Piazza Navona Momentary Blindness

I hear a squeaking. It sounds like a funny bird or a child, but I know from our first day in Rome that it is the sound of one of the many toys that the street vendors sell. The slight breeze feels cool on my shoulders but only cool enough to allow tiny goosebumps to form. I focus on listening, but it’s hard; my brain jumps from sound to sound trying to distinguish something familiar. Finally, a child laughs and my ears are drawn to their voice; they begin to yell in Italian and then end their rant, surprisingly, by shouting “let’s go” to whoever they were accompanied by. This child, easily switches back and forth between English and Italian without missing a beat and I, yet again, feel embarrassed by my lack of bilingualism. I hear a spraying of water that is separate from the continuous trickle of Bernini’s fountain behind me and I can’t identify what it could be. It’s the same sound I hear when my mom sprays our plants at home—a pleasant shh shh—but I can’t connect it to something in the piazza. From behind me, someone starts to sing Sinatra’s “I Love You Baby” and immediately dread sets in as I realize how long the song will probably remain stuck in my head. Suddenly, almost right afterwards, I hear a man singing in Italian and he finishes his song with a cheerful “Welcome to Rome.” I laugh because it sounds too good to be true; it sounds like the Rome of the movies I had watched in my Italian Cinema class. I would not be surprised if I opened my eyes to see Sophia Loren or Marcello Mastroianni waltzing towards me. It smells like cigarette smoke and something sweet and I can’t say that I hate the combination. The fluttering of pigeons startles me, making me open my eyes, and I once again can absorb the beauty with all of my senses.

(May 21 2019, Piazza Navona)