On an Italian bridge

I’m standing on a bridge in Florence, Italy, some thousands of miles away from home. Just a few extra days tacked onto a business trip; it's my first time in Europe, after all.

Being nearly dinnertime, I’m the sole person around. Plus there’s rain, the slow soaking kind, patterned by sporadic sprinkles turning to wind-fueled showers and back again.

My hair settles across my face and blocks the view. Dark clouds shuffle in the sky as I pull a hat from my bag, slide it onto my head and take a deep breath.

Memorize this place.

My unfinished novel manuscript, family drama and job aren’t with me now. Expectations and obligations. Worries and insecurities. They all slip away. Here, if only for a minute or two, I’m a person free from daily pressures. It’s how I always thought “grownup” would feel.

Buh buh bum. Piano music fades between sounds of tires splashing in puddles. I close my eyes to memorize this, too.

A soft “ciao” close to my face interrupts but I don’t jump. There’s an ultra wrinkly grandpa of a man in a dark suit with crooked teeth, big eyes and carefully combed silver hair.

“Oh, ciao,” I say and smile.

The man continues in Italian until I shake my head and ask, “Parla inglese?” “Oh yes,” he says an nods. “Certainly do.”

For awhile, we stand under his umbrella and talk. He tells me about his beautiful wife who passed away a few years before, about the wine vineyard he owned and all the reasons why he loves his country. Walking around dinnertime is good, he explains, because it's the loneliest part of the day.

By the time we shake hands and exchange it-was-so-nice-to-meet-you smiles, the rain has stopped and I take the photograph above. When I look at it, I’m zapped back there. Only for a minute or two, I am free-er. It's how grownup should feel a little more often.