The Weirdest Place? - Closed

I'm hoping others can relate, but when "it" hits there is nothing more important to me in that moment than being alone. Maybe not physically alone, but, y'know - "don't bug me!" kind of alone.

So it was, sighing at the sights in Siena when I saw a story at the bottom of my cup of cappuccino. My husband of oh, about 4 days, was waxing poetic about Il Campo, and instead of leaning in, dreamily letting his words wash over me in the glow of honeymoon-dom, all I could hear was the dialogue of the argument that had erupted in my head. They were at it again, these characters I'd put to bed before we left the states. I tried to preserve the moment (Siena, absolutely breathtaking, enchanting, everything by way of charm and more) but it just wasn't working. I was scowling (it really was quite the heated debate in my head) and my husband took that as a perjorative take on his attempts to speak Italian ('nother story).

After several tortured minutes, I ("they", rather) told him I needed to be by myself for a little while, not long, just long enough so as to not lose any creative ground. He told me later the Italian hotelier were none too kind in teasing him about returning to the hotel, sans wife.

I spent a whirlwind afternoon at that table in the central piazza in Siena. Those characters, having long since resolved their differences, will forever look back on that wicked argument, set in pounding sun, with crumbles of biscotti on the table and the dull roar of international toddlers playing in the town fountains. Hey, if they can infect my life, I see no reason not to leave my mark on theirs!

Happy Writing,

Marivic