Santa Croce

I kept looking at the timetables and fares and still thought that going straight to Paris would be the best plan economically. I did the math in my head as fast as I could.

“Terrence!”

“Yes?” I answered looking up from my trance.

“We’re going to Venice and that’s final,” Stephanie informed me. I looked over at Brenden who nodded reluctantly. Sighing defeat, “okay, okay.” I said. Stephanie wanted to go to Venice to see San Marcos square or Piazza or was it San Mateo? I couldn't recall. I didn’t really care about Venice. I just wanted to get the hell out of Italy. I wanted to get to Paris. I wanted decent food. I wont argue about the quality of Italian food because I don’t think it was all that great and that’s my conclusive opinion.

We had been in Rome far too long anyway. We spent a whole week there, doing lots of walking, seeing a bunch of old shit in a city struggling to balance the Old World with the modern. It was like any other modern city, dirty and full of assholes.

So now, instead of taking the trains necessary to get to Paris, we were stuck in a cyber cafe trying to book rooms in Venice all before we had to be on the train to take us there. I hated rushing but Stephanie was the one plotting the course. Granted, not everyone was computer savvy, or internet literate in the late 1990s but she didn’t know how to search the Internet for her life.

“Can I help you?” I would ask and she would always say “no,” insisting she knew what she was doing. She did not. To be fair, web pages then weren’t as clean and easy to navigate as they are now. There weren’t the numerous travel websites then as there are now either. We had actually booked the trip through a travel agent. The last time I ever used a travel agent.

“Right click.” I instructed.

“This one?’

“No the one on the right.”

“This is the one on the right?”

“No it’s not.” I said.

“You want to do it? Fine!” She said in a huff and tossed the mouse onto the desk. I looked at Brenden who gave me an exasperated look and then, as if pointing with them, he raised his eyebrows telling me to take the helm of the internet browser.

I could feel Stephanie’s eyes burning over my shoulder as I took the mouse in my hand.

“See? Right click, right click!” she yelled from behind me.

“I did,” I said as I pulled away from her yelling.

“That’s what I did.”

“No you didn’t,” I said as I picked up the mouse. ” You kept clicking this button, I meant this one,” giving her tutorial of the mouse’s nomanclature.

“Oh, so right click doesn’t mean click it with your right hand.?” She asked.

It was cold on the train and we knew we had another one to catch. I sat alone next to the cold window while Brenden and Stephanie sat together laughing about God knows what. I didn’t give a shit, I had been out-voted. Stephanie swayed Brenden to vote for Venice. I didn’t want to spend my money on booking a room in Venice, nor the train tickets to get there, when that money could have went to a sleeper train en route to Paris. Two birds, one stone and a city I was more apt to want to chill in.

I mean Venice is beautiful with all it’s canals and shit but what did I care? Those gondola rides are expensive and I wasn’t in the mood to spend that kind of bread for a saccharine novelty better suited to a young couple. Granted, I was was trying to fuck Stephanie but so was Brenden and neither of us wanted to have to be romantic about it. It’s not that we were all that into Stephanie, it’s just that being Americans who didn’t bother to learn the native tongue wasn’t really winning us any Italian chicks. Any American girls we met where smitten by the dark-haired, blue-eyed Italian boys they saw. We didn’t stand a chance. Well, not a good one anyway. Stephanie was our “fall back bitch,” the girl we fall back on if we couldn’t pull any birds from the clubs or bars. This was a term and concept she did not find amusing.

I looked over at Brenden and Stephanie who were looking into one of the many guide books that Stephanie had brought. I could feel someone looking at me. I raised my head and met the eyes of a guy with an orange scarf staring at me. He’d been watching me. He then looked at Stephanie, then back at me and shook his head. I remembered the guy from when we first got on this train, when it was still crowded. We were running late to catch the train because Stephanie mixed up the schedule thinking that train left at 4:30 when it actually left at 4:05. A fact I had known and stated butt she dismissed me, she was the one holding the train timetable book after all. We also lost some time when the two of them argued over whose turn it was to pay for the hotel. It was Stephanie’s turn but she wouldn’t pull out her credit card to make the payment, so after five minutes of pleading, Brenden finally relented and gave me his card to use.

We barely got to the train’s platform as the doors closed and began to pull away but Stephanie dropped her bags and ran to the door pounding and screaming to let us on. Of course we picked up her bags and followed. The train stopped and the doors opened. Inside it was packed full of people; commuters and holiday travelers, all standing.

“There’s room,” Stephanie insisted and started throwing in our bags at the legs of the many standing in the entryway. You could hear the people moan as our huge 75 lb. bags struck their shins and knees. Stephanie barged her way through and commanded Brenden and I to follow. Both he and I sheepishly climbed aboard trying not to meet the eyes of the Italians who were just assaulted by our compatriot. Our smiles begged for forgiveness as we shrugged our apologies. The guy wearing the orange scarf is the one who held the door into the main compartment open for me, as I passed I nodded and mumbled “grazie”.

The train arrived at our transfer station finally. We sat on the platform waiting for the train to take us from the mainland to Venice.

“Terrence I’m hungry, go buy me something, please.” She asked.

“I’ll miss the train,” I told her.

“No you wont, we’ve got ten minutes.” She said.

“Yeah about nine minutes.” Brenden said and I shot a look at him that made him recoil and tighten his mouth.

“Well, here, give me some Lira, I’ll get us something to eat.”

“I’m fine.” I said.

“Yeah me too,” Brenden said. “Why don’t you just wait until we get to Venice, we’ll eat at the hotel?”

“Because I’m hungry now Brenden that’s why!” Stephanie shot back. “Just give me like a hundred Lira,” Stephanie insisted.

“Why do I have to give you money?”

“Because I’ve used all mine, I have to cash my travelers checks.”

“Fuck, fine,” I said pulling my wallet from out the inside pocket of my leather parka. “Here.”

She walked off to the McDonald’s at the main platform. Brenden and I smoked our cigarettes watching her, counting the minutes until the train arrived. An announcement was made overhead in Italian, which none of us spoke. “Wait, what did she say about Venice?” I asked Brenden regarding the female voice overhead.

“Platform two?”

“Yeah, I think she said it moved to platform two?”

“Yeah let’s go.” Brenden said as he pointed to an approaching train off in the distance.

“Stephanie,” I shouted from platform nine, “meet us on platform two.”

“I'm waiting for my food.” She shouted back as she stepped out from the McDonalds.

“Fuck your food, let’s go!”

“The train to Venice is on nine.”

“They moved it to two.”

“Terrence, stay there, they said it’s on nine!” she insisted.

“This bitch,” I said to Brenden.

‘Well, she does speak better Italian than us.” Brenden offered.

“No she doesn’t, she speaks shitty Spanish. These people are insulted she keeps speaking to them in Spanish. She’s better off speaking in English, at least she has control of the language.” I argued.

We watched as passengers boarded the train. It slowly pulled away from platform two. Stephanie was no longer in sight.

“What the fuck?” Brenden said.

“Did that fucking bitch get on that train?” I yelled at Brenden

“What fucking bitch?” Stephanie asked as she walked up from the stairs onto the platform.

“Oh, we couldn’t see you, we thought maybe you got on the train.” Brenden said.

“I told you, it’s on platform nine, see,” she said, pointing to the train that was approaching our platform. We got on and I chose to sit by myself again. The first two stops came quickly, it was the final stop that took the longest, about 25 minutes before we finally stopped. We then noticed that not only were we the only passengers in the car but we were the only passengers on the train. The conductor noticed this fact as well. He looked shocked to see three stupid American kids standing in the middle of the aisle, confused because they had now found themselves parked in a train yard.

Lugging our shit through the dark of the train yard was by far the most interesting, if not shitty, part of the night. My bag was a bitch of a burden just rolling through a train station, now I had to carry the heavy motherfucker along the rocking grounds of the rails. There was a small station there that had a train bound to the transfer station. We met a couple of guys at this station who took an instant liking to Stephanie which means Brenden and I instantly disliked them. I believe they said they were Moroccan. We told Stephanie in quick whispers to stop talking to them. She wouldn’t listen of course, telling us to be cool and stop being such assholes.

We got on the train and two of the guys boarded the train with us, even going so far as to sit in our cabin with us. Brenden and I really didn’t like this but Stephanie wasn’t our girlfriend so we couldn’t say anything. At the first stop, one of the Moroccans got off and exchanged handshakes and smiles with his pal. Stephanie was confused.

“I thought you said you lived together?” She asked him.

“Yes but tonight, you me, Venice.” He told Stephanie.

Aghast, “What? Absolutely not.” Stephanie said. They had some words and neither Brenden nor I said much. We both stood guard but he didn’t get physical. He simply walked out of the cabin. We saw him get off at the next stop.

“Why didn’t you tell him something?” Stephanie asked us.

“Why should we, we told you not to talk to them.”

“I was being friendly, meeting different people. We’re in Europe for Christ’s sake.” Stephanie argued.

“True but don’t be so fucking naive. You can’t even speak their language, in what way could you be interesting to them other than to fuck?” I told her. She didn’t like that comment and didn’t speak to me much after that. She stood by Brenden holding his arm and resting her head on his shoulder when she could.

After all the trains and transfers we made it to Venice, where it was now past midnight and the water level rose above the side walks. As soon as we were outside I immediately started hailing a water cab.

“Watch my bag Brenden, my passport is in the front pocket. I’m going to go back in the station to see if I can find a map of the city.” Stephanie instructed just as the taxi was approaching. When she was inside and the cab pulled close enough for me to put my foot into it I looked at Brenden and he gave me a nod. He picked up our bags; handing me my bag, then his bag and then he picked up Stephanie's and threw it into the Grand Canal. The cab driver turned and looked at us at the sound of the splash.

“Santa Croce.” I told him as Brenden and I settled into our seats. He shrugged his shoulders and began to pull away.