When In Rome ► Timothée Chalamet

24 | The Wise Woman

Want another suggestion? Risveglio (from "The Ignorant Fairles - Le fate ignoranti"), by Andrea Guerra.

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"Biglietto, per favore," the man said, "ticket, please."

I found myself seated in a quaint compartment, the train rocking back and forth as it picked up speed. The ticket collector had his hand outstretched in front of him, and I slipped the thin pass into his palm. With a quick snap of his ticket punch, he shut the door closed and moved on.

I blinked at the familiar surroundings, taking in the green, leather seats, and mahogany walls. Taking the frames out from under my arm, I set them down on the table, and picked up the gift Elliot had given me. It was a crisp yellow envelope, but small enough to be the size of my hand.

Running my fingers underneath the smooth crease, I flipped it open, and slid out whatever was inside. A light blue slip of paper was tucked neatly underneath, large bolded words printed on the front.

Raphaelites Honor Awards
Palazzo Corsini
Saturday, 7pm

As soon as I read those words, I flipped the ticket over and placed it back inside the packaging. I didn't want to look at it, because I was scared too. Glancing outside the window, I watched the hills roll by at a quickening pace, the train taking me further, and further from Rome.

shoving the ticket into my satchel, I leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes. The steady rhythm of the car melted into my body, calming my nerves for just a split second of a moment. It wasn't long before the wheels in my head started to turn as quickly as the ones on the train. A part of me was angry at Elliot for giving me the ticket, knowing I'd be long gone from the station when I opened them. What was his point? I was suffering enough, and the last thing I needed was a reminder of a broken promise.

I'll be there, I said, I wouldn't miss it for the world.

I guess I had to accept that the world wasn't fair sometimes. The smell of cigarettes and warm cappuccinos wafted in through the compartments crack, it's warm sensation tickling the tip of my nose. Oh, what I would give to be sitting back at a cafe, immersing myself in the city's nightlife. Oddly enough, I had grown accustomed to my surroundings during my stay, and now I felt homesick leaving.

But I can't be homesick. I'm going home to Brooklyn. All I needed was to take the train to Florence, then get on a plane back to the States.

Like the crack of a whip, the compartment door slid open, jolting me out of my seat. An elderly woman stood in the hallway, peering down at me with her rose-tinted spectacles.

"I don't suppose you'd mind me sitting here," she said, her voice withered and shaky, as she pointed towards the seat across from me.

I was startled at first, but nodded my head silently. I watched as she slowly carried herself to her newly-claimed spot, sitting down as gently as a falling feather. She was unusually dressed for an elder, wearing pink ribbons in her hair, and a bright topaz necklace. Usually, I'm never one to judge a fashion choice, but I would have never expected someone of her age to present themselves in such a colorful manner. Either way, I loved how content she was with herself, a soft smile settling on her face as she made herself comfortable.

The only thing I found unusual, was that she carried no luggage. The journey was from Rome to Florence, so one would expect to have resources to travel with.