The car ride to the airport fills me with excitement and anxiety. I am going to Italy. Fleeting images of cobblestone streets and the sound of a foreign tongue fill my head. Next to me sits my best friend, India. She is like a sister to me. My stepdad is driving India, her grandmother, her dad, and me to the airport to catch an evening flight to Rome that will get us there by eight in the morning.

We pull up to the curb and I hesitantly disembark. I say goodbye to my stepdad and hug him tightly. He would be the last member of my family I would see before I left. My stomach flips as I remember that I will not see my family for two weeks and for those two weeks I will be thousands of miles away in a foreign country

This was my chance to open my mouth and call the whole trip off, to take the secure path and go home. Something stops me, a stubbornness that refuses to admit defeat that yearns to prove my ability to persevere. While my stepdad leaves in our black station wagon, I stand paralyzed because I know if I move I will be racing to catch up with my stepdad. After my last chance of turning back is gone, I realize the predicament I am in. Unlike in the past, I will not call home in the middle of the night to go home.

I remember sleepover after sleepover, where I would wake up, trembling with fear. Each time I made the walk of shame to my friend’s parents and asked with a wavering voice to go home. They would call home as I packed my bags. When my parents arrived, my stomach would unknot as relief washed over me like warm sunlight.

“Alright guys, let’s go. We have a plane to catch,” says India’s dad, Seth. I hoist my duffle bag onto my back and walk inside the airport.
The plane lands softly on the tarmac as the roar of wing flaps fill the cabin. I am in Italy. The small voice in my head reminds me of my fear and I feel alone in a foreign world. When we scramble the plane and navigate our way out of the airport, all I can do is watch and listen. Italian voices speak all around me, surrounding me with their unique sound. Buildings that I have only seen in pictures and movies stand before me. The rest of the day is a continual barrage of new sights and senses.

When we finally return to the roomy apartment owned by a relative of India’s, my anxiety returns but only for an instant. The new experiences fill my senses and distract me from my worries. In a delirium of excitement and exhaustion, India and I get into bed.
I roll over on my back and see the faces of my family in my mind; my eyes sting as tears well up. I swallow and feel the lump in my throat. Pulling my stuffed animal to my cheek I close my eyes and try to be brave. The quiet rumble of European cars and mopeds floats in through the window that soars to the high-reaching ceiling. I open my eyes to see the stucco of the building across the street bathed in the soft orange of the street light. Turning over I see India has fallen asleep. She is my family. I am safe here. I snuggle under the covers and let the sounds of Rome serenade me to sleep, knowing my best friend is by my side.