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I
want
to
buy
myself
a
new
pencil
box
.
Then
there
would
always
be
that
one
weird
answer
,
same
every
time
:
I
want
to
learn
how
to
speak
Italian
.
For
years
,
I
’
d
wished
I
could
speak
Italian
-
a
language
I
find
more
beautiful
than
roses
-
but
I
could
never
make
the
practical
justification
for
studying
it
.
Why
not
just
bone
up
on
the
French
or
Russian
I
’
d
already
studied
years
ago
?
Or
learn
to
speak
Spanish
,
the
better
to
help
me
communicate
with
millions
of
my
fellow
Americans
?
What
was
I
going
to
do
with
Italian
?
It
’
s
not
like
I
was
going
to
move
there
.
It
would
be
more
practical
to
learn
how
to
play
the
accordion
.
But
why
must
everything
always
have
a
practical
application
?
I
’
d
been
such
a
diligent
soldier
for
years
-
working
,
producing
,
never
missing
a
deadline
,
taking
care
of
my
loved
ones
,
my
gums
and
my
credit
record
,
voting
,
etc
.
Is
this
lifetime
supposed
to
be
only
about
duty
?
In
this
dark
period
of
loss
,
did
I
need
any
justification
for
learning
Italian
other
than
that
it
was
the
only
thing
I
could
imagine
bringing
me
any
pleasure
right
now
?
And
it
wasn
’
t
that
outrageous
a
goal
,
anyway
,
to
want
to
study
a
language
.
It
’
s
not
like
I
was
saying
,
at
age
thirty
-
two
,
"
I
want
to
become
the
principal
ballerina
for
the
New
York
City
Ballet
.
"
Studying
a
language
is
something
you
can
actually
do
.
So
I
signed
up
for
classes
at
one
of
those
continuing
education
places
(
otherwise
known
as
Night
School
for
Divorced
Ladies
)
.
My
friends
thought
this
was
hilarious
.
My
friend
Nick
asked
,
"
Why
are
you
studying
Italian
?
So
that
-
just
in
case
Italy
ever
invades
Ethiopia
again
,
and
is
actually
successful
this
time
-
you
can
brag
about
knowing
a
language
that
’
s
spoken
in
two
whole
countries
?
"
But
I
loved
it
.
Every
word
was
a
singing
sparrow
,
a
magic
trick
,
a
truffle
for
me
.
I
would
slosh
home
through
the
rain
after
class
,
draw
a
hot
bath
,
and
lie
there
in
the
bubbles
reading
the
Italian
dictionary
aloud
to
myself
,
taking
my
mind
off
my
divorce
pressures
and
my
heartache
.
The
words
made
me
laugh
in
delight
.
I
started
referring
to
my
cell
phone
as
il
mio
telefonino
(
"
my
teensy
little
telephone
"
)
.
I
became
one
of
those
annoying
people
who
always
say
Ciao
!
Only
I
was
extra
annoying
,
since
I
would
always
explain
where
the
word
ciao
comes
from
.
(
If
you
must
know
,
it
’
s
an
abbreviation
of
a
phrase
used
by
medieval
Venetians
as
an
intimate
salutation
:
Sono
il
suo
schiavo
!
Meaning
:
"
I
am
your
slave
!
"
)
Just
speaking
these
words
made
me
feel
sexy
and
happy
My
divorce
lawyer
told
me
not
to
worry
;
she
said
she
had
one
client
(
Korean
by
heritage
)
who
,
after
a
yucky
divorce
,
legally
changed
her
name
to
something
Italian
,
just
to
feel
sexy
and
happy
again
.
Maybe
I
would
move
to
Italy
,
after
all
…
The
other
notable
thing
that
was
happening
during
that
time
was
the
newfound
adventure
of
spiritual
discipline
.
Aided
and
abetted
,
of
course
,
by
the
introduction
into
my
life
of
an
actual
living
Indian
Guru
-
for
whom
I
will
always
have
David
to
thank
.
I
’
d
been
introduced
to
my
Guru
the
first
night
I
ever
went
to
David
’
s
apartment
.
I
kind
of
fell
in
love
with
them
both
at
the
same
time
.
I
walked
into
David
’
s
apartment
and
saw
this
picture
on
his
dresser
of
a
radiantly
beautiful
Indian
woman
and
I
asked
,
"
Who
’
s
that
?
"
