Esther

 

Ramblings of a Retired Mind

The Glance

A Year of Change

The year I turned twenty was a trying one. I was studying History with a Pre-Law minor at Roosevelt University in Chicago. My sister was on the verge of graduating from the University of Illinois. With both of us grown and busy, my parents decided it was time for one last family vacation.

Two years earlier, they’d traveled through Italy and fallen in love with it. Now they were determined to share that love with us. And so, in May 1972, we embarked on a multi-city road trip that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I took the wheel; my father became navigator.

Into Italy

Our flight from Chicago took us through a chaotic layover in Paris—customs lines, hustling crowds, and a near-missed connection. But eventually we touched down in Milan in the gentle light of early morning.

Within minutes of picking up our rental car, Italy offered its first challenge: a five-lane traffic circle with no clear escape route. After what felt like twenty dizzying revolutions, I edged us out of the center lane and found the exit. Our adventure had truly begun.

Milan and the Suit

We spent two days exploring Milan, Italy’s fashion capital. Our first stop was the breathtaking Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II—glass domes, ironwork, and an atmosphere of elegance.

A suit in a window caught my eye. My sister insisted we go inside, and that’s where I found it: an olive-green fine-wool suit that felt made for me. My mother and sister gasped when I stepped out of the dressing room: “You look like a movie star!”

Two hours later it was tailored to perfection. I walked out with the suit in hand, determined not to wear it until Rome.

Venice: Before the Crowds

Venice in 1972 was another world—quieter, slower, untouched by the tourist throngs of today. We wandered St. Mark’s Square, toured the Doge’s Palace, and slipped into a gondola without waiting. For three days, the city became a dream.

When I returned in 2001, it felt more like a theme park than the enchanted place I remembered.

Chasing Legends and Lost Streets

Leaving Venice, we headed for Bologna in search of the “medieval houses” my mother insisted we find, as well Verona to see the famous—but entirely fictional—Juliet’s Balcony. We spent the day following vague directions and winding streets, but no medieval houses appeared. Juliet’s Balcony ended up being a tiny ledge jutting out from an old building, treasured mostly by the souvenir vendors below.

Florence and Pisa

Next came Florence, the art capital of the world. The Uffizi Gallery, the Duomo, Ponte Vecchio, Palazzo Vecchio, the Pitti Palace, Boboli Gardens—it was overwhelming in all the best ways.

We spent three days submerged in its beauty, with a side trip to Pisa. Climbing the Leaning Tower’s tilted stairs was an experience that defies explanation.

Still, I kept the new suit unworn, waiting for Rome.

Rome—and the Cafè

We arrived in Rome after a long day’s drive and headed out for dinner. It felt like the perfect moment for my suit’s debut. I paired it with a rust-colored turtleneck I’d purchased in Pisa and felt more than a little proud of the look.

We found a charming café near the Roman ruins and settled at an outdoor table. Moments after we sat down, my sister whispered, “Look to your left.”

A young woman was dining with her grandparents. She kept glancing in my direction. My sister leaned closer: “I think she likes what she sees.”

Her eyes were deep and dark—classic Roman features that made my heart stutter. She smiled shyly when our eyes met. My sister, who had studied Italian, whispered a translation: the girl had asked her grandmother if she thought I looked like an American movie idol. Her grandmother, unimpressed, replied, “All Americans think they’re movie stars.”

The World Contained in a Single Look

With every glance exchanged, my imagination ran wild. I pictured walking over, speaking in halting Italian, her grandparents welcoming me with warm smiles. I imagined staying in Italy, courting her, proposing by the Forum, her whispering “Si, si, si!” as she fell into my arms.

Young hearts can create whole futures out of seconds.

The Moment That Passed

Before our espresso even arrived, her family rose to leave. My sister nudged me: “Go talk to her!”

I watched her stand, watched her move toward the exit. And then—just before disappearing through the doorway—she paused. She turned. She offered one last glance. A tiny nod. The faintest smile.

And then she was gone.

What If?

As she walked out of my life, I sat there wondering:
What if I had stood up?
What if I had taken the chance?

Why did I let a single, fragile moment slip away?

It was only a glance—
but it has stayed with me ever since.