Out of Luck

Practically perfect in every way. She often believed that she could be, one day. After all, she is nannying. Who better to emulate than Mary Poppins? That was the story last week. The story this week is inverted. And so it begins.

She stared at the door, her fingers still lingering on the handle. Stupidly, she grabbed hold again and shook the door handle, as if it would unlock when the door just realized that she needed to get inside. “No way did that just happen.” Yes this was said audibly. Talking to yourself is completely acceptable whenever the unbelievable happens.

She had just stepped outside to sweep the porch. Megan knew that the door would lock if it shut so she gently pulled it and left a 1-inch gap. No gnome, ghoul, lawyer, dragon, physicist—well maybe a physicist—wizard, or any other creature in a world real or imagined could tell you how the door shut. But there it was just the same. A barrier that may as well had been as wide as the ocean between her and the reseources inside. Megan felt in her pockets. No cell phone. No car keys. Obviously no house key. And as every second passed, there would soon be no time.

With heavy locks and bars on every window breaking in was inconceivable (a word that means not capable of being imagined or grasped mentally; unbelievable in case you do not think it means what you think it means) as well as physically beyond our protagonist.

Of course there was praying. Of course there were fantasies of acrobatic miracles. But nothing would prevail against the fact that she had closed every window, locked every portal that could possibly allow her to enter. As it is in most cases, she was her own enemy at this point. So began a desperate search for a spare key.

After combing flowerpots, loose stepping stones, storage units, and even the grass a little bit (I said desperate) it was clear she was wasting time. She didn’t know what time it was now, she had no way of knowing, but she had been about to leave to pick up Gaia from school when the door . . .

She had one job today. Pick up Gaia from school. Drive two kilometers to the school and pick her up. Should that be difficult? No (if you don’t count the winding streets that spell death if you look from an aerial view). The time it would have taken her to accomplish the one task for the day would be astronomically smaller than the time she was now spending shoving rusty nails in the keyhole—imagining Neil Cafrey at work.

Megan is always evaluating her alternatives. She had tried everything she could think to do within the yard. Now she had to extend her possibilities to the Italian-speaking world beyond the gates. With one swoop of a leg she was half way over the gate when it popped open. Of course, she thought, the one thing that I was excited to do turned out to be unnecessary. And with that she climbed down and walked out of the gate.

The next 5 minutes were spent terrorizing the horrible neighboring dogs as she ran up and down the hill. Up then down. Stopping to ring every door on the way. No one answered. The fact that she was brave enough to try to explain to them in Italian her dilemma should have merited some sort of solution from the sky. Alas, she remained thwarted.

There was some growling and grrrrrring as she thought of her next alternative. Ultimately it was thus: 1. She could break down a door, theoretically, but she thought that wouldn’t earn her any points with the family. 2. She could wait until the mother got home in an hour—and wallow while the kids worried. She remembered being a teenager and being forgotten or left to wait. She remembered being furious no matter what logical and understandable reason her mother had for being late. 3. She could ask someone for help. Sigh. Number three it is. So she started running down in the direction of the school. There was a motorcyclist, but she thought the seat was a little small for four. Keep running.

A car full of women! They are always understanding. By the way in Italy all is legal on the road as long as the hazard lights are blinking. One could stop and do a few salutations to the sun if one so desired. So in her broken Italian Megan said to the hosts of the car stopped in the middle of the road with three cars waiting behind, “I don’t have a key to my house. The key to the car is in the house. The cell is in the house. The kids are at school.” How impressive!! Two weeks in Italy and this is exactly what she said, minus a pronoun or article here or there. And equally impressive, the woman answered her . . . in English.

“You need to pick up the kids? I just have to get my son, but please get in.” Well, let’s just say Megan has an eye for those she can trust in addition to a history of wise choices of who she enlists to save her tush. Adriana, Regina, Megan, and the other lady then proceeded to get the children in their lives.

All were safe, although unhappy. Megan tried to repair the damage she had done to Gaia. It was not easy, but she hopes all is forgotten. Yesterday she got lost in the city and made everyone late. It is so much harder to be talked about in angry Italian because one can only imagine what is being said, and most likely comes up with an exponentially worse version. Today she was late picking up Gaia in a stranger’s car, a task made possible by a stranger’s kindness. What will tomorrow bring? Hopefully nothing.

Megan, one who has a track record of weird experiences, knows that time will make these strange situations seem comical. Her wisdom will increase and the unfamiliarity of all that is around her will diminish completely until she is at one with the life she has chosen. Time will cure the loneliness. Time will cure the days spent at the house, reading the only English book in it (you know it would be Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows). Time will paint a map of the city in her mind and include the parking rules—which actually do exist although subtly. But, can Megan endure the time? Can Megan become a true Italian lover? Can she master the things she fears the most? Will she work beyond the expectations set for her? Will she leave a good name wherever she has gone, as stated on her bucket list? We come full circle and realize that only time will tell. Patience is a virtue.