Story #11: Clockwork

the last morning on the duomo steps

Clockwork

Time stopped under the arch. We climbed up a stream of cobblestones and move into the hollowed town. Clocks are frozen here, all thoughts of home are left at the base – or at least they were for four months. Days blurred together and seasons lost meaning. The arch has no gate or bars to keep time out, but we abandoned it in the grass before entering.

Now, our last morning in Orvieto was spent under the arch that separates the town from the narrow road that leads to the train station. Sleepy eyes strain to watch the last sunrise we’d see from this hilltop town. Crankiness and sadness overcome what was originally supposed to be a fun time as we fell asleep last night saying, “Let’s watch the sunrise before we leave for the airport!” The sun rose but so did our crankiness, our sadness. What was supposed to be a rejuvenating sunrise was just a reminder of what we would miss. Laura and I would be on the East Coast this evening while Sara would return to California. We make our way back through the arch, climbing up the steep cobblestone road to bring us back to our half-packed suitcases.

“I want to go to the duomo,” I break the silence with my demand to see the cathedral one last time.

“Oh… Megan, I think we wanted to go back to eat breakfast.” They look at each other and nod. I’m immediately annoyed at their inability to understand that I wanted to walk through Orvieto one last time. I didn’t want to go back to the monastery to have my hundred and tenth bowl of cornflakes. My last glimpse of Orvieto was going to be the duomo, not the dish rack in the monastery kitchen.

I sigh okay, bye and slowly move onto the side street, the shortcut. Waiting for them to change their minds, I look back only to see them link arms and turn up the main road to the monastery. I turn back to the shortcut and start to run. I have to maximize my time and visually memorize everything in Orvieto – and I only had about fifteen minutes to do it before we meet for the airport.

Hurried steps move through ancient streets and here I am, crying on foreign cobblestones again. But this time it isn’t because I want to go home, this time it is because I wanted to stay. To stay in this place where my biggest problem is whether to get gelato before or after dinner or both. Where we drink cappuccinos more than we drink water and where a quick walk can bring us from the monastery courtyard to the outer cliff of Orvieto, stealing our breath and slowing our pace to watch the trains. This place where we are so distracted by the ancient architecture and beauty that we crane our necks and trip on wobbly cobblestones.

I’m almost there. I’m the only sign of life on the deserted street so I run in the middle, tripping on an occasional loose cobblestone or two. I look around to see if anyone’s noticed, but of course no one’s here. I trust that a rogue Fiat won’t zoom out from around the corner to flatten me against the side of a neighbor’s doorstep. I approach the duomo from the side, still in the shade, and then make my way to the front. The sunrise light has just reached here. The first light the duomo’s seen today. I linger for a moment, deciding if I should really make this a thing and stay for a whole five minutes by myself. But this is the last time I’ll see the duomo! I need to remember it! I feel alone though, missing Sara and Laura.

A stray dog breaks the silence with a bark and a growl and suddenly I’m running again, wondering if this will not only be my last day in Orvieto but my last day on earth if this dog starts to chase me. My athletic façade is really just that – a façade and although I’m definitely a flight (instead of fight) kind of girl, that doesn’t mean my flight is fast enough to preserve my own life. The dog continues to bark and moves closer for a few steps, before turning back to a stray pigeon. I’m still sprinting away as if this is some sort of race to the death. I could see it now, written in newspapers at home: “study abroad student mauled by small terrier in Italy.”

I run down the main street now, its slight slope downward causes my sneakers to smack down on the stones and I feel as if I’m falling, catching myself with every step. I slow in front of the family restaurant where we eat – where we ate – all of our meals. I want to remember this too. I stand in front of it for half a second before realizing that the dog could’ve abandoned it’s pigeon and might still be after me. I continue my frantic run through the abandoned streets and finally reach the monastery gate, huffing and puffing, clutching my side. I’m late. My classmates are dragging their suitcases out of the iron-gated courtyard, asking where I’ve been and why I’m sweating and why I’m not ready to go right now. 6:30 a.m. – I’m late, I know.

We’ve shared life together and now it’s time to hug and say goodbye, whispering promises to see each other again someday. Already looking forward to joyful reunions to make up for painful goodbyes. Time begins again. Weaving through narrow streets, the escape through the arch brings us back to time. We’ve packed up our bags, stuffed the study abroad experience into our suitcases. We’ve done life together – prepared meals, argued over cleaning schedules, cried with each other for tragedies at home, a place so far from here. Watches furiously tick as we race down funicular tracks and onto the crowded bus. Parking lot car horns, trains in arrivo and partenza enter into the landscape backdrop and then travel on, as we make our way on tracks that may or may not intersect again.