Do as the Romans do? Which seems to be cut in line, eat bread with every meal, and look fabulous. If I stay in Roma, I wonder if anyone will notice if I don’t show up in Serbia. Damnjan has sent me not one, but two photos of himself so that I will recognize him. Really covering our bases here. He even said he would wear the shirt in photo number one and bring a sign that says, “Kate Kelso.” I don’t know if we’re going to be able to find each other.
The flight attendant mistook me for Italian. I took this as a great compliment.
I don’t know what I expect of Serbia: I think I was so swept up in the rush of the move and the end of the school year that I didn’t give myself time to think about it. I let everyone else worry about “Kate going to Serbia for the summer” and how ridiculous that sounded out loud. In the four days I spent in Florida before my flight, Serbia quickly became a punch line for the ever more farcical joke: “Fired? Well at least you’re not going to Serbia,” “Food poisoning? It’s no Serbia.”
Pinky
Though Jen told everyone I was going to Siberia (“Not the arctic tundra, Jen, Eastern Europe”) and I had a great time explaining to just about everyone where exactly Serbia was, it wasn’t until I was throwing clothes into my suitcase two hours before my flight that I realized…I was really going to freaking Serbia. As I hugged my brother goodbye he grabbed my arm, “Why are you bringing your phone?” It was all sinking in how wildly unready I was. For our other trips, Jen and I had planned for weeks; Serbia: I was jumping on a plane. Margie asked me what my carrier was; I stared blankly at my hands. Did I have any idea what I was doing? I slow-motion closed the door to my house behind me. Hungover, misty-eyed, unprepared and panic-stricken, I began my journey to Serbia.
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