The Italian Lesson [Installment 12]

I sat bolt upright, shocked awake from a fitful sleep, my heart pounding.

I picked up my phone. 4:12.

I had started having nightmares right after I’d arrived in Italy, and it always happened that it was 4:12 when I found myself startled from sleep. I didn’t know why. Sometimes the dreams were so real, several minutes passed before I remembered where I was, safe in my own bed.

But this hadn’t been a nightmare—this was the surfacing of a fear so deep I spent almost every waking hour avoiding it. I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing, but I didn’t like the images that lurked behind my shut eyelids. Hoping to dispel them, I threw off my duvet and swung my legs over the side of the bed in one swift motion.

I wanted a hot cup of coffee but thought I should leave open the possibility of more sleep so poured myself a glass of water instead. After pacing in the living room for a few minutes, I knew what I had to do.