I have been to Europe, twice.

I remember once I was riding a train for maybe eight hours. My family and I had been seated comfortably, sipping lemon and orange sodas, and reading. I was cozy, my chair leaned back with a book perched on my knees and a soft biscuit placed on a printed plate settled in my lap. The orange soda can was in my hands and we heard a voice over the intercom speak in a nasally voice. “This is the Venezia maestre stop, we repeat, Venezia maestre.” Venice was my stop and Venezia meant Venice so at that sound my ears perked up and my hands dropped the empty soda can on the table and began to pack up my belongings. We rushed off the train exhilarated by the thrill of being in Venice. But I didn’t see any water taxis, or the grand canal. We saw cars, there are no cars in Venice. An Italian man was wheeling his bike into a port. My mother asked him the directions to the Vaporetto, the place where you get a water taxi. He said, ” The Vaporetto? You are not in Venice ma’am.” Her face paled. Where were we and where’s the water? My dad checked a nearby sign. It read Venezia Maestre. My dad smirked. “Guess you’re right asking where’s the water! We are not in Venice! We hopped off a stop early!” He stated brightly. The man with the bike smiled. He looped the chain around the bike’s handlebars and strapped it to the metal port. Then he gave the lock a twist and a whirl. I heard a click and again I remembered we were thirty minutes away from our destination and didn’t have a clue as how to get there. I glanced briefly at the man and sighed. Mom clenched her hands into hard fists. She formed her lips into a tight line and raised her eyebrows. With a quick look at bike guy she added, “Is there any way that you could possibly catch a taxi from here? The man’s face made a question mark. He shrugged. I sucked in a short burst of breath sharply. We sort of just all thanked the man who introduced himself but I wasn’t listening and headed into the train station. “Let’s see the train listings. Maybe we could catch the next one to Venice. It doesn’t matter what seats we get. At least we will go!” My brother suggested. I mumbled that I agreed. The rest of my family nodded solemnly. What could happen?

Okay rephrase. What couldn’t happen? Nothing couldn’t have. We dragged heavy bags up and down like twelve flights of stairs, chased and missed like thirty trains, our bags bumped and bruised our legs, and our arms felt like boiled noodles after we stopped to regain our strength. Mom was fuming, her eyes were glazed with exhaustion and pain, and her face was pink with fury. Her eyes snapped but still sparkled. She stormed towards customer service to tell them our “difficult situation” as they called it. I called it our agonizing day of torment. She stopped in front of two people in uniform coats. “Excuse me, but we got off our train one stop early, could you please direct us to the nearest train to Venice?” The man exchanged looks with his female co-worker. He took a moment to inhale and sigh loudly and rudely. “You must have a ticket for the next train in…” He glanced at his watch and peered at us from under his hat with a bored look on his face. “Five minutes.” He continued slowly. The woman nudged the man and pasted a fake cheery look on her face. “I could show you to the ticket stand. Perhaps your family would like to aboard the train now while you buy the ticket? You would probably make your train just in time.” Five minutes? We would never make it! Mom’s eyes clouded for a moment and cleared. Run! Her eyes flashed. See you soon, just… go!

I turned on my heel and skipped a step which almost caused me to trip. I swayed dangerously, on the verge of collapsing. I caught myself and bounded down the stairs. My huge purple suitcase banged my leg. Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound! To the beat of my footsteps. My shoes clicked against the linoleum which began to get slippery. I skidded to check on the rest of the group. With them bustling on behind me, I decided to press on. I felt like the hour hand of the clocks whirled around a thousand times. Three more minutes and around half way there. I jumped the last couple steps and smashed onto the floor, heels digging into the hard surface to not slip. I slide along the hallway, my purple suitcase rolling behind. Lagging, it clicked and hit some bumps but I pushed on. Two minutes to get up the steps and across the platform. I skittered to a halt and steered my bag in a wide circle, it narrowly misses my toes. I whipped my head around and avert my gaze to see the rest of my family crashing into each other and yanking along banging bags to keep up. I tugged my bag which gets stuck on the edge of the step and with a burst of effort the wheels rolled, and come loose from the stairs. I keep tugging and hurtling up. We race from the top step and flash across the platform. The train is still in. I drag myself along to get on and finally I am. We sink into our seats. One minute. I remember mom, still buying tickets. I worry for her. I am pouring sweat and I clutch the table so hard my knuckles are white. Thirty seconds. Mom leaps on, her eyes wild and falls into her seat. I cough. Then swallow. Mom holds up a triumphant handful of red rimmed tickets glinting in the light. Dad chuckles, he chortles and we all join in giggling. Soon we are all engulfed in fits of big gulping laughter. “Hey that lady was right!” Dad snorts.
“What?” I ask breathlessly.
“She said we probably would make it just in time! And we definitely did!” The train jolts to confirm. We pull out of the station a little fuzzy and sore but otherwise, we were perfectly fine.

Do you have any interesting memories to share that you laugh about now and didn’t then?