Taste of Italy

C H A P T E R e l e v e n

                                                                            . . .

  The two walked along the bridge named Ponte Sant'Angelo. They stood on the left side, looking out to the river that flowed below them. Iris leaned against the stone railing, inhaling a great amount of fresh air.

Dante stared at her with an odd look. "Do ya always do that when you go somewhere new?"

With a laugh, she said, "Not always. But it helps everything soak in, you know?"

He shook his head. "No, not really?" Dante's facial expression made her laugh once more; he gave her a puzzled look.

She swallowed, continuing her explanation. "I just like to experience everything. The smell of the air, feel the breeze blow through my hair and skin, take in every detail of any piece of architecture I see. It's a good way for me to memorize it all."

"And what about me?" He furrowed his eyebrows, licked his lips, and bit his bottom lip in the process.

"What about you?" It seemed that she was just as confused.

"How do you memorize people that you meet?"

"Uh . . ." She thought for a moment. How did she do that? She couldn't explain it as the process came naturally. Or did it? Maybe she thought it came naturally when she had her own way to go about it? Who knew. But as she thought about it more, it was something that she did on her own. At least, a smidge of her "routine."

Iris walked away from the stone fence, heading back on the cobblestone road as the crowd of people went in either direction: toward the large, castle-like building in front of her, or toward the scrunched-up buildings as if being in the city.

Dante followed, seeing how she walked toward the castle-like building. He walked beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

"Remembering people is like taking in the details of some sort of structure, I suppose. But instead of thinking about the walls and its colors, or the type of paintings I see, or how it was built or what it looked like, I think of your facial features. Your eye color, the thickness of your lips, the wrinkles in your face. I think of facial hair if any. Your hair color and its thickness, and what kind of style you used daily. I think about how soft your skin is, and how you smile. Then I try to think about your personality, your kindness, your interests. How you acted, or what made you smile, or what got you interested in certain activities."

"So, that's what helps you remember people?"

"Indeed." She smiled. "It's also how I'll remember you."

Dante gave a smile as they continued walking.

When they made their way to the end of the bridge, they saw a few vendors on the left side of the bridge. They had tents covering whatever they were selling.

Iris looked at the castle's entrance and saw a sign at the top of the door-frame, reading:

                                                                    MUSEO NAZIONALE

                                                                              CASTEL

                                                                       SANT'ANGELO

"Hey, Dante?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, looking at her puzzled expression.

"What kind of museum is that?"