We Are All Friends Now
Or: an Antidote to Heartache (Italy, Part 2)
The woman’s bum, clad in only a thong, is inches from my face.
We are in Napoli. It’s the 6th day of our Italy trip. We’ve been weaving our way through graffitied, cobblestone alleyways, between churches and museums, gaping at the unapologetic loudness and beauty of this city.
Right now, we’re in a vintage shop, tucked away on a tiny side street. I would have missed entirely, but May spotted it, and in we came.
She’s in the change room, trying on a growing mountain of clothes. Each item is being brought to her by a very tall, very slim tattooed salesperson draped in black, who introduces the piece as if he’s presenting a work of art.
“This one! Isn’t it goooorgeous? Just look at how the fabric falls!”
He has every right. I’ve never seen such exquisite clothing in a second hand shop. Tweed pencil skirts, wool blazers, DVF wrap dresses—it’s a vintage-lover’s dream. Except everything is made for Italian women, at least 30 years ago. Most if it wouldn’t fit over this vintage-lover’s thigh.
So I’ve settled happily in an armchair while 5-foot-4 May goes to town.
A woman enters the shop. She and the sales assistant chat away as she flings things enthusiastically onto the back of a chair. Eventually, I realize that she is, in fact, the store owner.
She thrusts a wrap dress in my face. “Try this! Your colour! Beautiful!”
I laugh, motioning downwards. “I don’t have hips. It won’t look good on me.”
She nods conspiratorially. “I am built like frog,” she confides.
The sales assistant interjects. “Every body is beautiful!”
We all heartily agree.
The shop owner examines my face for a moment.
“We are all friends now,” she declares, then whips off her skirt to reveal the thong, before wriggling into a pair of shorts.
May emerges to see this and the look on my face and we both double over laughing.
The four of us chat for ages. We find out it’s his first day on the job, and rave about his abilities to his boss. We talk about Italian designers and body positivity. We have to force ourselves to leave.
But that’s what traveling with May is like.
I haven’t had my moment in the church yet.
I know now, with hindsight, that it was a surrender that needed to happen. But at the time it was so painful, it was almost physical.
And sorry to be a downer, kids, but what with the apocalyptic state of the world, traipsing around Italy feels selfish at best and irresponsible at worst.
But it’s May’s 50th birthday. She is my dear friend, and this is what she asked for.
Also, something in me suspects it might be a good idea.
There is still joy, over these days. How could there not be, in Italy, with one of my favourite people? But underneath it, the low hum of grief.
And yet, unbeknownst to me, the trip has already started to work its magic.
I watched May at work the last time we were together, two years ago. How her positivity is an antidote to my (ahem) more cynical take on things. How her curiosity lights up a room. How she marvels at things I’d walk past without noticing.
But most importantly, how she has an uncanny way of getting people to open up. And how all of this is infectious.
With the passing of time, it’s become even more obvious.
She landed in Rome a few hours before I did, and got lost trying to find our rental apartment. If the roles had been reversed, I would have texted, google mapped, and walked around in circles staring at the little blue dot for days before I dared to ask an actual human for assistance.
But May asked the first person she saw. Within minutes, she had an army of Roman neighbours had gathered around her. They took her on a tour around the neighbourhood. They located the right flat. They helped her get her ginormous suitcase inside. They probably hugged her goodbye.
The next evening, after a long day of sightseeing, we headed to a recommended restaurant, only to find a long lineup. Our feet were almost numb, and this was not the kind of place where people vacate tables quickly. Plus, the American couple who took their place behind us were, well, a couple. In my current state, this was simply offensive.
I was busily resenting them when May loudly announced that “as a lesbian couple, we should be allowed to the front of the line”.*
Everyone turned to stare at us. I cracked up.
Then she turned to the Americans. Had they tried this place before? Was it worth the wait? What were they going to order? Despite myself, I chimed in that a friend who had lived in Rome had also suggested this place. This made the husband very happy. Within minutes, he left his wife with me and headed down to the pub on the corner with May for a beer. The wife then confided that she’d just graduated from med school, and was having imposter syndrome about being a doctor. So I confessed that I’m making a film and have imposter syndrome about being a filmmaker.
By the time we were shown to our tables, I had to hold myself back from hugging her goodbye.
Look, it wasn’t perfect. May sucks at technology, for example, and more than once, after she’d sent me a google maps screen shot instead of a pin or live location like I asked her to, I found myself wandering through back alleys, muttering things about “traveling with the elderly”.
But we laughed about that, too.
I start trying to absorb her fearlessness. Her lack of concern about “being a bother”. I watch her ask server at a pub where we didn’t actually eat whether we could use the restroom. (“You can’t… just… do that!” I hiss. Turns out: you can.)
I bet that she’ll get a solid no when she decides to ask a bartender at the Napoli airport to fill our empty water bottles with tap water. I’m down 5 euro.
By the time she declares we should use the hop-on-hop-off double decker bus, from whom we’d bought a 24-hour ticket the day before, to get to the bus station—you know, like you would with a normal bus—I’ve learned my lesson.
They welcome us on board, suitcases and all.
When did I become so afraid to take up space? Is this cynicism just fear in disguise?
And then, we go to Sicily.
* if you’re new here: May is, in fact, queer. I am her “token straight friend”.
Oh dang -- I wish I'd been there too!!! xoxoxoxo
What an absolute hoot, I love this Natalie thank you 🥰