the story continues...

She opened her eyes and was no longer herself, but looking down at herself. The streets were full of concerned people flocking in her direction. The small car that hit her was pulled off to the side, the young women driver sobbing hysterically. The crowd thickened, she could not understand what anyone is saying, and she was confused. She tried to sit up, and then felt like she was floating. She was suddenly above the crowd, above her own body, observing the scene from a bird’s perspective. There was a little puddle of blood underneath her head from where she hit the ground, but other than that she looked peaceful. Her red curls were neatly spread around her face as if they were arranged that way. Her limbs did not look in any way uncomfortably placed, she seemed to have fallen backward gracefully. Wait, she did not fall, she was hit.

“Oh God, I was hit by a car,” she said out loud, but no one heard. “I’m not in my body, what’s happening to me?” she yelled to the un-answering masses. The young man closest to her body checked her breathing and shook his head sadly. However she knew better, he was wrong. She still had a pulse, she was still alive.

“No, no! Check again, my heart is beating! I can’t be dead, I am right here! I am on vacation, this can’t happen to me!” Her cries were not noticed, her desperation rising. People were giving up on her; they were going to let her die. She was just unconscious, she needed CPR. The edge of her vision started to blur, was fading. Her limbs started to tingle, probably the last feeling she would ever have in them. She clung to that feeling, desperately trying to keep it for as long as possible. The young man and a few of his friends were about to pick her body up and move it out of the street. It was all ending.

“Stop! Put her down, allongée! I mean basta!” A voice like music, black notes flowing on the corners of her fading mind brought her momentarily back from where she was slipping. The crowd parted to admit the cheerless man from the café across the street. His once miserable face was now filled with concern. She could now tell from the sound of his lovely voice that he was French, not a native Italian like she always assumed. She could see that his light hair did not fit in with the multitude of dark heads surrounding her. He knelt down beside her, took her small wrist in his big hand and checked her pulse. He instantly sprung into action when he did not feel the pump of blood. He confidently opened her mouth and blew in, then did compressions on her chest. The tingling in her extremities started to change to a warm feeling. Her sight became clearer. Slowly she started to descend, getting closer and closer to her body. With a gasp she was back.

She opened her eyes with fright as air returned to her lungs with a rush. The people surrounding her all let out a cheer filling her line of sight with smiling faces. Her ribs hurt from where they had been compressed to get her heart started again. She coughed and turned over on her side, embarrassed that people were seeing her like this.

“Come; let’s get you out of the street. It looks like you hit your head, you should get that looked at.” She felt a firm hand on her arm and let it lead her away. She staggered forward, leaning on the helpful arm. When she finally looked up, she was staring into the kind, once again haggard face of the Frenchmen who had saved her life. Unintentionally, she had made a friend, and it had almost killed her.

Start of my story...

OK, so here is the start of my story that i am writing about my summer trip to Rome. i went all alone, but made a few really remarkable friends along the way which i will never forget. enjoy!<p>

Black with dots of color danced beneath her eyelids, or were those colors? Was it the inside of her eyelid, or was it just her imagination of what the inside of her eyelid looked like? If she pressed her closed eyes into her arm, colors would appear in bursts, but no colors she could describe. The black suddenly turned to red and yellow as a light shined in her face and she abandoned her search for an explanation.

The yellow turned out to be a passing moped’s light on its way down the street. This was a common occurrence since mopeds, motorcycles and bikes outnumbered cars in this city, much to her great pleasure and amazement. She was sitting on the patio of the café on the bottom level of a hotel in the most beautiful city in the world. At least it was the most beautiful city that she had ever been to. It was a gorgeous summer day in Rome, and she was enjoying the perfect weather and a glass of lemonade.

Her hotel was at the corner a bustling road in the lovely neighborhood of Trestevere. All the guide books had said this was the number one place to stay when on vacation in the city. It was right across the Tiber River from the actual big city. The neighborhood was beautiful; it had trees on the sides of the road and flower venders everywhere. Everything she needed was only a block or two away from her hotel. The little grocery store was to the left, the small movie theater to the right, and fruit venders everywhere you looked. She was there at a very nice time of year, July, right before the hordes of tourists would arrive. She had done her homework, finding the perfect time to come.

A few more motorized vehicles passed by on the cobble stone street as she sat there, her red curly hair flickering back and forth with the breeze they created. A great many people moved in and out of her vision as well. A mother walked past followed by two small dark haired boys to whom she was conversing in rapid Italian, much to their displeasure. Men went about their business, giving a little wave and a “Ciao!” to acquaintances as they went by. This suggested that they saw these same people every single day as part of their routine.

Her gaze fell on people of all different temperaments. One smiling girl passed her holding hands with a nervous faced boy, probably on a first date. An old man slouched by with a grimace. A worried looking middle aged guy in a suit strode by looking at his watch. Everyone had their own purpose, and was going their own direction. There was another café across the street from her hotel, a cheery little place with flower boxes outside the windows. The waiter stood outside wiping down small mosaic tables and smiling at people on their way down the street. Sitting out side that one directly across from her was an older man with a sad expression on his face, his coffee forgotten to whatever pressing matter was occupying his mind. He was a good looking man, probably in his mid forties with light brown hair, probably hiding some grays. His handsome face was made sour by his despondent expression. He was a dark spot in front of an otherwise bright scene.

It was easy to forget that the rest of the world was not on vacation like she was. After an extremely stressful semester of college she was finally kicking back and relaxing. It was great being someplace new, where no one knew her name. She could just blend in and be anonymous, just observe instead of taking part. She had been saving money for this trip for years now, and it was well worth the wait. All the long hours in various horrible jobs were all spent to get her to this little hotel café in this city. She scarcely believed she had made it at all. Any moment now all this would disappear, and she would once more be at school in her room as the rain poured outside, her unfinished paper still unfinished on her computer screen. Instead she woke up these last few days in her cute little hotel room, ancient Rome right outside her door, ready to be explored.

She sipped her lemonade and became lost in thought. She was a 20 year old Geography major, with a minor in Medieval Literature. She was well aware of the oddity of her chosen education path, but it was what she loved, so that made it worth it. She was fully prepared to be unemployed and living in a box one day surrounded with old books about King Arthur and maps. She was a tall girl of average size. She would say she was ordinary looking, but those who knew her said otherwise. Her brilliant red hair made her stand out in a crowd; she looked almost alien in Italy. It was so red it almost looked unreal in some lights. It was short, to her chin, and hung in perfect little ringlets. Her hairdresser used to always tell her she had hair that people paid her to give them, but better. She liked to call it comic book red, like Mary Jane in Spiderman or Jean Gray in X-men. She always thought it was the only part of her appearance that made her unique, like firry hair on a plain Jane doll.

Time goes by wonderfully slow when you have no responsibilities. One month was her limit, and it was just the right amount. A month would give her plenty of opportunities to see everything she wanted to see and not be rushed. The three days she had been there so far had been enjoyable. She had already made friends with the concierge at her hotel and had gone to a few touristy destinations and explored her neighborhood a little. When alone in a foreign land, it is important to make friends with your friendly hotel staff, since they are who you will be seeing the most, living closest to, and asking the most questions. This relieves a lot of the Oh-God-I-am-all-alone nerves. So far, loneliness had not crept up on her and she intended to keep it that way for the rest of the month. This was her time, no need to waste it worrying about other people.

After five days she was lonely beyond belief, craving human conversation more than anything else in the world. She had to make some friends quick before she stared missing her own friends too much and cutting her vacation short. Everyone back home was probably taking bets on whether she was going to do just that. She was back on the patio of her hotel, looking out at her neighborhood like she did every morning. A wave of loneliness suddenly swept over her. This was not the way she wanted to spend her vacation, feeling sorry for herself. The city was so big and beautiful. There had to be someone in her same situation she could befriend. Across the street her eyes fell on the depressed man sitting with yet another untouched coffee. He was there every day, same look on his face, same neglected beverage, always alone. Today his face was as long as the Coliseum is wide. His light brown hair hung in front of his gloomy eyes. Every morning he was there, and every morning she wondered what his story was.

“Alright,” she whispered, “I am going out there and finding a friend, even if it kills me.” She took a step into the street, her ears filled with the shrill horn of a car, and she saw no more.

Stay tuned for the next chapter!

here is my web page

Here is a link to my bio on my friend Maria's web site:

http://www.as.wvu.edu/~mgoodson/project3/trulygattuso.html

go check it out!

issues

I really hate computers; I don’t even know why I bother with them. I had such a hard time getting all my accounts straight. I made myself a facebook, myspace, blog and Nanowimo accounts, and I got all the user names and passwords mixed up. I could not even get into my blog for the longest time. What a pain. I think I finally have it all straight. I even had to make a new e-mail account, which is something I knew I would have to do anyway. Oh well, I guess its all good now.

On the plus side, I am making a bunch of friends on facebook and myspace. I know they are just internet friends, but it’s still cool. Pretty soon I will start to post a story I have been writing about something that happened to me in Rome this summer. Once November hits I will be on Nanowimo all the time, I really want to get to 15,000 words. So far I have 3,000, and I am not even supposed to have started yet. I guess I will just have to wait and see.

So my old tap shoes broke yesterday, it was a sad day. I have had those things since freshmen year of high school, and they were great. They were breaking in the middle a little for a long time, and yesterday they finally gave in. so, I needed a replacement pair, but being a poor college student, I have no money for that kind of thing. I went to the Salvation Army and got some black shoes that looked about the right style and put thumb tacks in the bottom. They work surprisingly well for thumb tacks. They will do until Christmas when I can ask for a new pair.

"Oh the cleverness of me..."

new blog!

Well here i am, i have a all new blog. This is exciting, i am going to get on here all the time and just jot down my thoughts, not that anyone wants to read them. Every time i have a mind blowing idea, i am going to write about it here. Hopefully i will remember to get on. Anyway, my name is Truly, and this is my blog.