The rattling of the planes wings snapped Tony out of his light sleep. Still dark. He glanced out the window but everything was pitch black. No doubt they were still over water and would be for quite some time. Again the plane shook, causing him to grip the arm rests tightly. It felt that although he was flying in a 767, it was pieced together with chewing gum and a prayer. Sort of a flying machine for MacGyver.
A soothing, heavily-accented voice came over the intercom. "This is Captain Ribault. We have run into some turbulence. We should pass through it momentarily. We will be landing at Charles de Gaulle International in about 1 1/2 hours. Thank you."
New York City and JFK seemed like weeks ago and the circumstances that brought Tony Micciani here seemed like a lifetime ago. Staring at the back of the head of the girl in front of him, he mused over the affairs that placed him in this seat to Paris. Freshly out of high school on Long Island, Tony had opted not to go to college right away. He didn't have a real goal in mind and didn't want to waste his money or his time. His grades were good enough; he could have probably done quite well at a state college but doing what? He didn't want to teach, he didn't want to be a CPA, didn't want to build anything or tear anything down, and he certainly didn't want to manage anyone. So he did the logical thing: Tony went to work at his father's small Italian grocery store.
"Stop it." A voice snapped him out of his reverie. Startled, Tony glanced around. The businessman sitting next to him continued to snore quietly.
The raven-haired girl in front of him turned around. "You're staring at me."
"Staring? I wasn't staring," Tony lied.
"You were boring two little holes right through the back of my head." She smiled. "I could smell my hair smoldering."
"Oh, I'm sorry, I was just spacing, I guess."
"Uh-huh. What's your name?"
"Tony, Tony Micciani."
"Well, Tony, Tony Micciani, you gotta be careful who you're staring at. Never know what kind of weirdo you're gonna piss off." She laughed, a pretty, lilting laugh that made Tony smile. "Where are you from, Tony?"
"I'm from Hicksville, Long Island, home of Billy Joel." He smirked. "What's your name?"
"I'm Marie from Richmond, Virginia."
"Why are you going to Paris?"
"Well, I'm not stopping there. Just changing planes and going to Rome. I'm going to the St. John's campus there to study art." She ran her finger across the top of the seat. "Or at least to occasionally study." She smiled broadly.
Tony's head spun, drifting back again. His cousin, Frankie, had taken an essay that Tony had written, as he was wont to do, and entered it into a scholarship contest, open to any first generation Italian-Americans. The subject of the essay was "The Madness of Caligula" and was a simple thing he had written after watching the History Channel. Nevertheless, Tony won first place in the contest, much to his surprise, not even know that he had entered it. The prize: a scholarship to study writing and literature at St. John's University in Rome.
Tony's father, Anton, was so proud he dipped deeply into his savings account and cashed in some bonds to ensure that his son would be able to eat and such while in Italy. Tony fought with his dad the whole time, but he would not be dissuaded. Living arrangements were made with a cousin of Anton's who lived in the Eternal City. The school term in which he was to begin was not for nearly five months but it was decided that he should leave early so as to become acclimated to the European pace and to get comfortable with the family with whom he was staying.
