The Diary of Melanie Martin (8 page)

I was really happy, and I copied it over neatly.

I even decided to start talking again, so I read my poem to Matt.

That was a BIG mistake. Not counting that last line about him, which he loved, he said the same thing he said last time.

He said it was stupid.

So I said the same thing I said last time.

I said he was stupid.

We started fighting, and that woke up Mom and Dad, and they came in and got mad at us. I told them I wanted to read them my poem.

Dad said, “Not now.”

He could have said, “Yippee! Melanie is talking again!” but I don't think he even noticed I'd been giving them the silent treatment.

If Matt had stopped talking, he would have noticed.

Mom said we were going to the
Villa Borghese
(Vee La Bor Gay Zay) park and that first we all had to go to the bathroom.

Well, this is sort of gross, but whenever Mom says to go to the bathroom, I rush to go first. Why? Because when Matt goes, he either puts the seat up and forgets to put it down
or he doesn't put the seat up and he gets sprinkles of pee right on the seat

Mom and Dad just don't understand how hard it is to have a little brother, because they never had one.

Very truly yours,

same day
bedtime

Dear Diary,

The Villa Borghese was a giant
parco
full of couples, families, strollers, sunbathers, joggers, Rollerbladers, bikers, and people throwing sticks to their dogs. We rented bicycles and peddled all over the place. It was the first time we ever went bicycling as a family. I got my own bicycle, and I kept up with Mom and Dad, no problem. Matt was too young to get his own bike (ha ha), so he sat behind Dad and held on tight.

I know it sounds unsafe, especially since nobody in the park was wearing a helmet and neither were we. But that's how it is here, and as Dad said, “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

In Florence, Dad was all worked up about safety, but today he was acting like it was no big deal. (Parents can be hard to figure out!)

Well, guess who ended up falling?

Hint: Not Matt.

Me! I tried to swerve out of the way of a bunch of teenagers, and down I went. Not on my head—on my
butt! It was pretty embarrassing. But the teenagers didn't laugh; they helped me up (which made it even more embarrassing).

After we returned the bikes, Mom wanted to go to another museum, but we said no. I wanted to eat Chinese food, but everyone said no. Matt suggested we eat spaghetti, and of course Mom and Dad said sure. So we did. Dad ordered his
al dente
(Al Den Tay), which means more chewy than soft. He says that even in English, people use that expression.

I've never heard it.

Here's the bad thing that happened. Matt just realized that he left DogDog at the
pensione
. So now Matt is in bed next to me, sniffling pitifully. Mom and Dad said they would call Paola and ask her to send DogDog to this hotel. I hope they do, because Matt says he can't sleep without DogDog to guard him. I considered saying, “I'll guard you,” but I didn't feel like it.

March 25

Dear Diary

We walked our feet off today. Right now we're on top of this high hill that we hiked up so we could watch the sun set over Rome, the capital of Italy. Julius Caesar and Cleopatra used to have dates around here.

I like having all of Rome at my feet. I've been up the Empire State Building, and it's cool because you're surrounded by other skyscrapers. But what I like about this view is that you're outside the city, so you can sort of take it all in. I mean, Rome has been growing and action-packed for, well, almost forever. Rome was here before people even knew about TV or cars or freezers or Scotch tape or e-mail or vaccines or M&M's or anything.

Dad said Rome is called the Eternal City.

Mom pointed out the Vatican and said that tomorrow we'll see the Sistine Chapel—“one of the masterpieces of the world.”

It took Michelangelo almost five years to paint
the whole ceiling, and he had to do it lying down on a bunch of scaffolding with paint dripping on him from above, and he didn't even like to paint as much as he liked to sculpt.

“Did the paint drip into his ears and nostrils?” Matt asked.

“Probably,” Mom said, looking sort of sad for Michelangelo. She told us that one reason why Michelangelo sculpted so well was because he had done something illegal.

“Against the law?” Matt asked, his eyes all big and round.

“Against the law of the time,” Mom said. “He dissected corpses so he could better understand human anatomy.”

“Huh?” Matt said.

“He cut up dead people,” Mom explained, “so he could see how their muscles and bones hung together.”

Matt didn't say another word. Michelangelo is a lot to think about.

This morning Mom asked, “Who remembers the
David
?”

Dad and Matt and I all said, “Me! Me! Me!” because it's fun to say “Me! Me! Me!”

So Mom said, “Let's go see two more of his marble sculptures,” and we followed her around like a bunch of art students from one big musty church to another.

The first sculpture was of Moses carrying the Ten Commandments. Moses has funny little horns popping out of his head. Mom said they symbolize rays of light.

The second sculpture was of Jesus carrying the cross. After Michelangelo made it, some religious people
thought it was inappropriate to see Jesus’ you-know-what, so they added a big bronze loincloth.

Matt said, “It looks like a metal diaper.”

Mom agreed they should not have changed his work: “You don't tamper with genius.”

We also walked around and took photos of this big old column and visited a place called Trajan's Market, which used to be a giant shopping center like an ancient A&P or Zabar's, but now it's just mounds of red bricks piled up on each other. Lots of stray cats and kittens seemed curious about us, but they wouldn't let us get too close. (I wish we'd brought salami!) Dad told us to forget the cats and try to picture people from biblical times bustling around and buying oil and spices.

Matt said he was a “Starvin’ Marvin” and he didn't want to picture dead people buying food, he wanted to eat food. So we went into the nearest pizzeria and ordered lunch. While we were waiting, I figured it would be an excellent time to show Mom and Dad my poem.

I took it out of my pocket. It was a little wrinkled, but I started reading it out loud, all eight lines.

When I was halfway done, Matt took his gum out of his mouth and put it on the tip of his knife and held it over the candle on our table as if he were toasting a marshmallow.

Dad told him to behave.

I kept on reading my poem, and when I finished, I was sure everybody would compliment me.

But Matt put his finger down his throat as though he were about to throw up, and Mom scolded him but didn't say one word to me.

Finally Dad said, “It's cute,” then made about a million suggestions.

I was hoping Mom would defend me and say, “You don't tamper with genius.”

But she didn't. She just agreed that my poem was cute.

“This poem is not supposed to be cute! I worked hard on it!”

“Simmer down,” Dad said. “No one expects you to be Dante.”

“Who's Dante?” I asked.

“A famous Italian poet,” Mom said.

“You didn't work that hard on it,” Matt said. “You whipped it off because you wanted to get it over with.”

“You don't get it!” I said. “I hate you!” I couldn't believe I said “I hate you!” right at lunch.

Dad said, “Don't talk that way, young lady.”

“It's okay,” Matt said. “I'm used to it.”

“Melanie, I know you're angry,” Mom said, “but apologize to your brother.”

I mumbled, “Sorry,” but I felt like kicking him under the table. Or pushing his tiny heinie right off his chair.

Mom said, “You're off to a good start with your poem. I'm sure you can do even better.”

“I agree,” Matt said. Little turd.

“Rome wasn't built in a day,” Dad added. “More like a couple thousand years.”

Lunch came, and Matt grabbed a big slice of pizza and ate it right up, and no one even realized that I was still mad.

Which I was.

Or maybe Mom did realize it, because after a while she put a slice in front of me.

I was going to let it sit there and get cold, but Dad said,

Mom laughed, and you could tell Dad thought he was the poet of the world.

I didn't feel like pizza. I felt like punching someone's guts out.

Matt's, for instance.

P.S. The sun is now setting and Rome looks all rosy, and you can sure tell that it wasn't built in a day.

same day

Matt is still upset because DogDog isn't back, even though Paola promised to send him. To cheer Matt up, I started playing circus and doing acrobatics on the hotel bed with him. I was getting really good until by mistake I flipped upside down in the air and landed on the floor on my face. My eyebrow rammed into the frame of my glasses, and my glasses didn't break, but my eyebrow got a gash in it and was all bloody.

Mom and Dad came in, and I could tell Mom was trying not to get hysterical. She kept saying, “At least your eye is okay. At least your eye is okay.”

Dad said he would stay with Matt, and Mom should take me to the hospital since she speaks Italian. Dad sort of rocked me on his lap and held a cold wet washcloth to my eye while Mom called down to the front desk of the hotel and told them to have a taxi ready.

Next thing you know, Mom and I were in the emergency room.

Mom started babbling away in Italian, and after a
long wait, with me sitting between a wheezing old man and a lady with a broken finger, the receptionist said it was my turn. A nurse gave me a lollipop, and a handsome young Italian doctor said in English, “I am plastic surgeon. I help you.” He had a little accent, and he said, “You are pretty girl—I will make sure you remain pretty girl.” (That was sweet.)

He gave me three shots right in my eyebrow to make it totally numb, and then he said, “This won't hurt” and sewed seven tiny stitches. I've never had stitches before, but I didn't feel them. (Phew.)