Through A Gypsy Girl's Eyes

I heard it was Mussolini that made the trains run on time in Italy. Evidently today that statement becomes a dispelled myth. I'm in  Florence waiting on my train to Venice and it's now thirty five minutes late. I don't mind the delay; it gives me an opportunity to observe the Italian gentry. Such serious faces they wear in the early morning rain. The use of their hands flailing about while in conversation amuses me. The visual expression reminds me of my Italian grandfather when he told tall tales to me as a youngster.I speak very poor Italian and rely on my Spanish to communicate. Unlike Germany or France I've discovered that few Italians speak English outside of Rome. And right at this moment I'm in no condition to make conversation due to a monster hangover from the mass amount of wine I ingested last evening. Wine has never been a favorite alcoholic beverage of mine, although the quality of all the different types I've sampled have proved to be excellent. In some cases I'm convinced Bacchus himself had a hand in their production.The public address speakers scratch out the announcement of my train's arrival and track assignment. It triggers an immediate reaction from waiting passengers and in unison they make their way toward the boarding platform. Lines form at the  entrance to each car and as is customary in most countries the seniors go to the head of the line. I enter the last car and take a seat in an area with three empty seats.  I  place my backpack on the seat directly across leaving an empty seat next to me.As I attempt to get comfortable on the hard plastic seat I notice a young woman searching for a place to sit. The other passengers put bags or coats on the vacant seats next to them or inform her that the seat is reserved. It's obvious they are purposely making the empty seat in their area appear occupied so she won't be seated next to them. The rude gesture infuriates me and I call out to tell her there is an available seat in my quadrant. I put my backpack on the floor and the young woman sits in the seat across from me.She's wearing a purple tie dyed dress, sporting cowboy boots, dreadlocks, adorned with beaded bracelets and necklaces. A fashionista modeling a Bohemian style that reminds me of my sixteen year old daughter who was killed in a car accident six years ago. The young lady appears to be in her late twenties and quite fetching, with a smile that would brighten your darkest day. She also seems to be strikingly familiar. I'm certain we've met in the past but I'm unable to recall when and where."So you are American from where?" She asks in English."You speak English?  I'm from the United States and live in Austin Texas. Are you familiar with where that's located?" I explained."Yes I know of some places in United States. Texas is big place with Cowboys, a lot of cows and like very much American Football, yes?""That's correct, you have the right place. I would like to ask a question if I may. Why were the people on the train not letting you take a seat next to them? It was clear that they were purposely being rude and unfriendly, denying you a place to sit. Do you understand my English? I speak Spanish and French if that would be easier. My Italian is not very polished and people seem to have a difficult time understanding me."  I joke."I like very much to talk English. We learn in school when we are young. I don't have a chance to speak it with someone very much." She replies." That's fortunate for me. So my question about the people not letting you have a seat. What's up with that?""I am Albanian Gypsy. They not like much my people because they think we are thieves.  Also they believe that I will steal a piece of their soul. Better for them to think that and have reason to be rude, then for them to have no excuse for how they act.""And me? Are you going to steal a piece of my soul?" " I can read you very well, your aura is bright. Your soul have pieces taken many times in the past. You don't have very much more leftover. So I will let you keep that small piece of what you have." She jokes."Well that news certainly gives me an uncomfortable feeling. Am I  going to be safe or are you making a joke? Do you have psychic powers?" I laugh nervously." I think I have met you before somewhere in the past but I'm not sure where or when. Maybe it was in a dream or it was a vision. Please don't think I am not mentally well or a crazy person."" I wasn't comfortable bringing it up but I had the same exact feeling when I first met you."" That is a good thing to know. I'm  sorry for you not feeling good from my vision.  I must tell you I can see that you have lived with much hurt in your life. I want to tell you it will get better for you very soon. Some people are easy  for me to read. You give off a lot of energy, power and color that I can see well. Also you should know, you have an angel with you. She worries for you very much."I didn't want to tell her that I don't subscribe to such psychic nonsense. She truly believed that I believed in that hocus pocus it was evident in her twinkling eyes and that was reason enough to remain silent.The conversation digressed and became focused on the young Gypsy. She lives in Florence and works in a restaurant at night commuting to Padua daily where she is a student at the University. Padua University is a public school and has a history dating back to 1222. The list of notable students and faculty is impressive. Copernicus was a student along with Elena Cornaro Piscopia, the first woman to receive a PHD from any University. Galileo Galilei was a Professor teaching mathematics, physics and astronomy."What is your name? We've been talking for so long I forgot my manners. My name is Santiago. I'm very pleased to meet you…?" "I have the name of Elira, it was also the name of my grandmother. In English I think it can mean "be free".You are Spanish with that name? You have look of more Italian." “I'm Mexican-Italian my grandparents are from Italy, Florence to be exact. They were Italian with a touch of English blood. My mother is Mexican through and through.”"But you are not here to see them. There's another reason.""You're correct, they died years ago. I am here as a kind of promise I had made with my daughter. We were going to visit Italy together but she was killed in a car accident so I am visiting as a tribute to her. She was an admirer of Art and especially Renaissance painters. We talked about visiting the Uffizi museum together." I said, trying not to sound morose."I knew it was something like that. I couldn't  understand all of what she was saying in her message.  She talks fast like you and it was hard to hear her because her voice was  very soft, like she was far away. She told me why you come here." Elira mentions.The train suddenly arrives at Padua station and she extends her hand to shake goodbye. I feel a strange sensation circulate throughout my body when our hands touch. She quickly merges with the passengers departing the train." Wait Elira, what do you mean? A message from who? What did she say to you? You said you knew why I was here! Tell mewhat do you mean!" I holler." Me- ken-see, I think your daughter,  the young girl sitting next to you. She told me." Was her reply."I never mentioned her name! How could you possibly know why I came to Italy? How did you know her name?"She turned to look back at me in the crowd of passengers exiting the train, and yelled."I told you before I am Gypsy." She waves a farewell and flashes her huge healing smile.I become totally consumed by an eerie yet serene and soothing sensation. I stare into the empty seat next to me as though  I actually expected to see my daughter. Again I try to find a rational explanation for her astounding ability. How could she possibly have known?  How did she know my daughter's  name was McKenzie?Elira, my Gypsy friend, had found a place in my heart and true to her promise she left me with that last small piece of my soul. Quietly I whisper, " I miss you McKenzie." Believing maybe she could hear me. 
Word Count 1,510