Boys I've loved, entry #14

When I moved from Siena to Florence, I moved into a monastery in Fiesole, a small town on the hills surrounding Florence. If you have ever seen A Room With A View, the characters go out for a ride in a carriage to see a view.  They go to Fiesole.  (On a side note, I met the carriage driver from that movie years later in Florence, but that's another story).

The University had rented one hallway with cells from the monks for the exchange students.  To this day, I don't know how it happened, but out of twenty foreign exchange students, the other American and I got our own cell.  Everyone else had to share a cell.  Cell is the apppriate word.  We had a "Signora" who reigned over us with an iron fist.  She installed a security camera in the hall and watched all our comings and goings.  We had to be back to the monastery by 10:00 or we would be shut out.  This meant we had to leave Florence by 9:00pm to make it back on the bus.  As twenty-somethings bursting with hormones and the Italian nightlife, it was as if we had suddenly taken vows. We should have been wearing course brown robes.

On the first day in Fiesole, I met Francesco.  He lived two cells down with a very skinny, stinky Irish boy who even English speakers couldn't understand.  Francesco's parents were Italian, but he was raised in France, so he had dual citizenship. All the students went out on a walk that day.  Francesco had an Eagle nose and auburn hair.  He laughed easily and was a natural leader, showing everyone around.  We became very good friends.  Francesco, my friend Kristin from America, Marcus from Nice, and I went everywhere together.  We usually ate together, toured, and hung out in the monastery.  I have a picture of Francesco in house slippers and a terry robe doing the can-can in the monastery hall.  He was just a lot of fun to be with.

On the night of my 21st birthday we all went to dinner in Florence.  Francesco offered to take me back to the monastery on his friend's moped.  On the drive, I felt a different feeling come between us.  When we got back, he came down to my cell and we had a little birthday party with some of the students.  They all left and he stayed.  I remember the first time he kissed me.  It was awful.  I thought, "Is this how all French men kiss?  Yuck."  Later, he told me that he wondered, "Is this how all American women kiss?"  It took us a little time, but we worked all the cultural conflicts out.

The most romantic thing that Francesco ever did was a complete surprise.  I came home after my morning class and he was pacing.  "Where have you been?" he yelled.  "I decided to take the long way home.  Its such a pretty morning."  I said.  He grabbed my hand and a bag that Kristin had packed for me and we ran and ran to the train station.  He had bought two tickets to Viarregio, a beach town in Tuscany.  We spent the entire day on the beach and watched the sunset over the Mediterranean, then we took the evening train home.  It was one of the nicest days I've ever spent.

I left Italy about nine months after I met Francesco.  We talked about getting married when I came back.  Our one conflict was religion.  I didn't want to raise our children Catholic and he didn't want to raise them Mormon.  I can't explain how difficult this was for both of us.  We had a relationship by telephone for almost two more years.  I just couldn't get the money together to go back.  Finally, one day he said, "I can't do this anymore.  Either come back and we get married or we have to break up.  I've met someone I'm interested in and I don't want to start dating her until know what we are doing."  We broke up that night.  I was in pieces -- pieces that wished they were back in Italy.