The Diary of Melanie Martin (13 page)

March 29
morning in the hotel

Dear Diary,

You know what Matt told me last night after I turned out the light? He told me that even though he doesn't really know how to write yet (well, he
can
scrawl his name in capital letters), he's sure I can write anything.

“What do you mean?” I asked. How does Matt know how well I can write if he can't even read, if he can just sound out and guess?

“I mean,” Matt said, “I'm sure you're a great writer.”

“You said my poems were stupid.”

“Mellie,” Matt said in the dark, “all you ever do is write. In the hotel, in the car, on the train, at restaurants, in churches. You're always scribbling. You've practically filled up your diary. If you try, I know you can write a really good poem.”

“You think so?”

“I'm positive,” he said. “You'll do it on the plane.”

“I hope you're right” was all I could say.

Matt does have a point. I do like to write, so maybe I'm making too big a deal of this poem thing. I'll just get lots of scrap paper and sharpened pencils and do it on the way back home. I've already begun, after all. It may not be a perfect start, but the Leaning Tower of Pisa didn't have a perfect start, and people like it.

The flight is eight hours. We leave around twelve, but we get to New York at around three. Mom says we'll go right to bed (after the Chinese dinner). She also says that at first we'll be rising and shining with the roosters but that in a few days we'll be back to normal.

Back to normal? I can't picture ever going totally back
to normal. Back to when Matt got on every last one of my nerves. Back to when parmesan cheese grossed me out. Back to when I thought doing acrobatics in the hotel was a bright idea.

One thing I like about Rome is that new stuff and old stuff are all mixed together. You see ancient ruins next to
gelato
stores, because cities change little by little, just like people do. So maybe instead of going back to normal, I'll be the old Melanie and the new Melanie mixed together.

All the best,

Dear Diary,

We're in the air. I remembered to go to the bathroom at the airport. Good thinking, right?

Outside I see clouds clouds clouds. Matt and I are next to each other again, and Mom and Dad are across the aisle.

I can't wait to get home and order beef with broccoli and turn on the TV and play on the computer and call Cecily and invite her over so we can bake muffins or make potions or microwave marshmallows. Maybe we can even have a sleepover—or a stay-up-over!

I'm excited to go home, but I can't believe I have school tomorrow, and I'm sorry to leave Italy. I hope I'll go back someday. Next time I'll ride a gondola in Venice and visit the city where Columbus was born.

This morning while Mom and Dad packed, they let Matt and me watch TV. It was funny to hear Popeye speak Italian. Then Mom said,
“Andiamo”
(On Dee Ahm Oh), which means “Let's go.” But I couldn't find Hedgehog. Mom opened all the drawers and Dad checked behind all the doors, and he found her, all snug in my closet.

I held her tight, and Matt held DogDog, and we went down to the lobby. I was hoping to see Giorgio, but he wasn't there. Then we got in a taxi and said,
“Arrivederci, Italia!”
Ah Ree Veh Dare Chee means good-bye.

At the airport, signs everywhere said
Vietato Fumare

(Vee Ay Ta Toe Foo Mar Ay), which means No Smoking. But people were smoking anyway. Everywhere there were No Smoking signs and smoking people. Disgusting! People smoke too much in Italy. The restaurants don't even have No Smoking sections!

I was thinking about reporting the smokers to a nearby policeman, since we're already friends with half the policemen in Italy. But then I noticed that even the policeman was smoking!

It's pretty
ridicolo
(Ree Dee Co Lo). That's Italian for ridiculous.

We checked our luggage and showed our passports, and Dad gave us thousands of
lire
to spend before the plane took off. Thousands! Over ten dollars each! You see, you can take Italian money to an American bank and change
lire
into dollars, but banks charge for that, so Mom and Dad figured what the heck, let's just blow it at the airport duty-free shop. Duty-free means no taxes. Like: Everything's on sale! Plus, it was our last chance to buy souvenirs. And Mom says she owes me some back allowances.

Which she does. Big time.

Anyway, Mom and Dad bought these gross dried-up porcini mushrooms and also this bottle of green liqueur with a fig in the middle of it. Yuck. We'll get home and they'll invite people over for dried mushrooms and fig liqueur. I bet even grown-ups would rather have hot dogs and soda.

Hot dogs. I almost forgot about hot dogs. I'm glad America has hot dogs. And Chinese food. And chili. And bagels. I wrote another two-liner in my head:

With the last of the
lire
, Matt bought three key rings for his backpack. I helped pick them out.

I bought postcards. At first, to my naked eye, all the postcards seemed to be of Rome. But I looked behind the front ones and saw postcards of other cities too. There were even postcards of the whole
Birth of Venus
and the whole
David
, so I bought those to show just Cecily. (Not to show my classmates!!!)

I also bought chocolate.
Cioccolato
(Cho Co La Toe). Another important Italian word.

The chocolate I bought is called Baci (Bah Chee), which means kisses. If you don't mind hazelnuts, Baci are better than Hershey's Kisses.

Speaking of kisses, Mom and Dad are in a good mood and are drinking airplane champagne again. Last night they said they were happy Matt and I are getting along so well. Well, we're happy
they
are getting along so well!

In the airport, Dad even complimented Mom on her Italian and said she sounds better than ever. He said she is good at Romance languages and at romance. Mom just smiled.

And get this: Mom ended up being glad she met Sophia, because Sophia promised Mom lots of art posters and slides and books that she can use for teaching. Karen said she'd bring them to New York when she returns next week.

Mom started working on this funny quiz for her students called “Are You Art Smart?” She says she doesn't like to give killer tests because the point of art isn't to memorize facts but to see things in new ways. She says
you learn more by making art than by taking tests. So far, here are her questions:

1. Michelangelo's most famous sculpture is named
   

   a.
   Stu
   b.
   Jimmy
   c.
   David
   

2. Which Italian artist painted the
   Mona Lisa
   ?
   

   a. Lisa Mona b. Leonardo da Vinci
   

   Leonardo DiCaprio
   

3. Botticelli painted
   The Birth of
   

   a.
   Saturn
   b.
   Venus
   c.
   Pluto
   

We got them all right, but Matt said, “You should make Uranus a wrong answer.”

I'm going to stop writing in my diary now and start
writing that poem. Matt's right. It can't be that big a deal. I'll just plain do it.

Matt asked Dad what Italian tourists like to do in New York. Dad thought about it and said they like to go to the Statue of Liberty, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Wall Street, Fifth Avenue, Central Park, maybe the Metropolitan Opera, maybe Chinatown and Little Italy, and definitely the Empire State Building—which Matt used to call the Entire State Building. Matt said, “Don't we have a bone place?” Dad said, “We have the Museum of Natural History.”

I really should write that poem. Miss Sands says I'm good at stalling. She calls it procrastinating.

I'm glad I have the window seat again.

I checked the map of Europe in my airline magazine. It shows Holland, Spain, France, England, Ireland, and a whole lot of other countries I wouldn't mind visiting someday.

A lady in front of Matt just got mad at him for kicking the back of her seat. So Matt stopped kicking, but he pressed the button that makes your seat lean way back, and the man behind him said,
“Basta!”
(Bah Sta), which means “Enough!”

Poor Matt. He needs to not make a nuisance of himself for eight hours. That's not easy for a little kid.

And he is a little kid. He can't help it. Just like I can't help being an E.B.S. every once in a while.

Dad just told him, “Why can't you sit still like Melanie? She's not causing any problems.” (Hee hee.)

Maybe Matt will fall asleep. If he falls asleep with his mouth open again, I might take a picture. Right now he's coloring on barf bags. Mom showed him a brownish crayon called Burnt Sienna and said Siena is a city in Italy with earth and buildings exactly that color. I'd like to visit it someday too.

Hey, I just thought of another two-liner: