Writing in Rome Final Portfolio

Suzie VyletelWriting in Rome

Professor Geoghegan April 24, 2014

Table of Contents:

Roman Snapshot: Wishful 3

Roman Story: An Odyssey 5

Roman Microfiction: Roman Rebel 13

Postcard: Villa d’Este 20

2

Wishful

The cool night air forced Anna’s sleeves down around her clenched fists. Wind swept her

fine chestnut hair about until her fingers abandoned the warmth of her jacket sleeve to

temporarily smooth it back in place. Her eyes squinted to combat the wind, but she could make

out the Trevi Fountain in the distance. It was dark enough that street lamps were needed to cast a

golden glow on the monumental masterpiece. The shadows untouched by the radiance were deep

gray and prominent, while the lit areas seemed smoother and more refined. The resulting contrast

highlighted every crevice, ornament and detail the way a black and white photo seems to outline

everything more clearly and precisely.

The quiet cascade of water was audible over the indistinct chatter all around her. It spilled

rather than rushed, creating soft background music for her thoughts. The conversation was

foreign to her, and allowed her to tune it out and focus her senses on this serene moment. Her

half-opened hazel eyes traced the facade downward, landing on glimmering dots that reflected

the artificial lamplight. The left corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly, her romantic and

optimistic personality surfaced. She looked down at the coin she had been holding the entire

walk over, anticipating this very moment. It felt heavy in her hand, and was warm from being

clenched in her fist. Anna turned on the spot, her back toward the statues and stones and pillars

of centuries past. Her hand raised the coin to eye level, as if to challenge it to rise to the very

serious task of fulfilling her wish. On her next exhale, Anna closed her eyes and repeated the

motion of so many hopefuls before. The burden the coin represented left Anna the moment the

coin did.

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Process Analysis:

The first change I made was taking out “insult to injury,” because many of my colleagues had an

issue with that phrasing. I also took out “this way and that” in the beginning, finding it

superfluous, and replaced “left” with “abandoned,” which seemed like a stronger word choice. I

also repeated “light” too much, so I tried to vary my wording. The ending was where I made the

biggest change, leaving out “because she willed it to,” and ending it with Anna tossing the coin. I

believe this made the ending is much stronger without it, and it feels finished to me. I was quite

partial to the ending as it was, but changing it and reading it over a few times led me to realize

that sometimes things I like in my writing are good, but better used at another time in another

way.

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An Odyssey

She ran as fast as she could, looking over her shoulder every few strides to see how fast

the man was gaining on her. Her breathing was heavy and frantic, and she quickened her pace,

though she wasn’t sure who she was running from or why. She stepped on her untied shoelace

and tumbled forward onto the gravel. Immediately, she flipped onto her back and inched

backwards, unable to right herself. She could see the shadow of her pursuer growing larger. She

continued to crawl backwards and looked around for help. There was no one in sight at this time

of night. Worse, she didn’t even know where she was. There were no streetlights or storefronts,

only rows of solid brick buildings for miles, as far as she could tell. She was horribly aware of

the hopelessness of her situation. Just as she could make out the figure advancing toward her,

her head backed into something hard, and everything went black.

Maria’s head bobbed with the turbulence of the plane as she jerked awake. After a few

seconds, she remembered the strange dream she just had. She hadn’t been able to shake this

awful feeling since she boarded. She thought back to the McGriddle she had at the Boston airport

earlier that morning, and chocked her strange mood up to the pretentious beef and questionable

cheese. Looking out the window, she saw nothing but the night sky and red blinking light on the

wing of the plane, but a quick glance at her watch told her she was only a few hours away from

Rome.

She looked around the cabin and saw a few overhead lights on here and there, but

otherwise it was dark and quiet. The man next to her was snoring softly, and his head had rolled

over toward her shoulder, making her feel claustrophobic. The plane jerked again, this time more

violently, and Maria felt desperate to escape her window seat for a moment. She carefully eased

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her way out of the aisle and made her way to the bathroom, clutching seats for support along the

bumpy walk. She closed and locked the door, and stood there for a moment, letting her legs

stretch out. She hadn’t realized how cramped they were during the flight until now, and she

began to shake out the tingling sensation. Maria had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and

began to fuss with her hair a bit when the floor violently shook beneath her. She lost her balance

and her back slammed into the door of the lavatory, busting it open and landing her in the aisle

way of the plane. Stunned, she looked around the cabin. Lights came on immediately, and

everyone who was peacefully asleep a few minutes ago was now awake and alert. A flight

attendant appeared at Maria’s side and crouched beside her. The woman grabbed Maria’s arm

and helped her up.

“There you go, miss,” the flight attendant said. “The plane has hit some turbulence.

Nothing to worry about. We ask that you please take your seat and fasten your seatbelt until

otherwise instructed.” Her voice was sugary but uneven, and her quivering, lined lips gave away

the woman’s anxiety. Maria looked at the flight attendant blankly for a moment before hurrying

to her seat in 22A. The snorer next to her was now awake and frantically collecting his

belongings and stowing them in his briefcase. When he saw Maria, he tried to stand up but his

seatbelt pulled him back down onto the seat. His hands felt around his waist for the buckle and

released it. He stood up and exited to allow Maria to pass, and immediately resumed his work

once she sat down.

“This plane is going down,” he said without looking up from his briefcase. “I just know

it. Have you ever felt turbulence like that before on a plane? ‘Cuz I haven’t. We’re gonna crash,

this is the end, and my boss is going to hear about this on the news tomorrow.”

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Maria’s heart quickened. A plane crash? That only happened in movies and freak

incidents that appeared in the paper. It couldn’t be happening to her. On this plane. On her way to

visit her grandparents. No, this man had to be overreacting. Maybe he was just a nervous flyer.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are experiencing some pretty

rough turbulence at this time, and ask that you remain seated with your seat belts fastened until

further notice. Thank you.” Maria didn’t know what to think. Was she making this a big deal in

her head because of her neighbor’s worried reaction? Was the captain’s calm message truly

indicative of the situation, or was there more he wasn’t saying? The noise level in the cabin had

now reached an intense level. Some were angrily yelling at flight attendants, demanding more

information or a refund. Others rose out of their seats in anger, only to topple over from the

bumps. Someone’s baby was crying, adding more stress to the situation.

Maria looked out the window and saw a body of water glistening with the fading

moonlight. With horror, she saw that the horizon was slanted from her point of view, and

gathered that the plane was in fact descending with great speed toward the sea. She slapped

down the window shade and clasped her chest with both hands. She was only 16 years old. She

hadn’t gone to college yet. She hadn’t had prom, or her first real boyfriend. She couldn’t die

today, before she ever got her driver’s license, or a tattoo, or turned 21. All the important things

she wanted out of life would never happen if this plane crash-landed right here, right now.

As Maria’s stomach wrenched and churned, the captain made another announcement. “It

appears we’re having difficulties, and would like to be prepared in the event of an emergency

water landing.” Oxygen masks dropped from above, Maria’s landing on her head. “We ask that

you remain calm, and please follow the safety procedures demonstrated by the flight crew. We

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urge you to listen carefully to their instruction.” Not much more could be said to remedy the

situation. The pandemonium began during the first bit of turbulence, and the pilot’s confirmation

had only served to justify the passengers’ hysteria. Maria was alone up here in the sky. She knew

no one on the flight and had no way of calling her family. There was no one there to talk to

during what were surely the last few minutes of her life. She closed her eyes and pictured the

face of her grandmother, an image she had only seen once before in a photo album in their

basement. Her father’s family was from Rome, and most of them still lived there. Her

grandparents were going to pick her up at the airport in Rome to meet her for the first time today.

She had never gone on a trip this far from home alone, but the thought of having family, even

distant relatives, on the other side was reassuring.

Ashamed, she remembered how when her parents first surprised her with this trip, she

was upset. She couldn’t believe she would have to spend her entire vacation with strangers

instead of friends. She had complained to her father about missing driver’s ed and explained that

she would be so far behind everyone else when she got back. She said that she didn’t care if

these people wanted to meet her, she didn’t want to meet them. They probably didn’t speak

English, and ate different food and didn’t have the internet. All of her friends were jealous, but

she’d been disinterested. Her father was upset that she didn’t want to see where he was from, or

meet his mother and family. It was only now that she realized how ridiculous she had acted, and

how much she was actually looking forward to this visit. She angrily blinked tears away and

returned to the window to hide her childish emotion. Blood rushed to her head and ears, silencing

the noise and confusion around her. She closed her eyes and prayed over and over that she would

be able to visit her Italian relatives.

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“You’d better put on a lifejacket, young lady.” The man next to her reached under her

seat, fumbling with the life preserver. Maria quickly wiped her eyes and turned away from the

window. She took the vest from him and proceeded to fasten it around herself. “I knew

something bad was going to happen,” he continued. “I could feel it.” He shoved his round wire

spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and took out a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. He wiped

his nose, then sweaty forehead, which stuck Maria as the wrong order.

Maria was bent over the vest tightening the straps when another sudden movement of the

plane threw her back against her seat. She was still for a second, then looked out the window.

The sun had started to break through the clouds, illuminating the wing of the plane and a hilly

landscape dotted with Monopoly houses below. The pink-orange sunrise tinted everything like

light filtered through stained glass. “Passengers, this is your captain once again. We have

rerouted to avoid any more turbulence, and will resume our flight into Rome just a bit behind

schedule. I’d like to apologize for any ill-comfort this may have caused you, but ask that you

remain seated with your seat belts fastened until instructed otherwise. Thank you.”

The rest of the flight was a sigh of relief. They touched down late, but otherwise in good

condition. The airline was apologetic, promising vouchers to each passenger for another flight

with them that year. Maria followed her fellow passengers, knowing that they would lead her to

the baggage claim area. When she arrived, she saw an elderly couple that she recognized with

complete certainty as her grandparents. Unsure of what do do, she half-smiled and walked

toward them. They waved frantically, turned to each other and exchanged some brief phrases in

Italian before facing Maria again and shuffling in her direction. Maria stopped walking, her arms

hung limply at her sides. Her grandparents cried out endearingly with outstretched arms and

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pulled her in for a hug. They smelled like flowers and tobacco, and were at least six inches

shorter than her.

“We were so worried when your flight was not here on time!” her grandmother said,

taking Maria’s face in her raisin-like hands.

“We heard there was a problem with the plane. What was the matter? Was everything

alright?” her grandfather asked. Maria smiled at the both of them, surprised by how much of her

father she could see in each of their faces. Her grandmother’s eyes and mouth were so obviously

his, and she had seen her grandfather’s expression on her father’s face. She felt like she had

grown up with them, eating dinner every Sunday with them after church and spending holidays

listening to them tell stories about their lives. Maria felt more connected to her family and

heritage in that moment than she expected to, or ever thought possible. She hadn’t spent more

than two minutes with her grandparents, yet felt a connection to them through her father that was

authentic.

“Maybe this is a story for the car ride back,” Maria said. She smiled reassuringly at her

grandparents so as not to alarm them, though her hands shook as she hoisted her bag off the

luggage belt. Her grandfather took the handle from Maria and began to wheel it toward the exit.

“I guess he’s in a hurry to hear this story,” her grandmother said. She laughed, and, taking

Maria under her arm, followed after her husband.

Though her grandparents only lived an hour from Fiumicino Airport, the drive took about

twice as long. Maria had never seen cars so small trying to drive so fast, so closely to all the

other small cars. Her explanation of the flight needed time though, so she entertained her

grandparents with the story during the heavy traffic. Every few sentences or so, one of them

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interjected with a comment or question, and Maria was grateful to be near family who cared

about how she was doing, unlike her neighbor on the plane. Her grandfather parked right on the

bumper of another Fiat outside a storefront. Maria got out and wondered if she could even slip a

Euro coin between the two cars.

“We are going on a little walk,” her grandfather announced. He reached for his wife’s

hand and proceeded slowly along an uneven cobblestone road. Maria looked over and saw that

there was a sidewalk, but shrugged and followed her grandparents in the street. She was already

aware of the completely different culture of Rome, and was even more surprised when a dog and

owner passed her, the dog without a leash or collar.

Her grandparents stopped in front of a church and explained that this was San Clemente.

They were going inside to thank God for keeping Maria safe on the flight. When Maria walked

up the steps to the church, she felt a gust of cold, dusty air. Her flats clicked on the intricate

marble floors as she meandered toward the altar. Each column was different: some were smooth,

others rough, and there were variations of color and design. The ceiling looked like a gilded

Faberge egg, and was decorated with frescos and carvings. The geometric and symmetrical

pattern was worth kinking her neck back to admire, and the beautiful image of the cross depicted

vines and doves like she had never seen before. Staying another few hours would hardly be

enough time for Maria to see all that she wanted of this gorgeous church.

Maria sat down next to her grandparents, who were already silent in prayer, and bowed

her head as she was used to doing every Sunday. Not too long ago, she was worried about

driver’s ed and missing the prom. Now, she only feared that those would remain the priorities in

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her life. Her journey to Rome had removed Maria from much more than a physical place, and

even the the trip back to Boston couldn’t undo the traveling she had done.

Process Analysis:

There were a few things I changed, including Maria’s age (she is now older), and some timing

things regarding the sequence of events. I also changed this story structurally, breaking up the

paragraphs differently based on where I felt it naturally should be after reading it aloud in class. I

chose to keep the beginning because I like how it foreshadows what is going to happen, and

kickstarts Maria’s uneasy feelings. Many people suggested that I add more to the ending with her

grandparents, and while I agreed that the ending felt rushed, I did not want to make the majority

of the story about them when I wanted the focus to be what happened in the plane. This was the

hardest piece for me to write for some reason, and I unfortunately don’t quite feel satisfied with

it still.

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Roman Rebel

Marla hadn’t always been this way. She used to be quite the rule follower; the goody-

two-shoes, suck up and teacher’s pet kind of girl that she now despised. Girls like that, like the

old Marla, never got what they wanted. They followed instructions even when they didn’t want

to, and never questioned the rules. They didn’t fight back, or ask “why not?” or go after things

that were forbidden. Those girls, like Annabelle, had boring lives. They got boring straight-A’s,

had boring dinners with their parents, and went to school dances in plain, boring dresses with

plain, nice boys.

Marla would know, she used to be just like Annabelle and her circle. A part of them,

really. But then she got a clue, became a rebel, and broke free. And it was about time.

Annabelle sat on a fluffy white couch, her hands busy weaving two french braids into

Marla’s thick, chocolate hair. Marla sat on the ground, trying to keep still, reaching into a large

bowl of Kinder chocolates, and fixated on the television screen. The two friends had this ritual

down-pat: every other Friday after school, they raced home on their bicycles to finish their

homework so that their parents would let them have a sleepover. They tried to switch off whose

house they went to, but mostly they went to Annabelle’s because her parents bought better snacks

and had more English DVDs. It was a part of adjusting to their new life in Rome, this sleepover

ritual. Watching American movies and eating familiar snacks helped the culture shock, though

Annabelle (it seemed to Marla) needed it more. Marla loved adventure, and was always looking

for a way to experience the Roman way of life.

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“Your hair is gonna look so good in the morning,” Annabelle said. It will be wavy and so

pretty and then everyone will think, Who is that over there? Is that Marla Singer? She looks like

a model for Vogue!.” Annabelle giggled, and secured the braids with ribbons.

“Mmmmm,” Marla said, her mouth full of the salty and sweet mix. She peeled her eyes

away from Sleepover and turned around toward Annabelle. “Thanks,” she added, as her fingers

reached up toward her hair. “Do you think any older guys would talk to me tomorrow?” She

paused for a response, slowly opening a bottle of Fanta.

“Oh, who knows? Maybe. You’ll look so darling! But we’re only 15, so probably not…”

Annabelle’s voice trailed off as she collected her hairbrush and mirror off the couch and reached

for popcorn.

“Yeah, but I mean, haven’t you wanted your first kiss by now Anna? Maybe have your

first drink…?” Marla laughed, but only to ease Annabelle’s clear discomfort. She knew how her

friend got about this sort of stuff. She was way too cautious and afraid to get in trouble.

“Well, I won’t be joining you in any thing of that sort, but what I do know is that we are

missing my favorite part of the movie! Shhhh--he’s gonna bump into her now! Oh, he is sooooo

cute!”

Early the next morning, the two girls woke up to the scent of bacon and pancakes wafting

from Annabelle’s parents’ large kitchen, another aspect of the ritual that Margo’s parents had

long ago given up for cornetti con Nutella. They sleepily ate lunch (it was around 11 when they

finally woke up) and put on dresses, as it was a warm May Saturday. Marla tousled her wavy hair

in the mirror, and Annabelle tamed her long, straight blonde hair with a headband. They each

swiped on a bit of shimmery pink eyeshadow and lipgloss, and Marla even spritzed a bit of

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perfume. It was the first time the two girls were allowed to navigate Rome by themselves, and

they wanted to look the part of mature Roman women.

“Ok, so you girls have a map just in case, and our numbers if you need anything, right?”

Mrs. Tucker asked. “And you’re just going to be shopping and having dinner?”

“Yes, shopping and dinner,” Annabelle answered politely.

“Well, alright. You girls be safe and stick together!”

“We will! Thanks, mom!” The girls bolted out of the door and headed down the narrow

street, if one could call it that. The uneven cobblestones with wide gaps between made the walk a

game, and the two hopped from stone to stone until they reached Via Del Corso. Looking left and

right, the girls, swallowed by an overwhelming swarm of people, grabbed hands and headed

down the path of least resistance. They popped into store after store, but Annabelle’s parents had

given her money to spend on new clothes and Marla only had enough for dinner.

The fifth store they visited was a jewelry store called LaLa, and while Annabelle tried on

a necklace, Marla spotted a pair of earrings. 28 euro? That’s ridiculous! Marla looked around for

a saleswoman and, upon finding no one, grabbed the earrings and slid them into her purse.

“Annabelle, let’s move on to the next store,” she said, her heart racing.

“Ok, I think this necklace is too similar to one I already have…” Marla speed-walked to

the next store while Annabelle tried to catch up. “Hey! Marla! Slow down! Why are you walking

so fast?” Marla stopped and waited for Annabelle to catch up. After a few seconds, she looked

over her shoulder toward LaLa and still saw no one. She had gotten away with it.

“Oh, I just remember seeing a store this way that I wanted to stop in,” Marla said, her

hand clutching her purse.

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“Oh, ok!” Annabelle chirped.

The next set of stores the girls visited were a game to Marla. With each success she grew

bolder, pocketing small trinkets at first, then stuffing an entire scarf into her bag while Annabelle

tried on a top. She felt exhilarated; she owned this city now, she had it mastered. She was going

to be taken seriously because she wasn’t a kid anymore. Confidence swelled within her, and she

began to strut into each store, waltzing in with an air of superiority far beyond her years.

Annabelle took notice of her friend’s change in mannerisms, but kept silent.

At dinner, Marla ordered the most expensive dish on the menu, a pasta with truffles, and a

glass of wine. Annabelle said nothing to her friend, who was usually pinching pennies and chose

the cheapest pizza at every osteria. Annabelle wouldn’t order alcohol at restaurants because she

was not used to this custom in Italy, and always felt like she was doing something wrong and

illegal by ordering it. “Annabelle, aren’t you going to get something to drink? Like usual?”

Marla said, her eyes wide and a fake smile plastered on her face.

“I...no? What are you talking about?” Annabelle said. Then to the waiter, “I’ll just have

water, thank you.” She continued to stare puzzled at Marla. The waiter, Mario, looked unamused.

He collected the laminated menus from his patrons and turned back toward the kitchen. “Marla,

what was that all about?”

“Ugh, Anna. I was just trying to seem mature! Wouldn’t hurt for you to play along. What

good is it living in Rome if you can’t take advantage of certain things? Don’t you want people to

think you’re older and sophisticated? I want to be taken seriously here, not treated like a baby!”

Mario returned with a glass of white wine and placed it down in front of Marla. She took a sip

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and tried to hide a slight grimace as she swallowed. “Thanks,” she nodded to the waiter. “It’s

very good.” He made no response, but silently nodded and set down Annabelle’s aqua frizzante.

“Are you even allowed to drink that?” Annabelle asked, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“Why wouldn’t I be? We aren’t in Chicago anymore. Our dads got moved here for who

knows how long, so I’m going to enjoy it before we get moved back.” Marla took another forced

gulp of wine and set the glass down rather ungracefully. She was annoyed with Annabelle for

being a buzz kill, as usual. She never wanted to do anything fun, and wouldn’t ever break the

rules, even if she knew she could get away with it. One time, when they were alone at Marla’s

Chicago apartment, Annabelle refused to watch a R-rated movie without asking her parents first.

“Who’s gonna know?” Marla had asked her. But Annabelle wouldn’t.

The girls ate in silence, no real fighting going on but a clear tension between them. When

they finished and asked for the check, Annabelle put down 20 euro and looked expectantly at

Marla. “I’ll meet you at the gelateria down the street,” Marla said. “You know the one I’m

talking about? The one that dips it in chocolate and rolls it in nuts. I’ll pay and use the bathroom

then meet you there.” Annabelle nodded, grabbed her purse, then made her way through the

crowded piazza. Marla looked around for Mario, but saw no sign of him out on the terrace. She

swung her purse over her shoulder, scooped up her sweater, and casually walked away from the

table without paying. How would anyone find her, after all? She started to get nervous as she got

further away from the restaurant, and she quickened her pace. Looking over her shoulder one last

time, she didn’t see the group of people walking in front of her, and ran straight into someone.

“Oh! Mi dispiace,” Marla mumbled, looking for a quick way through the crowd to the

sanctuary of the gelateria and her friend.

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“Oh, is no problem,” a heavily-accented voice replied. Marla looked up and saw an

Italian of almost inhuman beauty who was probably around 18 if she had to guess. His hair was

shaved on either side, and the top portion gelled to a stiffness that appeared plastic. His eyes

were golden, and he had the longest lashes she had ever seen on a man. After a second, she

realized he was with a group of friends around his age who were also very attractive. Marla

blushed heavily, put her hair behind her ear, and smiled embarrassedly. She started off past the

group when she heard the accent again.

“Hey, me and my friends are going to get drinks. You should come. It will be cool,” he

said. Marla’s feet came to a halt. She swallowed, then turned around. This was what she had

always hoped would happen! She was getting treated like an adult, and was being noticed by

boys. Why didn’t Annabelle see the good that was coming from all this?

“Me? Oh, sure. I mean, I have a friend. I mean, my friend is waiting for me,” Marla

stammered.

“Here’s the name of the place we are going. We meet you both there?” he asked.

“Yeah, let me just get my friend and then we’ll totally be there!” Marla gushed. She ran

down the street, sidestepping and pushing through people and around crowds until she found

Annabelle sitting with a half-eaten cone of gelato. “You’ll never guess what happened! I got us

invited to a bar with these gorgeous Italian guys!” Marla flung herself against the concrete wall

and sighed. “This is gonna be awesome!”

“What? Who are they? Do you know them? Can you even get into a bar?” Annabelle

asked. “I hope you weren’t actually planning on going. I mean, we have to be home anyway.”

Marla was ready for this, and cooly answered.

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“Yeah, we totally know them! You might not recognize them, but they go to our school.

Yeah, don’t worry. And this bar is, like, not a bar bar. It’s casual. We won’t even be out that late,

anyway.” Annabelle looked doubtful for a moment, and bit the last bit of her cone with a loud

crunch. She licked a drip of amaretto gelato off of her index finger before looking back up at

Marla, resigned.

“I guess I can’t fight you forever on this. If you know them, it couldn’t be bad, right?”

Marla perked up, beaming.

“I knew you’d come around! Here’s the name of the place...I think it’s this way.” The two

girls continued down a side street, fading into silhouettes until the darkness finally swallowed

them up, devouring their innocence and claiming two new victims.

Process Analysis:

With this story, I wanted to try to portray a young girl “breaking bad” in Rome. I tried to create

the dichotomy of a good and bad angel with the two friends, and though I feel that I could

continue on with this story, there is something eerie and unsettling about the ending that I like. It

was a challenge for me not to write a happily ever after ending, so I branched out a bit from what

is comfortable for me.

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Villa d’Este Postcard

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Process Analysis:

With this postcard, I wanted to tell a bit about the love between an older couple. It is easy to fall

back on writing about someone my own age, or from a girl’s perspective, so I tried something

new with this postcard. I wanted a lot of descriptive language, because Villa d’Este is so

beautiful, but I also wanted it to seem romantic. It was harder than I thought to keep it brief--I

always struggle with being concise.

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