Ode to Rosa

Several weeks ago, we picked up a lady hitchhiking to get to the next town. As unsafe as this practice may seem to those reading in the good ole' USA, it is not uncommon and not usually risky to do so here. Bus service between towns is rather infrequent; so, if you miss your bus you may end up having to wait 2-3 hours just to go a few miles away.

This particular Sunday afternoon, there was a lady with incredibly wiry brownish gray hair looking for a ride. We stopped. My mom, who had just arrived from the US, turned around to look at me as if Raoul and I were crazy. I assured her that everything would be fine. The woman got into the car on the backseat with me and Henry between us. She wanted to go to Carbongnano; we were only going to Caprarola (about 5 miles from our town), but it would still be a step closer to home, and she accepted and smiled. She had no front teeth, neither on top or bottom.

There are many times when you pick up somebody that there is just a peaceful silence that fills the car, but with our new friend, this was not the case. She began to say that her town, Carbognano, was much better than Caprarola because there were less "extracommunitarie" there. "Extracommunitarie" is the Italian word referring to anybody who does not come from a country pertaining to the European Union; the 'e' ending on this word means females not coming from the EU, a group to which I belong. Now, many people do not even think of Americans as "extracommunitari"; we are too rich of a nation. What is usually being referred to when somebody uses this word with such a derogatory tone is somebody coming from Eastern Europe, Asia, or Africa. Since many people confuse my appearance with that of an Eastern European, I felt that I needed to start speaking with a strong American accent to save myself from being killed and so that my poor child sitting between us would not be the victim of her flying hands becoming incredibly lively in the conversation. As the story unfolded, we discovered that our poor car-mate had been left by her husband for a Moroccan lady that was hired to help out in her house. Before that he was having an affair with a Romanian girl. All happened a short time ago, and she was still moving all of her things to her new home in the extracommunitarie-free town.

After spilling out the story of her past, she began to talk about her future. She felt that eventually she would find love again, this time with a man who is "buono". I was really taken by her optimism. As we drove into Caprarola, she asked to be left on the corner of the main street and said that she would try to then find another ride from there. She gave me a hug, wished me luck, and said her name was Rosa.

Rosa has stuck in my mind ever since. We drove to Caprarola again this evening, and I searched for her alongside the road. I wish her a lot of luck in her pursuit of finding love again and starting her life over... and hope that her teeth (or lack of them) won't get in the way.