I’m sad to report that I’ve had an extremely boring week. Rather than filling my column with ramblings about my lackluster days, one of my wonderful flatmates and fellow journalism students will be guest writing. She recently shared a movie-worthy romance that I felt keeping from you would be a debauchery. Without further ado, Kaity Martin:
I was sitting in an airport gate about to start my study abroad adventure in Italy. As I fiddled with my bracelet, I saw him. He was laughing, his head tilted back so the chestnut hair on the nape of his neck brushed against his brown, leather jacket. He was beautiful, the kind of handsome where you know you shouldn’t be staring, but you can’t help it.
What came next, many people find hard to believe. Sometimes I can’t believe it either. But I promise, it’s true.
A minute after taking my seat on the plane, a voice above me asked, “Is one of you in the wrong seat?”
I looked up, and it was the handsome man I’d freakishly stared at. Apparently, the girl next to me was in his seat, and before I knew it, he sat down beside me, his blue eyes turning up when he smiled.
There I sat in my oversized sweatshirt and glasses, fully prepared to sleep through the flight, but in a sudden surge of confidence I stuck out my hand and said a little too loud, “Hi, I’m Kaity!”
From that moment on, we talked and learned about each other. He was a senior in college studying architecture and a complete jokester. The chemistry between us was instant, and we talked until I fell asleep on his shoulder, only waking up briefly as he wrapped his arm around me and held my hand with his.
This was so not like me, but before I could second-guess myself, we landed and had to make our flight connections. It wasn’t until I was on my next plane that I realized I had no way to contact him and would never see him again.
Boy, was I wrong.
Through some hardcore research (stalking), I found his email. And after a week of communicating, he flew to Florence to see me.
We met outside of a gelato shop, and the connection was rekindled. Later, we sat on a bridge to watch the sunset. His fingers grazed my cheek, a slight pause in conversation as he lightly tapped my nose and whispered, ‘Tag, you’re it.’ Taken aback, I playfully punched his arm, but before I could say ‘Tag,’ he leaned in and kissed me.
The evening was studded with kisses. We continued the night, pausing every so often to laugh, to dance in the streets and to sing as loud as we could. He walked me home where he kissed me goodnight, promising we would meet up again the next day.
But after some poor planning, he had to leave for Rome instead.
So, I did what anyone else would do — I followed him. We met again at the Trevi Fountain. We talked, but that was it – nothing romantic. He gave me a hug and then leaned in as if to kiss me, but instead he whispered, “Hey, look it’s Elvis.” I turned around and saw nothing, only to turn back to see him walking away and smiling while waving goodbye.
Completely dumfounded, I turned around and walked the opposite direction, trying to figure out what went wrong — maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that garlicky pizza for lunch? Screw it. It was delicious.
I turned the corner on to another street where I saw him walking toward me with his eyes glued to a map. In that split second I knew I had two options: 1. Run up and kiss him and then say suavely, “Now, that’s how you say goodbye,” or 2. Sprint as fast as I could to a newspaper stand and hide behind it. I did the latter.
So, my epic love adventure ended with me sitting in a café in Rome eating melted Kit Kat bars.
Moral of the story: Don’t talk/cuddle/kiss strangers. And definitely don’t follow them across Italy. Just eat your Kit Kats alone at home with your ten cats. They won’t lie about Elvis standing behind you.