Once upon a time in a land far away, my roommate and I concocted a plan to follow in the footsteps of a centuries old tradition and flee the country during college. We would backpack our way through a loosely set itinerary that wound its way through as many countries as we could manage, crashing on couches, in tents or trains, pausing for great events like Oktoberfest, Herrang, or the World Champion Air Guitar Competition.
It was a good plan, and it remains in the "actively pending" file. It just wasn't going to happen that particular summer.
While I couldn't eat up all of Europe, I did get an impressive appetizer: Italy. I left fo
r two weeks of glorious adventure through the Italian landscape. Lyzz couldn't go, so in her stead she sent a small, fluffy stuffed dog. He was to accompany me until she could take her rightful place as worldwide adventurer. The dog was christened Massimo, a proper Italian name, and together we discovered ancient ruins, walked the streets of the Vatican City, feasted in cafes and stumbled over the Colosseum. In most of my pictures there appears in some corner, some crevice, a happy little dog with a pierced ear labeled "Lyzz" in later photo albums. When I returned to Boston, I gave her a run down of where she'd gone in Italy disguised as a puppy, then bequeathed Massimo back to her care.
The next year, when Lyzz biked her way through the Loire Valley of France, Massimo got to go in my place. And then it was Lyzz's turn: "See this picture? There you are sitting on the chateau steps..."
He did his duty faithfully. And then one day, we realized he was gone.
Before I headed to the Philippines this summer, Lyzz reminded me to take Massimo along. It was then that the horrible truth came out that Massimo was missing. I searched through everything I owned while she scoured her house from top to bottom. No Massimo. It was the first time in three years that Massimo wasn't playing surrogate overseas.
My theory is he was lost in the basement of the house Lyzz and I shared, known as Mikuah. It was pretty much what you expect in college. Four of us girls downstairs, five awesome guys in the upstairs apartment and alot of goofing off in between. Our friend the Marine reservist whose job refused to let him go, regardless of the fact that he moved to another state, sometimes lived in the basement of the building.
This basement was expansive, complete with four roughly separated rooms, couches, iffy wiring and, our pride and joy, the original Nintendo Entertainment System complete with Paper Boy, Duck Hunt and Mario 1, 2 and 3. Storage was a breeze. Whatever we didn't feel like looking at,we stuck in the basement. As did the guys upstairs, friends, neighbors, strangers at parties- whoever needed some space. We put stuff down there and forgot about it.
It was a good plan, and it remains in the "actively pending" file. It just wasn't going to happen that particular summer.
While I couldn't eat up all of Europe, I did get an impressive appetizer: Italy. I left fo
r two weeks of glorious adventure through the Italian landscape. Lyzz couldn't go, so in her stead she sent a small, fluffy stuffed dog. He was to accompany me until she could take her rightful place as worldwide adventurer. The dog was christened Massimo, a proper Italian name, and together we discovered ancient ruins, walked the streets of the Vatican City, feasted in cafes and stumbled over the Colosseum. In most of my pictures there appears in some corner, some crevice, a happy little dog with a pierced ear labeled "Lyzz" in later photo albums. When I returned to Boston, I gave her a run down of where she'd gone in Italy disguised as a puppy, then bequeathed Massimo back to her care.The next year, when Lyzz biked her way through the Loire Valley of France, Massimo got to go in my place. And then it was Lyzz's turn: "See this picture? There you are sitting on the chateau steps..."
He did his duty faithfully. And then one day, we realized he was gone.
Before I headed to the Philippines this summer, Lyzz reminded me to take Massimo along. It was then that the horrible truth came out that Massimo was missing. I searched through everything I owned while she scoured her house from top to bottom. No Massimo. It was the first time in three years that Massimo wasn't playing surrogate overseas.
My theory is he was lost in the basement of the house Lyzz and I shared, known as Mikuah. It was pretty much what you expect in college. Four of us girls downstairs, five awesome guys in the upstairs apartment and alot of goofing off in between. Our friend the Marine reservist whose job refused to let him go, regardless of the fact that he moved to another state, sometimes lived in the basement of the building.
This basement was expansive, complete with four roughly separated rooms, couches, iffy wiring and, our pride and joy, the original Nintendo Entertainment System complete with Paper Boy, Duck Hunt and Mario 1, 2 and 3. Storage was a breeze. Whatever we didn't feel like looking at,we stuck in the basement. As did the guys upstairs, friends, neighbors, strangers at parties- whoever needed some space. We put stuff down there and forgot about it.
One by one, each of us moved on and were replaced until no connections remained between us and the people who lived there. Before the last one left, an email went out: "We're cleaning out the basement. If you want it, get it."
This was several months ago, and I quite frankly had given up on finding any one of the items I had suspected lived in the basement. Then yesterday, out of the blue, I got a message on my phone: a picture of a small fluffy dog, with two words scrawled across the top. "I'm Back"
Comments
Post a Comment