All the Way to Heaven

Chapter 3

I had landed in Pisa early Monday afternoon, and spent my first night in Italy at a Holiday Inn there, abandoning my plans to visit the famous leaning tower. I surrendered, instead, to the desperate need to sleep. My fatigue was only partly due to the nine-hour time change. More specifically, it was because of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding my overnight flight from Los Angeles during which I'd planned to sleep.

My overnight flight during which I did not sleep.

The somewhat portly gentleman in the seat beside me didn't suffer similarly. It was, in fact, his snuffling and snorting, along with his wildly bobbing head, which kept me in a state of tense and awkward wakefulness. He must have taken some kind of sleep aide, because after an hour of his chest-rattling coughing and sneezing that had me breathing only when absolutely necessary, he passed out and didn't come around until the flight attendant shook him rather forcefully when it was time to buckle up for landing.

As tired as I'd been, though, I'd tossed and turned until finally falling into a deep sleep after midnight. I was late checking out the next morning and had to sweet talk the concierge into not charging me for a second night. He scolded me, flirted outrageously with me, and then casually held out his hand for a tip for his generosity.

I wondered how much of my carefully budgeted cash would go toward making amends for my tourist blunders.

The day, unfortunately, continued to unravel around me. In my flustered state, I boarded a train going in the opposite direction from Lucca, toward Livorno, but spent the first thirty-five minutes blissfully unaware of my mistake, making silly faces and playing peekaboo with a brown-eyed cherub in a stroller across the aisle. The infant's mother sat nearby reading a magazine and smiling as her daughter cooed and blew bubbles in delight over my antics. It never ceased to amaze me what a fool I'd make of myself for a baby's slobbery, toothless grin. Not that I had any desire for one of my own. I had absolutely no idea what to do with them once they stopped smiling and starting crying instead.

When I finally realized the names of the train depots we were passing were not on the route I'd so painstakingly plotted, the soft-spoken mother took pity on me, seeing my mounting panic as I perused my map and travel guide. Her voice was gentle, soothing, even though I didn't understand a word she said.

"Mi scusi. Non capisco." I'd had every intention of learning enough Italian to get by before coming to visit, having even registered for an online language as an elective during my last semester of my senior year. But as a result of expediting my travel plans, the best I could manage was a few default phrases committed to memory, courtesy of the travel companion English-Italian dictionary I had tucked in the outside pocket of my purse. "Excuse me. I don't understand," was one of them.

"I will help you?" The woman pointed at the map on my lap. Gulping down the bubble of relief in my throat, I put my finger on the dot labeled Lucca.

"Vado... Lucca," I stuttered. "I'm going to Lucca."

She smiled at my wretched attempt at Italian, then with much gesturing, one- and two-word phrases, and encouraging pats on the shoulder, she steered me in the right direction, her broken English far more decipherable than my broken Italian. She laughed when I hugged her fiercely and blew a kiss at the baby as we parted ways at the next stop. Tish would have been proud of my public display of affection.

I dragged my bags clear of the track and the train whooshed off without me, leaving me the sole passenger waiting on the platform of a very small and unmanned depot.

A wave of excruciating vulnerability washed over me, and I white-knuckled my suitcase handle, palms sweating and armpits tingling. I took in the crumbling brick exterior of the compact building with its chained door and graffitied facade. There were two long benches under the shade of an awning off to one side, but I opted to stand out in the open to wait for the train that the woman had assured me would arrive "in little time." I was exposed, yes, but on my feet, can of pepper spray in hand, ready to flee should any unsavory sorts approach. Where I'd run, I didn't know, but run I would, even if it meant abandoning my luggage. I'd seen the movies, read the horror stories of lone travelers never heard from again... of abandoned train stations harboring the dregs of society.