled my eyes and lost interest.

“Mom. Mom!” I said cutting her off. “Mom. Look. I’m fine. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

“Sarah. Sarah?” My mother’s voice continued on as I hung the phone back up on the receiver.

I looked back to the little black book that seemed so innocent, yet so important all at the same time. In a split second, I decided to do as the mysterious voice instructed, so I gathered my shoulder bag, threw the little black book into it, and typed the coordinates into the map feature on my phone, setting out on a journey in which I knew nothing of what it would bring to me. I followed the instructions on foot, making my way through the busy streets of Milan as people passed me, minding their own business not knowing where I was heading or even what I possessed, but feeling like their eyes were piercing me still.

Finally, I arrived in the gaping mouth of what seemed to be an abandoned alley way, far from the busy streets of the city. The coordinates took me directly to a pile of rubbish that seemed to laugh in my face for a moment until I saw it; the skin of a well taken care of black bag. I reached in, pulling it from the surrounding trash and began to unzip the bag, but not before taking a look around, to be sure no one else was present. In the clear, I unzipped the bag to find what looked to be nearly one million dollars in Euro. Stunned, I took another look around with wide eyes before zipping the bag up again, throwing it behind my shoulder and walking out of the alley, back into the busy streets.

I heard a voice calling out from behind me. At first, I was so in my thoughts, I paid it very little attention, but suddenly, it became clear to me that this was the same voice of the young, dark haired man who had sent me tumbling to the ground earlier that day.

“American!” he yelled out once more before I finally stopped and turned around.

Out of breath from trying to keep up with my hasty pace, the young Italian man stopped in front of me and with a smile, asked with his deep accent, “Please? The book?”

Just then, he looked at the strap on my shoulder, his eyes widened with what seemed to be fear and whispered, “Moleskine”.

His widened eyes jetted to mine as he shook with fear and said in a loud whisper, “They will come for you.”

Just then, the young man ran away, disappearing into the crowd, never looking back. With panic, I hailed a cab and made my way to the Milan Linate Airport, taking the first flight back to the states and just like him, I never looked back.