ROLE PLAY IN ROME
I leftGiza the following morning. My mind still reeling from my Nonna’s words. Questions circled in my thoughts like a tornado of confusion.
How did she know I would find the letter?
How did she have that much money?
Why did she trust me to do this?
How the fuck did she have so much money?!
After the almost four-hour flight, I landed in Rome in the early afternoon. My hair wavy from the humidity of Giza to the change in the moderate temperature of Rome. The summer sun shone through a cloudless blue sky. The perfect backdrop to Roma. I placed my hand in the pocket of my olive-green jeggings and readjusted my black top that hung tightly around my shoulders. I took a deep breath and walked alongside other tourists and locals towards Venice Square on the dotted sidewalk. The Vittoriano monument was built to honor Victor Emmanuel II, the first King of a unified Italy. Directly in front of me it stood between the very heart of Piazza Venezia. Looking at the white marble monument, I felt as I did when I was a child hiding under my bed with a flashlight reading Italian tourism books I smuggled from the library. The marble stairway led to a background of Corinthian columns. The solid bronze statues of Victor Emmanuel and the goddess Victoria took my breath away. The chariot drawn by four horses was even more magnificent than in my books. The little girl in me desperate to know the truth of my family was screaming at me to keep going. The woman in me was hesitant.
My Nonna and Nonno left for a reason. Maybe that reason needs to stay with them?
I caught “Emigrazione” on a small sign and walked closer towards the sign. Curiosity overtaking my hesitance. As I walked around the corner there was a large opening under the marbled steps of the monument. A large banner hung to the side of it.
Museo Nazionale del’ Emigrazione Italiana.
The Museum of Italian Immigration.
Talk about fucking signs.
“Thanks, Nonna, I get it,” I scoff, mostly to myself.
As I walked inside, I was met with photos of immigrants of all ages displayed on large screens aligning the walls. I walked through the museum at a snail’s pace. Reading every exhibit note. Studying every document in detail. Observing every photograph. Embracing every story. I stood in front of an exhibit displaying personal items, photographs, and old dress trunks. I stood there in awe and disbelief. My grandparents perhaps had a trunk like that packed with the bare essentials before they boarded the ship to New York. This museum told the story of history of immigration from Italy to other countries in the nineteenth century. It was less a matter of immigrating to any particular country but more a matter of the sheer impossibility of remaining in Italy. The hardships these families went through stabbed my heart with sympathy. As I look at the watch strapped around my wrist I am shocked to see the local time. Three hours have passed, and it was nearly almost evening time. My heart and brain finally on the same page for the first time since last night. I had to see what Nonna last saw before she left. I had to see the fountain of magic.
* * *
Walking down the narrow street,a white vespa passed me quickly. I giggled in amusement as the crowd of people walking with me are all headed towards the same destination. Then there it was.
The Trevi Fountain.
I closed my eyes as the setting sun shined across my face. The aroma of the city center filled my senses. They should bottle the scents of perfume, chocolate, coffee, and freshly baked bread. The rich fragrance of Rome. I stood amongst the crowd next to the fountain’s edge. The breath catches in my throat. It truly was magical. My eyes transfixed on the sculpture of the Greek sea god Oceanus. Flanked white marble sea horses and half-men and half-mermen tritons. I ran my hand across the rough marbled edge of the fountain. The flowing water echoing in my ears.
“Magic,” I whisper.
The water resounding in my ears is the last original water supply that the Romans built from the mountains. I see parents holding their children and pointing to the fountain in front of them. Couples kissing, holding one another. I could practically feel my grandparents standing next to me.
I wonder where they stood. What was their last view before they left Italy?
I smile at a father beside me teaching his young daughter how to throw a coin over her shoulder. Glancing down at the bottom of the fountain nearly covered in coins. The tradition of throwing a coin over your shoulder became popular after the film “Three Coins in the Fountain.” The legend says you will return to Rome one day with one coin, meet a loved one with two and three you will get married. Each coin is collected every night and given to a charity that gives food to the needy. I grabbed a handful of coins from my purse and hold them loosely in my hand.
Return to Rome?
Reunite with a loved one?
Get married?
All I can envision is my Nonna’s face in this very moment. I would give anything to see her again. Her crooked smile. I would even let her yell at me for not eating dessert. I keep two coins and held them firmly in my palm. I throw them over my right shoulder in a proper Lizzie McGuire moment. They land with a splash in the middle of the fountain.
“For you, Nonna. Nonno,” I say.
My breath hitched in my throat. Emotional in every sense as I yearned to share this moment with them. My phone rings inside my purse and I see my father’s face on the ID for a video call. I take a deep breath and hit reject to end the call. My father would never understand. Frankly he would be to upset that I was here to even think clearly on my behalf. My phone alerts to a voicemail, and I press play before putting the phone to my ear.
Amee, it’s Da. Just checking on you. I know you were leaving Giza next week, so you must be off channeling your inner Evie. I love you, Amee. Call me when you can. I’m so proud of you.
I release a shaky breath full of guilt. I pray he forgives me for going against his wishes. I hope when I return home, I can read him the letter from Nonna. He only acted in my best interest and for her. I can’t stop. This yearning to be here started when I was a little girl. I won’t stop now. From this moment forward I am Amelia Marcelli. My phone lights up again with a text message. A smile comes to my face, realizing it’s from Finn.