With nothing else to do, I kept walking around. The gym was on our floor. Three treadmills and a rack of dumbbells. Taped to the door was a sign that said “CLOSED” in five different languages.
I didn’t see any sign of life anywhere else on our floor. In fact, when I returned to my room I noticed there was a yellow sticky-note taped to the door with “OSPITE” written on it. According to Google, that meansguestin Italian. They were probably marking the rooms that were occupied, so the boxes of food could be delivered. My room and the room next to mine were the only ones with sticky-notes on our floor.
Content that I had explored my surroundings, I went back into my room and celebrated by opening another bottle of wine.
I had experienced boredom before, but never like this. I was in Rome, damnit! Staying inside was torture. It felt like driving all the way to Disney World and then being told to stay in the car.
After two glasses of wine, my mind went to a dark place and I started playing the “I should have” game.
I should have flown out on the same flight as my friends, rather than a day early. Then I wouldn’t be alone.
I should have stayed at a bigger resort hotel, rather than one so close to the Colosseum. Then I would have plenty of amenities.
I should have come years ago, with my parents.
After watching two hours of Seinfeld episodes dubbed in Italian, I finally worked up the courage to open the door connecting me to my neighbor’s room. I was greeted with another door that only they could open from their end. There was about a foot of space in between.
I wanted to say hello to the neighbors. To experience all of this with someone else, rather than alone. And most of all I wanted to see if they would share their food.
I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. The warnings I had seen on TV flashed in my head: stay at least six feet away from other people. Being in an enclosed space with other people was dangerous. They could spread the virus to me.
I went to the desk and scribbled a note on a piece of paper:
It’s a ghost town on our floor. Have you seen any other guests up here?
I slid it under the door and waited. A few moments later, the music paused. I heard footsteps. Minutes passed, and then a reply note came back.
Only you.
Great. Thanks for the long, friendly reply, neighbor.
I almost left it at that, but the rumbling in my stomach was getting worse, and I didn’t want to fill it with vending machine food. So I wrote another note.
I’ll level with you. I’m starving, and the smell of food coming from your place is torture. Do you have a hot plate or something over there?
The reply came back quicker than before.
My room has a kitchenette. I bought supplies at the market right before the lockdown. You want some pasta? I have enough to share.
“Oh thank God,” I whispered, before sending my reply.
Yes please! I’ll trade you a bottle of wine!
After sending the note, I placed a bottle of wine in the partition space and closed the door. A few minutes later I heard the other door open. A note slipped underneath the door and I heard the door close again.
Come and get it.
Waiting for me inside the partition was a white bowl filled with pasta. I intended to send a thank-you note immediately, but the smell and sight of the pasta overwhelmed my senses, and I immediately sat on the carpet in front of the door and chowed down like a pig. The pasta was angel hair, with a cream sauce and bits of white chicken. Salty, peppery, savory, and creamy.
It tasted better than any pasta I’d ever had in my life, though I knew it was probably because I was hungry.
I read the notes while I ate. It looked like a man’s handwriting, and based on the phrasing he was alone.
I wonder what my lockdown-neighbor looks like.
I sent him a thank-you note. His response came back within seconds.
Food for wine? I think I won this trade.