Falling for Him
Here’s a sappy love story, and it’s not even Valentine’s Day.
My husband Bob and I were enjoying one of the best sandwiches we’d ever had at a little sidewalk café in Rome — freshly roasted and sliced Porchetta on homemade bread. Without warning, the sky darkened, and a deluge of rain drenched the city. It was so severe that the Arch of Constantine was struck by lightning, which was reported in their news sources the next day.
First things first, we protected the sandwiches and ran for cover. Running down the sidewalk, I kept near the building for cover, and there, on the corner, I tripped – hard and fell over a guard stone or bollard. I’m not sure what Italians call them, but in America, they’d be called a “lawsuit waiting to happen.” Our version in the USA is tall, usually waist high, and often painted a bright color for visibility. They prevent cars or chariots from crashing into buildings or pedestrian areas.
The Roman version is a low stone, the same color as the sidewalk. I went back later and took this photo.
I landed hard in the middle of the wet cobblestone road, crashing on my left shoulder, elbow, hip, and knee. My clothes were ripped, and I feared a tiny Fiat would squoosh me into further despair.
People react differently in times of shock. Many if not most, blurt out a four-letter word. “OH $*#!” they may say or think. Even the sweetest Sunday School teacher has been known to toss out something salty when frightened or stunned.
But here’s where it turns romantic. The split second I hit the ground, Bob did indeed blurt out a four-letter word. He said, “Oh, my LOVE!” — you read that right. “my love.” He then scooped me up from a deadlift and took me to the side of the street underneath the cover of a restaurant awning. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “I don’t think so,” I told him (I was). He wiped away the mud from ancient civilizations that was ground into my white shirt and said, “Then why are you crying?” “Because you said, “Oh (sniff)— my (choke)— love!” It made everything better.
I limped on through the rain to a pasta-making class, where, of course, I looked like a drowned rat, and Bob was the best student. But then again, it was difficult to knead all that dough with an injured elbow.
It’s our 31st anniversary this week. The bruises are gone, and I think Bob will make homemade pasta for dinner. And “His Love” will help. She’s still falling for him after all these years.
