Return to Venice
carrie breinholt Posted on Tuesday, May 6, 2014 at 2:14PM 
“Bella, bella, “ whispered the proud papa as he bounced his baby girl on his knee. The bouncing mimicked the motion of the waves as our water taxi left the dock. It was midnight and the last boat to Venice’s Rialto station. I had barely made it, my luggage wheels squealing against the sidewalk, my feet slapping against my shoes, as I ran with one hand waving, the other holding my ticket. Now in the safety of the boat, I took a deep breath and peered out the open back window…the warm breeze crept in, bringing along with it the smell of sea and salt; fish and garbage. An apricot half moon hung over the sinking palazzos and while I couldn’t detect which direction it came from, I could hear the faint sound of Opera music. It had been over 16 years since I promised to return to Venice, but it still hadn’t lost it’s magic.
I was 21 and studying Italian in Sienna as part of my university’s study abroad program. My motivation to escape Utah was stronger than my motivation to learn a language. So strong I had taken a semester off to work 16-hour shifts to save enough money. While the other girls in my program wanted to spend the last weekend in Pisa with some steamy locals they met, they had parent’s money and credit cards to extend their vacations. I barely had enough to buy my morning cappuccinos. If no one would go Venice with me, I’d just have to do as I’d always done – go it alone.
It was a three-hour train ride from Florence and by the time I arrived the hostels were booked and I didn’t have enough cash for a hotel. So I devised a plan that seemed doable: I would stay up and walk the streets of Venice all night. I had picked the right evening to do that - it was Festa del Rendentore – a celebration that would culminate at midnight with a party and fireworks in San Marco’s Square.
The square was packed with people. Gondoliers in their black and white striped boar necks were taking smoke breaks. Couples sat on the steps holding hands; while pigeons took shelter in the side streets. Street vendors hawked beads, masks and glow-in-the-dark necklaces. A young girl cried as her gelato splat on the sidewalk. I staked a prime spot in front of a column to watch the firework show. Although I was alone, I felt at home. Somehow it was easier to feel small in a big place than small in a small place.
The fireworks shot off with a bang and the crowd cheered and pumped their fists in the air. Reds, blues and yellows exploded in the sky, falling to the earth like the tears of stars, the reflection in the water waiting to catch them. I closed my eyes and made a wish – a promise - that this would not be my last time in Venice, that I would visit Italy again.
As I sealed this wish, I felt an arm grab my waist from behind. A dark-haired Romeo appeared from behind the column and kissed me on the lips. I pulled back, he pulled closer, the crackle of the fireworks continuing above us.
Reader Comments (1)
What?!!! What happened after he kissed you? That is where the articled stopped?!! Talk about suspense! I loved the image of falling fireworks being tears of stars. Beautiful! (Or should I say 'Bellisimo'?)