The Long Trip Home: Archives

I rest my head against the seatback and try to find comfort as we drive in this cramped car. Despite the bumps and bruises the car pelts at us along the way, it's not hard to rest. I sigh. I am so tired. I glance behind me at Erin, Corrie, Angela who look tired and half asleep in the backseat as we drive on a dusty Italian road. Angela actually is asleep, I notice, as her head bobs and rests against the cushioned seat. Corrie and Erin, leaning against the side windows, are soon to follow.

We are leaving the hills of Umbria where we've spent the whole day hiking—climbing and descending soft foothills that look more like mountains to me—and we are returning to our apartments in Macerata. It will take a few hours to drive home, and our driver, an Italian man that I don't know well, seems intent on being quiet so that we can sleep. I try to sleep myself, but instead end up watching the dusty roads which seem uncertain before us in the darkness. Somehow, we survived the hiking trip, although I look now at my tired feet, shoes covered in thick mud from the hike, and I am sure that they will ache in the morning.

Around me, the night air is cold and crisp. Stars are brighter out here in the country. People come to Umbria because they hear it is the heart of Italy with its landlocked patches of earth that gracefully roll toward mountains. I remember, as we drive, hearing about the cities we pass on the road, cities that were struck by a fierce earthquake just a year or so ago. We drive past these hill towns, tall fortresses of grace that are completely deserted, it seems. I frown at the empty roads and closed buildings that stubbornly stand tall and unfailing on steep dangerous cliffs. There is no one here, and I feel it. The night is empty. The sounds of Corrie and Erin and Angela breathing steadily in the back seat echo in the silence.

It's late at night, though, and as we drive I can see less and less in the darkness. I close my eyes and begin to conjugate the verb potere in my head involuntarily. My lips mouth the words. Posso. Puoi. Puo'. It's like counting sheep, these words that come to me. Possiamo. Potete. And in their repetition, I close my eyes again. Possono. At once I am asleep.