Rome

Inferiority complex

~ MaryG ~ 23 Comments

I have fond memories of two women with whom I studied abroad in fall 1985. We were in Rome.

One woman went to the same college as me and we stayed friends when we got back to our campus in Connecticut. We kept in touch after graduation. For years, she would call me on my birthday. I’d pick up the phone and she’d just say “Ciao Maria” and I knew exactly who it was. She was a bit mysterious and I typically had to wait for her to call me. I rarely had contact info for her. And then, after a number of years, she vanished. No social media profile, no alumni directory info, not on LinkedIn. I really don’t know what happened to her. I miss her sometimes, but whenever I’ve googled her, I come up empty. (I once sent off an email to what I thought might’ve been her work address, but never heard back.)

The other woman was my roommate in Rome. We didn’t go to the same college, but got along great. She went to an Ivy League school and was planning to become a doctor. We did not keep in touch after Rome, but I was always grateful to have had her there with me. Welp, I googled her this week and found out she’s a renowned plastic surgeon with her own skincare line. She’s helped all kinds of people—from burn victims to trans people needing gender-affirming care. She’s got a podcast and does all kinds of great work in the wellness arena too.

I reached out via instagram and she was happy to hear from me. We then texted a bit and I sent her some old photos from our time abroad. Perhaps we’ll get together at some point, but probably not. It’s been over 40 years since I’ve seen her. I had forgotten that two of the other women in the program were friends of hers from high school. She said the three of them “see each other all the time.”

I’m left feeling both completely inferior (a renowned plastic surgeon!) and sad that I lost my real friend from Rome (the one I stayed in touch with for years) while she’s still palling around with her old friends.

Sometimes you should just let the past stay in the past, I guess. Maybe that’s the lesson.

My two “friends for a season” on the right, partying in our convent dorm room in Rome, Italy, 1985.

That’s a wrap

~ MaryG ~ 19 Comments
Daily writing prompt
What’s a moment in your life that felt like it was straight out of a movie?
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I remember walking around in the airport in Paris—Charles De Gaulle—in December 1985. I was waiting for my flight back to Boston after my semester abroad in Rome. I was listening to my Sony Walkman, which had the songs that had been the soundtrack for the entire semester—Take on Me by A-Ha, Money for Nothing by Dire Straits, 99 Luftballons by the German band Nena.

I was hungover. I was sad. It was the end. Back to America. I knew it was going to be culture shock. So many things had happened that semester—some good, some bad—but all of it was new and exciting. I had traveled through Europe with friends, had a fling with a fellow student who was studying in France, been semi-stalked by an Italian guy, smoked hash and saw Sting perform live, been chased down the street by a very angry nun who was mad I’d let my friend use my roommate’s bed in the convent, been subjected to my first public masturbator (aka “The Jerk”), ordered entire meals in Italian, been awakened on a train by a French security guard who didn’t like my friend’s Filipino passport, got all my clothes destroyed by an Italian laundromat, and seen the most magnificent art and wonders of western civilization from the Mona Lisa to the Colosseum to Pompeii to the Vatican.

Walking through that airport felt like the last scene in a movie—a very 80s movie.

Here I am in Rome in 1985 with my short 80s hair and my friend Scott who was in my program with me. Scott was my close friend Carla’s boyfriend, but she was studying in cold old England for some reason. Girl Code obviously eliminated any chance of a fling with Scott, but he was so cute, right? Look at those legs.

Roma 🇮🇹

~ MaryG ~ 4 Comments
Daily writing prompt
Where would you go on a shopping spree?
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OK, so it’s fantasy Saturday?

I’d be miraculously transported to Rome, with no airports, passports or wait times involved. (Beam me up, Scotty)

I’d spend the morning shopping on the Via del Corso and then head over to Trastevere for the afternoon. I would replace the buttery-soft, knee-length black leather coat that I bought on my semester abroad (which was subsequently stolen in NYC) and also get some new black leather gloves and whatever the heck else I want (it’s a fantasy, right?)

I would have plenty of time to take breaks in outdoor cafés. The weather would be 70 degrees and sunny. My feet would not hurt. My husband would cheerily accompany into every single store and carry my purchases without complaint. The dollar/euro exchange rate would be in my favor.

My friend Andreada and me in NYC in 1988. This is the one and only picture of my Italian black leather coat. It was so soft. It got stolen that very night from my chair in a Manhattan bar.

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