Roma

I pulled out my small black notebook and set it down on the tray table in front of me. As a writer, nothing can ever compare to the feeling of empty pages at the start of a new adventure. So many stories I would write, people I would meet. I knew in a short matter of time the pages would be filled with my scribbles. All of my joys, worries, successes, and shortfalls outlined here, between the hard leather covers. I angled my body so that the curious woman next to me couldn’t see what I was writing, as it felt deeply personal. I was flying from Dallas to Rome, to become an au pair. But I couldn’t let anyone know that until I had safely passed through border security at Fiumicino. You never knew who could be an undercover agent. Though I’m sure the older lady next to me was more interested in selling me Arbonne products then reading my deepest thoughts. Jenny was her name, I knew from the business card she had passed me when we both sat down.

As I started to write, I realized I still couldn’t believe how lucky I was. To come into $20,000 as a mere 23 year old was really something I hadn’t expected. No one had any idea my great aunt had this kind of money, and when she died we were shocked she hadn’t told us. June was never one to keep her mouth shut, that’s for sure. I wonder if she knew how much this money would come to mean to me, to the life I wanted to create. She herself had once told me Italy was like an open-air museum, and to enjoy it. With the inheritance I received I would be able to do just that, without worries about my purse strings weighing me down.

As soon as I found out about the money, I started packing. Money had always been what had stood in the way for me before, now I would make sure I used it exactly how I wanted. My ploy to be an au pair for the first six months was simply so I could integrate well into the culture. I knew I would make shit money doing it, so I was glad not to have to worry about that. The job description seemed pretty straight forward: pick up the kids from school, cook them lunch, speak to them in English, and take them to their activities. It would keep me occupied during the afternoons, and provide a stable place to live with a family to come home to. I didn’t know as I flew across the ocean what this family would come to mean to me, but I guessed they would be important. I also guessed I would become close to fluent in Italian with their help, and that was worth every hour spent negotiating with children in a language that wasn’t my mother tongue.

By the time I looked up from my notebook, that familiar feeling of relief spreading through my chest as I had just unloaded everything onto the page, I realized I was already two hours into the flight. Eight to go, I thought. I have a rule when I fly, never to do anything until we are securely in the air. I spend the first part of every flight people watching and praying, while simultaneously reveling in the marvels of flying. There’s no better feeling than the wheels leaving the ground and the sight of the earth so far away. Escaping the drudgeries of human life for a few hours in the clouds.

What felt like (and very well could have been) fifteen hours later, I walked into the apartment and tried to acclimate myself as best I could. It was small, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself by making a wrong turn in this important moment. My new host parents gave me a quick tour, rushing through all the important details because they were late for work. They apologized for how small my room was, but I couldn't care less. I was finally in Rome. My heart felt like it was going to burst. I was here in Italy, again. To live! To stay! For the next six months at least. I had a job, a room, and money thanks to Auntie June. Friends would come soon enough, I was sure.

For now I focused on my host parents and their kind faces, trying to explain to me where the bus stop was on the map, and how I could get into the city center. I tried to forget how just moments before we had been crammed into the tiny lift with all of my overweight luggage to get up to the fourth floor. I knew once they saw the gifts I had brought for the kids, they would forgive me for my heavy suitcases.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was tired, but I didn’t register that in these moments. Everything was so new, so fresh, so exciting!

My host parents left, and suddenly I was alone in their apartment. It was a hot Thursday morning in September, perfect blue skies in the way that I’ve come to know only Rome has. I was almost overwhelmed with the trust they placed in me, practically a stranger, with their home and eventually their children. I knew I was worthy of their trust, but how did they? I guess sometimes we just have to have faith in humanity. With all of these thoughts swirling in my head, I unpacked the minimum amount I could before getting in the shower. The one shower, which was conveniently located in their bedroom. That should be interesting.

Once I felt refreshed, I put on a long black dress and my white platform sneakers. They had given me the day to explore the city, just said to be home by dinner. My phone wasn’t connecting to service yet, so I tried to follow the map to get to some familiar Roman sites. I had been to the city twice already, once as an eager study abroad student on a class trip that lasted four days and began a love affair with the eternal city. It was so big, so much to see. My friends and I were completely overwhelmed in the best way possible, staying up late every night to fit in as much as we could. Our days were filled with visiting art museums, so we didn’t get a chance for all of the classic sightseeing. The hotel we stayed in was super posh and I took extra long showers in that all-marble bathroom, savoring the luxury.

The second time I visited Rome was only eight months prior to today. It was January, and I had convinced a friend to do an eight day Euro trip to Ireland and Italy after finding an insane flight deal (all I did after studying abroad was look for flight deals). We were only in Rome for one day, and had gotten into a massive fight the night before. I avoided my friend all day, but by dinner we met up and I decided to just forget about our fight for the sake of our trip. It was a windy, cold January night and after eating dinner outside at Da Enzo (carbonara, of course), we stumbled into a small bar right off the Tevere, across the river from Castel Sant’Angelo. We departed the next day early in the morning.

I tried to follow the map on this first day living in Rome, and totally got lost. So I regrouped, figured out my service, and decided Google Maps was a safer bet. I decided to venture over to Piazza Navona first. Don’t tell anyone, but it’s my favorite piazza in Rome. Probably has something to do with the fact that we stayed at Hotel Navona my first time in Rome, and the area feels familiar. But there’s something so majestic and just so classically Roman about Piazza Navona. I took a seat on the steps across from one of the less-famous fountains, which would turn into my spot, and took in the scene while deciding if my next move should be a nap or espresso. My hours staying awake while traveling was hitting me hard. I decided on espresso. Rome isn’t for the faint of heart, after all.

Choosing where to grab my espresso was an easy choice. Caffe Sant’Eustachio is not only the most famous café in Rome, it also has a foamy espresso that is too die for. I tried it last time I was in Rome, and it sold itself. I dragged my feet there, trying to take in everything in my tired state. One of my favorite things about Sant’Eustachio is that it’s right by the Pantheon, which is one of my absolute favorite monuments in Rome. I enjoyed an espresso with sugar while standing at the bar, then meandered around a little more before I finally threw in the towel and returned to my new casa. Fumbling with the keys, I breathed a sigh of relief when I arrived. I unpacked a little more before finally giving in and turning on Gilmore Girls on my laptop. I didn’t shut my door and ended up falling asleep, belly down across my bed like a little kid.

When I woke up I realized that my host dad had already arrived home. I wasn’t even embarrassed he saw me asleep. We would be living together and they had already made the point that I would be part of the family. I loved them for the hospitality they were showing me, and their kindness. The children had gone to their grandma’s for the afternoon, and so I would be meeting them when they got home. I was so excited to see them in person, and so nervous. What would I say to these little kids, who speak Italian? Sure, the ten year old knows some English, but the six year old doesn’t.

None of it mattered when I met them later, though. They were so sweet, giving me hugs. They were excited to meet me, too! I was so glad. We had our first dinner together, and I tried to keep up with the Italian as best I could, my host mom translating for me. There was really nothing better than sitting down to dinner with them. I instantly felt like I was part of the family, and gratitude overwhelmed me. After dinner, when I brought out presents for them their eyes went wide. They loved all of the gifts, and I was glad I had brought some books and activities to keep them entertained while we got to know each other the first few weeks.

After the kids went to bed, I chatted with my host parents in the living room before heading to bed. My host mom walked me through the map more, and I felt so comfortable. The next day I would be going with her to take the kids to school, and then picking them up for the first time. I was nervous, but not as nervous as I thought I would be. I was excited. My new life was beginning, and honestly I was just so grateful to be in Italy. Nothing else mattered.

My simple room had white walls and purple curtains with a view across the street to the high school which would prove to be noisy in the mornings. The Italian architecture and the umbrella pines made my heart sing. So many nights I would just stare out this window, eyes full of tears of happiness. I wish I could stay forever.

I pulled out my little black book and wrote all about my first day in my new home, silently sending a prayer of thanks to Auntie June and my surprise inheritance for making it all possible.