Roman holiday (minus Audrey Hepburn, plus a little something sweet and cold)

For breakfast, I order a pastry and “un cappuccino” from Cafe Settimiamo across the street from Guarini, and I chug it on the way to my favorite class (which I rarely prepare for).

And in my favorite class which I rarely prepare for, we’ll read a William Carlos Williams poem called “This is just to say.” And I’ll think about every word: “The plums…Which / You were probably / Saving / For breakfast / Forgive me / They were delicious / So sweet / And so cold.”

And I’ll think about those plums. I’ll think about everything that is so sweet and so cold.

I’ll think about Besnik, the man I sat beside on the nine-hour red-eye flight from Dulles to Rome. I’ll think about how he gave me the window seat and told the flight attendants I was his daughter who “just turned 22” when they came through the cabin for drink service.

I’ll think about how that one white lie turned into two cups of white wine, how during my second cup, Besnik told me I was going to love Italy, and I believed him. 

I’ll think about Shane and Denise, the couple I met at the baggage claim of Fiumicino Airport, who treated my friends and me to dinner at the Rooftop Spritzeria Monti a few days after meeting them. Maybe it should’ve been awkward telling my parents that I wined and dined with two strangers from the airport, but I told them Shane and Denise were Notre Dame fans, and there was no further questioning.

I’ll think about having to Google Translate how to order a pizza in Italian because, after a year of studying the language, I simply could not figure it out.

I’ll think about that first bottle of Turà Vino Frizzante, the bottle that was so impossible to uncork that it took Nandita, Mirian and me 15 minutes to open (I swear, it was worth all 2 euros).

I’ll think about the “shawl of shame,” which I was handed at the Duomo di Orvieto (because my shoulders were bare, and apparently that’s a sin).

I’ll think about crying my eyes out (unrelated to the “shawl of shame”). 

I’ll think about the last-minute trip to the beach at Anzio, how we returned to Rome later that day looking just a little tanner than everyone else.

I’ll think about syringe shots with arkies at La Follia (please don’t ask me what those are).

I’ll think about celebrity shots at On The Rox during beer pong.

I’ll think about my Italian professor from last fall buying me my first maritozzo at the bakery by the Spanish Steps. 

I’ll think about the 16-hour Flixbus to Munich and the four-hour layover in Bologna. The pictures I took of my friends’ pupils and the veggie burger I got, which was called the Morrissey Burger (which I made far too many jokes about). 

I’ll think about Oktoberfest and getting into a fight with one of my best friends, then making up by the port-a-potties after being manhandled by some massive balding security guards. 

I’ll think about trying out for the John Cabot University tennis team.

I’ll think about not making the John Cabot University tennis team. 

I’ll think about the little girl from the refugee center who braided my hair.

I’ll think about Camden Town and the picture of my friend, which is taped up to the back bar. I’ll think about reconnecting with my roommate from freshman year in a booth there on a Thursday night and Obi, the bartender, making Fife and me custom drinks. I’ll also think about the way those drinks made me feel the morning after.

I’ll think about the best nap of my life. 

I’ll think about Sicily. I’ll think about wandering to the beach with Will that first night and sitting and talking for a while, and the moon was so blood orange. 

I’ll think about the boat trip, how I kept saying, “This is the richest we’ll ever be,” and also “What if we die?”

I’ll think about buying cool jewelry from street vendors in downtown Palermo.

I’ll think about the little bug bites that were covering my entire body after Sicily and worrying that (maybe, possibly) I had bed bugs. I’ll think about staking out in the laundry room for seven hours when I got back to Rome to wash and dry everything I own on high heat in case it (maybe, possibly) was bed bugs.

I’ll think about the doctor telling me that it probably was bed bugs.

I’ll think about the opera with Monay. 

I’ll think about going out four days in one week because all the London kids were visiting. 

I’ll think about my grades in one of my classes taking a serious hit due to all of that going out (whoops). 

I’ll think about Jane’s phone getting stolen, and Will and me helping her find it (we didn’t find it).

I’ll think about Fife’s phone getting stolen, and Becca and me helping him find it (we also didn’t find it).

I’ll think about meal plan dinners with Amelia, Sarah, Ethan and Christina.

I’ll think about the first time I hung out with Ines. 

I’ll think about Lili finding me the perfect burgundy leather jacket at a booth at Porta Portese.

I’ll think about cramming for that poetry exam with Genna.

I’ll think about Caravaggio paintings.

I’ll think about thrifting funky sweaters with Matthew. 

I’ll think about unlimited sushi and late-night talks. 

I’ll think about Halloween costumes and that dinner at Benso.

I’ll think about discreetly stashing hotel breakfast pastries into to-go containers because “we didn’t bring Tupperware on this trip for nothing.”

I’ll think about the gourmet cocktails at Il Mercante in Venice.

I’ll think about going for a run, then falling, then bleeding, then feeling my heart beat out of my leg, then seeking medical attention from our beloved assistant rector Isaias.

I’ll think about Tuesday/Thursday walks to Italian class with Hayden and spilling my guts to him. 

I’ll think about Park Güell in Barcelona with Fife and Colleen.

I’ll think about crappy tights from Calzedonia and waiters correcting my pronunciation of Italian words and, of course, I’ll also think of home.

I’ll think of home. 

I’ll think of my dog and my parents who I love more than anything. My nana whose dream was to come to Italy. My friends back at Notre Dame who I miss terribly. 

I’ll think that nothing will ever be the same. And I’ll think, this life can be so sweet and so cold, can’t it?

Kate Casper (aka, Casper, Underdog or Jasmine) is from Northern Virginia, currently residing in Rome. She strives to be the best waste of your time. You can contact her at kcasper@nd.edu.