Benito turns to Giac. “Izzy here is under the impression she’s moved to La Musa indefinitely, but I’ve bet her that she won’t last more than three months.”
“Ah, I see,” Giac says. “You do not think an American could ever permanently make such a small hamlet their home?”
“I do not,” Benito says.
“Well, you’re wrong,” I scoff. “Giac, if you want to hang out four months from now, I am free,” I say, my eyes still fixed on Benito, willing them to burn lasers into his skull.
“Ok,” Giac says. If he feels awkward about the brewing tension, he doesn’t show it. “Great.”
When we get to Rome, I’m once again taken aback by the breathtaking splendor of the ancient city unfolding right in front of my 21st-century eyes. The Colosseum sits in the middle of an intersection as casually as Staples Center nestles itself into the center of Downtown Los Angeles. The domed top of the Vatican as commonplace as a post office. Famous monuments on every corner like they are as everyday and regular as drugstores.
Giac leads us through the Roman Forum for our first stop, reveling in the details of what happened in what place and which famous emperor did what horrible thing in front of what is now a pile of rocks. He’s cute when he’s excited about a pile of rocks.
Somewhere between the Temple of Romulus and the Basilica of Maxentius, Benito pulls on my arm. The heat of his touch sends an electric buzz downmy spine that catches me off guard. “Izzy, wait,” he says.
I turn to face him while Giac reads a placard. “What?” I look down at his hand, still on my arm, and he quickly moves it away.
He inhales sharply and shakes his head. “I feel badly about how our conversation went earlier.”
I scoff. I didn’t know he had the ability to feel anything other than high and mighty. “You mean where you outed my past to my new friend and told him I wouldn’t be staying?”
Benito nods. “Yes.”
I wait for him to apologize but no other words follow. “Ok, you feel bad that you were mean to me. That’s great. The mayor has empathy. I’ll be sure to note that in the next election.”
He leans back a little bit from the blow of my comment. “I don’t want animosity between us.”
“Why do you care how I feel about you?” I fire back.
“I don’t know,” he says quickly, like it’s a surprise to him too. Benito readjusts his stance so he’s standing stick straight. “We live in the same house,” he says. “It’d be nice if we got along.”
The air of condescension in his tone is enough for me to decide I’m done with this conversation. “Evict me,” I threaten, backing away. “You’re counting down the days until I leave anyway.”
I spend the rest of the tour modeling enthusiastic engagement in Giac’s archeology lesson. This type of column is native to Rome. The obelisk was actuallystolen from the Egyptians. The world’s oldest shopping mall was right over here. Interesting. Excellent.
Giac knows elaborate details about the characters of the time, the politicians who stood in this very place thousands of years ago. If the United States ever succumbs to a similar fate, will a cute, young guide of the future tell a group of tourists about me?“Here is where Isabella Rhodes stood when she was sworn in as California’s youngest congresswoman.” “And here is where she walked away from her dream forever, tail between her legs and head hung low, when she lost her first re-election.”
In all likelihood, I wouldn’t be worth bringing up at all.
How many ancient Romans were lost due to already overcrowded history books? Maybe someone predicted the fall of Rome and tried to do something about it. Why do we instead celebrate the ones who successfully silenced him? Why do we praise the ones who contributed to its destruction? Are we not among ruins when we could be standing in the middle of a still-thriving empire?
Giac has to leave after we tour the Colosseum, so Benito and I share a quiet dinner at a restaurant Lucia picked for us in the Spanish quarter. We eat quickly while I dream of checking into my room, turning on syndicated television, and falling asleep to an episode ofFriendsdubbed in Italian.
At the hotel, Benito chats with the receptionist in quick Italian. I listen in for key words but barelyunderstand anything. When Benito’s tone grows harsh and his forehead creases, I know something is wrong. “What’s going on?” I ask.
Benito turns to me. “They’ve gotten the reservation wrong. There’s only one room available and the hotel is completely booked.”
I swallow hard. I’m so tired from walking all day, all I want is to be off my feet and unconscious. I take out my phone and open up my browser. “Maybe I can find another room nearby,” I say.
“No,” Benito says. “That’s what this man was just telling me, that all the hotels in the area are completely booked because of theNatale a Roma.”
I have no idea what that is but I’m too tired and now stressed out to care. “Oh, well, I guess we can take the train back to La Musa and skip our plans for tomorrow.”
Benito looks at his watch. “The last train would have left by now.”
Shit.What are we going to do? Flip for the room and the other will sleep in the street?
“We’ll just have to share,” Benito says, and I almost choke on air. “Relax,” Benito says in response to my sudden coughing fit. “It’s two twin beds. We’ll be fine.”
