I say nothing and he goes on, “I thought you seemed interesting. Plus, you appear to be as antisocial as I am, so that’s always helpful.”
“You’re very chatty for an antisocial person. Speaking to strangers takes theantiout ofantisocial, thus making you social.”
“I just prefer not to eat outdoors by myself. Much as I personally don’t mind it, I’m growing a little tired of people looking at me like I’m a dangerous drifter.”
I somewhat get his point. I recall receiving some suspicious glances myself the past couple of times I went out to dinner alone.
“So you’re suggesting we eat breakfast together so we can stay antisocial without looking antisocial?”
“Precisely.”
“Okay,” I find myself agreeing. Why not? When in Rome, do as the similarly withdrawn non-Romans do.
He answers me with a very faint smile. “Good.”
For the next few minutes, we continue to share the bench, sitting and eating our pizzas in silence. It’s only when we both finish and stand to leave that he speaks again.
“For the sake of our burgeoning friendship, I should tell you my name is Liam.” He extends his hand and I don’t hesitate to shake it.
“I’m Kara.”
“Kara,” he repeats. He gazes at me for a brief moment before he does his token nod/bow and walks away.
A few minutes later, I head back to my apartment with a small smirk, contemplating how, in my own outlandish, hermit-like way, I just made my first friend in Italy.
19
Since our conversation almost three weeks ago, Liam and I have eaten breakfast together every morning, and our meals have now evolved into breakfast followed by midmorning walks. As each day goes by, we seem to claim more and more of each other’s time. Yesterday, Liam went on a morning bike tour of Rome with me. Two days ago, I visited the Borghese Gallery with him. Neither of us mind the company. Much as I glorify my cloistered antics, I would probably go crazy if I didn’t have Liam around to talk to.
He was quiet at first, but continues to surprise me, randomly asking me questions about my life or spurting out a story from his childhood. I tell him about New York and how I’m a novelist. He knows I’m struggling with my latest book but isn’t aware of how far I’ve let it go. He doesn’t push me and I’m grateful. Our conversations bounce back and forth, easy and weightless with zero gravity.
Today, we’ve decided to walk to Vatican City. We’re about three quarters of the way there when I ask, “So, are you missing home yet?”
“Not particularly,” he answers.
“How about your friends? Do you talk to them a lot via text and whatnot?”
“I do sometimes but not a lot. I think I take my vow of silence more seriously than you do.”
“You? Take something seriously? Impossible.”
We soon find ourselves in St. Peter’s Square. Near the obelisk in the direct center, we maneuver past tourists and tour groups who follow smartly dressed guides as they hold up flags to keep people from getting lost. Getting lost in a crowd is easy here. Maybe that’s why I like it so much.
“If you had to pick, what would you say is your favorite place to visit in Rome?”
Liam clasps his hands behind his back and thinks for a moment. “The Catacombs.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s morbid.”
I give him a snarky smile as he watches me from the corner of his eye.
“And what’s your favorite place to visit?” he counters.
I don’t even have to think about it. “The Trevi Fountain. I go to see it at least once a week.”
“I should have guessed. The Trevi Fountain is a very romantic place. The architecture, the water, all of it is very inviting for a dreamer, such as yourself.”
