Florence

true story of what happened to me in Florence, Italy.

Florence.

We were given six hours. Six hours to spend whatever time we wanted to ourselves, without guardians, mind you, in foreign country. We had finally stopped our touring in the city of Florence, Italy, after seeing the fine leather shop where I bought by brothers’ expensive 50 Euro wallets. Our teachers said we could have six hours to go shopping and get lunch, then meet back at the Piazza della Signoria. It was a small square that was easily recognizable with a statue of Neptune, in the middle of a giant fountain. No problem.

Whitney, my best friend, and I knew that we should’ve probably stayed in a group of friends, with Carol and Cassie, and Jamie and Maria, but we didn’t want to. We were usually ignored in that group, so we just decided that we would wonder the city on our own; just the two of us together in Florence.

Whitney and I were fine at first. We went shopping, just looking around for nothing in particular. We looked at little Italian flee markets, with shirts and cheesy Italian merchandise, like key chains and magnets. Actually, there was this very cool underground store with rock and roll punk shirts and other items. After, we found cute shirts, mine saying “Good girls go to heaven, Bad girls go to Italy” and Whitney’s saying “Ciao, Bella.”. We were very excited, and became giggly and overzealous.

And of course we loved flirting with the cute Italian boys! Who wouldn’t? A hot guy looked at Whitney, smiled, as called out, “Ciao Ciocolata,” then looked at her a*s, “Nice…”. I found that hilarious, and I called her that all day. Then Whitney was called Caramel, and then I was called by a hot guy, “Ciao Honey.” he said, smiling as we walked past each other. It was amazing!

Then came the long line of black men at the other giant, thirty miles long flee market in inner Florence. Now, my friend Whitney is a proud half black half Navajo girl, and was basically trampled on by all these men. It was funny, I was ignored. It was if they looked straight past me, to Whitney. One of the men cat called, “You! You’re beautiful, where are you from?” at her, which was hilarious. What was not hilarious was when an old, around sixty years of age, Spanish-looking man was looking at me. I wanted to throw up at that, but my friend Whitney just laughed at me, revenge for all the Ciocolata and Caramel jokes I made at her earlier. I suppose I deserved that.

Anyways, it was getting to be around 4 o’clock, leaving us three more hours of shopping time. It was getting annoying, we wanted to be back at the hotel; this shopping was taking way too long. We were walking through the Plazzo Vecchio, an old, beautiful palace as I saw from a distance two good looking guys. I showed Whitney, and then we noticed them smiling at us and blowing kisses to us. We giggled, ignoring them and walking on. As we looked back, we saw them beckoning us over.

I looked at Whitney, “Should we go over there?” I asked, too drunk on happiness to see the danger of the situation. She shook her head.

“No, lets just go out of the disserted area and into the square,” she answered. Whitney was the smart one.

I nodded, following her into the square, noticing that the two guys were following us. I didn’t say anything. We looked around, figuring where to go when Whitney jumped suddenly. We looked back, and noticed that one of the guys had tapped her on the shoulder. I gasped.

The man was much better looking from a distance. Up close, he looked to be around thirty years of age. He had yellow teeth, which was probably due to the cigarette that was in his mouth. He smelt bad, a mix of cigarettes and something that was way too old and diseased. I wanted to throw up. He was very ugly looking, his nose was very large and he was not shaven at all, very scruffy looking. But most importantly, as I said before, he was more than thirty years old.

I wanted to get the hell out of that situation and run. He took his cigarette out of his mouth, dropping it on the ground in front of us. Repulsed, I gagged, and by the look of Whitney’s face, she was repulsed too. “Ciao, what’s your name?” he asked Whitney, then looked at me and smiled.

I looked over at Whitney, who was looking anywhere but the man. She was ignoring him, trying to pretend as if she didn’t even hear him. I copied her, looking away. The man shrugged, taking the cigarette he threw in the dirt back into his mouth. I could feel the puke rising up my stomach, and I felt disgustingly sick. I gasped, when I felt my arm was suddenly grasped forcefully by a hand.

Panicking, I looked over to the person next to me who was leading me to nowhere. I sighed in relief as I found it was Whitney, who was leading me away from that horrible situation.

“Just keep walking. Don’t look back.” she told me, and I did what she said. I did not look back; we linked arms.

As we were walking down a street, trying to get away from the man, his friend who was also blowing us kisses and beckoning us to him, was there at the corner, waiting for us. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice sly and mocking; he was just as old.

“Away from you!”

After we had escaped him, he had headed down another path of the millions of streets of Florence. It seemed every street had the same things; mask shops, more mask shops; and maybe the occasional half mask shop/half cheesy Italian shirts/jackets.

We were on our toes now. No more Italian guys. But, as scary as that was, I felt myself ecstatic. I was so confused. I was happy that I had strange older men come after me! It gave me a giant bolt of energy, a sort of lightening that had just sparked in my body, or a volcano had exploded and sent a wave of excitement through my body. That was what really endangered us…my excitement.

As we walked through that street, a wave of handsome Italian guys passed us. I was okay with them; they were around eighteen or nineteen years of age, very good looking, and they didn’t seem scary. So when they catcalled us, “Ciao Sweeties!” they called, I was stupid enough to look back and call, “Ciao Carino!”. Also known as, “Hello Cuties!”

I AM THE DUMBEST GIRL EVER.
I am not lying when I say that. After I had said those two little words, just two little words, which seemed insignificant to me, all hell broke out.

The guys started looking for us, as well as the other two that were still searching for us from before. So lets just say that was an estimate of seven guys, all in an area that was completely and utterly tiny. I swear, the Piazza was just getting small and small on me, inclosing me into a tiny box with seven grown men chasing me and my best friend.

We looked back, seeing that one of had actually taking the method of stalking us, following every which way and turn that we moved.

Whitney and I walked faster, my heart thumped with each growing step. Whitney seemed to have forgotten the fact that we had seven men looking for us, and one actually stalking us! She was complaining about finding an ATM so she could get money. How could she think about money at a time like this?!?

We went down a deserted street, finding some teenagers who were using an ATM machine. Whitney freaked, dragging me with her to wait for the kids to finish using the ATM. They did, and she latched on to the machine, quickly getting the money. As she was putting in her pin, I gasped in horror as I saw the man who was stalking us turn the corner. I showed her, and we quickly ran past several people and turned the corner, running into the only shop, which happened to be yet another mask shop, mind you, in the whole area. We quickly got in the shop, and I ran to the only corner of the shop that wouldn’t be able to have been seen if he looked through the window or door. I looked over at Whitney, who was standing in the middle of the shop. I couldn’t believe her! What was she doing! I beckoned her over, just as the first men did, to share the hiding spot with me.

That’s when I finally realized the horror of the predicament that I was in. I couldn’t believe it, but it was true. I was actually hiding. I was really hiding in fear! Fear that I would be caught by the crazy stalker, and god knows what would happen to me. Would I be kidnapped? Hit and Abused? Raped? All these thoughts ran through my crazed mind as I thought of only one thing: I might never see my mom or dad again.

I knew I was being way too crazy of things, but I could not help it. Especially my mom, if I had never saw her again, I don’t know what I would do. I just missed her so much.

“Come on, I don’t see him anymore. I think he’s gone.” Whitney said, releasing me from my thoughts, bringing me back to reality.

I nodded, escaping from my secret hiding corner, which will forever by my corner and forever mine, and looked out the door with her. Neither of us seeing any signs of the stalker or any other of the six men, we headed out the shop warily. We locked arms once again, and walked right next to each other as if we were superglued together. We looked up at the sky, and I looked at my watch. It was around 6:00, meaning we still had one hour left to be stalked, and that we have been running away from Italian men for about two hours.

Two hours of my life. The longest two hours ever.

As we went into the square, all I could think about is staying in the Piazza della Signoria for a good long time. There were police around, and tons of other people, so we’d be safe right? Apparently Whitney didn’t think so. She said that we should go down more streets so we aren’t in a large, open area. I looked at as if she was stupid.

“But there are police here, we’d be safe!” I retorted, I was not going to go down another dark, deserted street so guys can chase me some more. She rolled her eyes; apparently she thought I was the stupid one.

“The police wouldn’t do anything, and this place is way too open. They could find us easily, so lets just walk some more, okay?” Whitney replied, giving me that “I’m more experienced in these types of situations then you are so do as I say and we won’t get hurt, cause’ I know better” look of hers, and I groan.

Yet, I know that she does know better, and is probably right. The police wouldn’t do anything, and its better to just go straight on walking. No stops.

So I follow her, and we both jump in excitement as we see a group of teenagers from our group. I was going to be saved, I thought. The only thing I could think of was the two guys that were in that group: David and Jacob. I would want to latch on to them like they were my nights in shining armor, protecting me from the evil, perverted old Italian men that were chasing us. So we said hello, basically joining the group and following them for the last half hour, and then going back to the square to wait for the teachers for the final 15 minutes or so.

The teachers came, as well as the other people in our group, and we all headed to dinner in a small pizzeria, and then out for a gelato. I was still very shaken, but stayed quiet, putting on a smile. I could tell my friend Whitney, who was quiet, was just as upset as I was, so we didn’t talk and fool around too much.

As I got on the bus to go to the hotel, I sat in the seat in front of Whitney, completely quiet and broken down from the day. I turned on my ipod, trying to down all bad thoughts of what happened. I fell asleep, and was woken by Whitney tapping my shoulder and telling me that we had arrived at the hotel. All I really wanted was to arrive at my home in the US and stay there forever.

I thought, grasping Whitney’s arm even tighter then before.