I walked off of campus and into the area of graffiti walls. I was scared. I saw a couple of American friends looming in the distance and ran to them- I scared them. They jumped and we all laughed.
We continued walking together over the graffiti bridge and into the streets of Bologna. I was still scared. Everyone turned right but I had to continue straight. I was scared.
How was I going to speak in Italian to someone at the bank explaining my lost credit card!? This would have overwhelmed me enormously even having to do it all alone in English in America… I continued to walk straight. I could do it. I didn’t think about it anymore, I was going to do it. I had to. The end. I was doing it.
The second I got over the bridge I saw friends looming at the crosswalk. This time it was Italian friends, Carla and her friend from Parma and Bruno. Carla’s friend was visiting from Parma and this was his first time in Bologna- she as going to show him around. Carla invited me to join but I explained to her my necessary errand. She offered to help me and serve as a translator, a very kind friend. I told her not to worry, she had a friend visiting and I felt very capable of conquering this on my own. She insisted. At her insistence, I thought again and didn’t say no this time. We walked to the bank together- and thank God we did because Carla solved my problem within 15 minutes…it probably would have taken me all afternoon. Afterwards Carla invited me to lunch at a local panneria. We walked passed the main piazza and into new streets. New for me but not for Carla and Bruno. Carla led us into this shop smaller than my mini bedroom here. There was a man behind a counter with a stove slicing meets. I ordered whatever Carla recommended for me- prosciutto and funghi. All four of us sat at the only counter. The second our chibo came out our conversation ceased and we devoured our lunch. Of course, next thing you know its time to “coffee.” It really is a verb here. They coffee.
We walked down the street into a royal coffee shop. We sat down at a tea table as if we were American Girl Dolls in a child’s set up of a coffee shop. I sipped on my espresso; they downed theirs in two seconds. Carla and Bruno had bite size mini cheesecakes. It was a sweet afternoon. Why I had I been so scared, I thought this would be a sour afternoon.
We walked to Piazza Maggiore and Carla showed me a childhood game of hers. To the side of the Piazza Maggiore there is a building with four corners- and if you stand at opposite corners and speak into the walls your voice will travel to the other side. Wildly wonderful! Carla and I spoke in English through these Italian walls!
I gave Carla a hug and we parted. I off too H & M to spend some time before having to wait for Rebekah at the Piazza Maggiore to meet up to walk to service. After convincing myself not to buy anything I returned to the Piazza and stood in the cold for thirty minutes. After the cold drove me to walk back to campus I felt discouraged- I was waiting to go to service but Rebekah didn’t show up. I didn’t know what else to do with the afternoon. This was my plan.
I was discouraged and just wanted to skype. Mami wasn’t online. I was upset…
I heard people chatting in the hallway and saw everyone heading for the re-scheduled soccer game of the snowed out game of Bologna vs. Roma. Great. I rummaged for my ticket and couldn’t find it. I wildly rummaged again and found it in a drawer. I grabbed my coat and ran outside. I joined Mark and the rest of the crew and headed out for the soccer game. It was a sweet evening. Not sour.
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The red stripe on his “rossa e blue” winter hat couldn’t compare to the red on his cheeks. He stood on the ledge, one leg over the ledge closest to the field and the other leg hanging into the bench area.
His face alternated from looking at the field and looking into the crowd. He had a face of a child. Each time he looked into the field I couldn’t see his face. Every time he looked into the crowd there was no possible way I could ignore his face.
He yelled with passion and an emotion seemingly like anger. “Tuttie stadie de piede!!” Everyone in the stadium on foot!! At his command my body stood. He seemed so angered that the entire stadium wouldn’t stand. He sung the chants with every but of fuel in his body smoking out of his mouth- like the fire bombs going off in the stadium. The smoke surrounding everyone. He held on tightly to a pole triple his size, waving a Bologna flag with deep pride and fierce. Like his face, proud and fierce. He was a child but he roared like an old lion, like the King of the Jungle- the King of the field. He was a true fan.
I shouted the chants under my breath, standing, cold. My toes went numb. I sipped on my bagged espresso coffee. The Bologna soccer team sprinted across the field. The Roma soccer team became actors on stage- faking injuries every ten minutes.
The little boy kept chanting wildly. He scared me. He intrigued me. He was a true fan. I was sitting, yelling at the player’s I didn’t know. He seemed to be their son.
Bologna lost. He still seemed proud and passionate.
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