The Diary of Melanie Martin

by Carol Weston

  I hope so. I didn't bring any. Mine is scrunched up in my kitty bank in New York.

  Well, we are now in the car driving north to Tuscany for four hours. We'll spend four nights at a hotel and take little day trips.

  Mom is looking out the window. She is saying things like, “Do you see those cypress trees?” “Isn't that a pretty vineyard?” “Look at those magnificent old olive trees!”

  I'm trying to look.

  Matt's just sleeping with his mouth hanging open. I hereby nominate him for Dork of the Year award.

  Dad says he can't concentrate on the countryside because Italians drive really really really fast. Like a hundred miles an hour. Except they use kilometers, not miles. So far, Dad has cursed three times (the H curse once and theD curse twice). The first two times, Mom frowned and said, “Honey!” The third time, she didn't say anything.

  Personally, I can't believe I'm spending eight hours in a plane and four hours in a car today. That's twelve hours—and a day has only twenty-four.

  If I were Sabrina the Teenage Witch, I could have gotten here by magic. If I were Judy Jetson, I could have gotten here in minutes. But I'm just plain Melanie Martin, and it took forever to get from home to Rome.

  Hey, that's another poem! I'll call it “Romeward Bound” (like “Homeward Bound”).

  same day

  Dear Diary,

  I showed Matt my poem.

  He said it was stupid.

  I say he's stupid.

  We're at our hotel, but it's not really a hotel. It's more like a B&B, or Bed and Breakfast, only here it's called a pensione (Pen See Own Ay). You see, there's this nice lady, Paola (Pow La), who lives in a giant house, but her kids are all grown up, so now she makes money by renting out rooms. Our room is big and has two beds, one for Mom and Dad and one for Matt and me. It also has a desk and a chair and a radiator and lacy white curtains. Outside, you can see lines of cypress trees. They are tall and skinny and shaped like candle flames. You can also see pear trees with white blossoms. And a vineyard, even though the vines have no grapes yet.

  My only complaint is that I wish our room had one of those little hotel refrigerators in it.

  I am so sleepy, but Mom and Dad say we have to push ourselves to get on Italian time. They say we're not allowed to go to bed, because here it's only four in the afternoon.

  Can you believe I have been begging to go to bed?

  Dad said we should go see the Leaning Tower of Pisa (Pee Za).

  Matt said, “The Leaning Tower of Pizza?!”

  I said, “Pisa, you moron. But I don't want to go. I'm too tired.”

  Mom said, “You have to, because we can't leave you alone.”

  I said, “I don't have to do anything I don't want to do.”

  Dad said, “You most certainly do, because this is a family trip. Don't you remember our little talk?”

  I said, “Well, I'm staying in the car, because I'm pooped.”

  Dad said, “Suit yourself.”

  Can you believe we are going to get back in our car?

  Mom said, “You'll get your second wind.”

  Dad said, “It's okay with me if she wants to miss one of the most famous buildings in the world.”

  Matt said, “I'm not one bit tired.”

  Well, of course Matt isn't! He's been napping like a newborn!

  Tired as h—ll,

  same day

  in the car again

  Dear Diary,

  Dad parked the car very near the Leaning Tower, but I'm still not getting out.

  I'm just going to sit here all alone. I'm just going to wait in this new-smelling car with the doors locked until they come back.

  I sneaked a peek at the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

  It's big and lopsided and all tilted over. It looks fake. Disneylandy.

  People aren't allowed to climb up it anymore, but I wouldn't mind going a little closer.

  What should I do?

  If I stay in the car, I'll miss everything.

  If I hop out and say, “I got my second wind!” I'll be embarrassed.

  same day

  in the pensione again

  Dear Diary,

  Matt came and got me! He was all out of breath and said, “You gotta see this!” I grumbled and sighed and made a big production out of getting out of the car and said, “Oh, fine,” as though I were doing him a big favor (hee hee).

  The Leaning Tower of Pisa is soooo cooool. It is in the Campo dei Miracoli (Cam Po Day Ee Me Ra Co Lee), which means Field of Miracles. It is kind of a miracle that it hasn't keeled over and crashed once and for all—kaboom!—like the skyscrapers Matt makes out of blocks.

  What happened was that hundreds of years ago, some builders made a terrible mistake and built a tower on sandy clay instead of solid ground. It didn't start leaning until they were working on the third story, and by then they didn't want to stop.

  Dad read that in his guidebook. He's always reading. Even at home he likes reading big fat books in his big soft chair.

  Well, guess what? The mistake turned out great because people like leaning towers even more than straight ones.

  Mom gave me a thousand lire so I could buy a postcard for school. Hurray! My first postcard! (A thousand lire sounds like a lot, but it's less than a dollar.)

  Mom and Dad also gave Matt and me each a disposable camera, and Matt has already used up almost all his film. He took some funny pictures of my feet and his feet. And my nostrils and his sunglasses. And my elbows and his knees. And lots of birds—mostly pigeons. I was in the middle of posing as a human bridge, but then I saw an Italian boy who looked a little bit like Christopher, and he smiled at me, and I could feel my cheeks get all red.

  Dad started lecturing Matt about saving film for the rest of the trip. But Mom must have thought Matt was being artistico (Are Tees Teek Oh), because she defended him and said, “It's his camera, Marc.”

  Dad's name is Marc. Mom's is Miranda. All our names start with M: Marc, Miranda, Melanie, Matt.

  Don't ask me why.

  I took only three pictures. In one, I made Matt lean the same way as the tower. In the other, I made him lift his arms so it would look as though he were holding up the tower. In the third, I took a picture of Mom and Dad—but Dad put one hand behind Mom's head and made rabbit ears.

  first day of spring

  Dear Diary,

  Why did I think that going to Italy would be fun? All I wanted this morning was to be left alone so I could sleep sleep sleep, but Dad said we had to get up to go “exploring.”

  Dad was halfway dressed. He was wearing striped boxer shorts and black kneesocks. He looked funny. I was going to make a joke, but I thought he might get mad. He gets mad too much, but Mom defends him and says it's because he works so hard. He's a lawyer, which means he argues for a living. Mom works hard too, but she doesn't get mad as much.

  Anyway, Mom made me take a quick shower when she knows I like baths better—especially now that I never have to take them with Matt anymore. (I used to worry he would tinkle in the tub.)

  Well, I took my shower, but at first I couldn't figure out the hot and cold knobs because they don't say H and C, they say F and C, and the C isn't for cold, it's for caldo (Cal Doe), which means hot. I practically burned myself to death before I got it straight.

  As I was drying off, I noticed Mom's makeup bag just sitting there. I wiped the steam off the mirror and put on lipstick and eye shadow and blush.

  I wonder if Christopher would notice me if I wore lipstick.

  I wonder if he's noticing Cecily while I'm away.

  I wish I didn't need glasses.

  I wish my bangs would grow out.

  I wish my bottom teeth weren't so crowded.

  Inside Mom's bag, besides makeup, were floss, tweezers, Q-tips, an emery board, a pink plastic razor, lotion, and cologne. I was lining everything up on the counter when Matt started pounding on the door and shouting, “Stop hogging the bathroom!”

  He is such a
pain!

  I considered spraying him with Mom's cologne or dotting the toilet seat with blue toothpaste blobs. But I just shouted back, “Hold your horses!”

  Dad said, “C'mon, guys, let's go exploring!”

  I felt like yelling, “I'm not a guy, and I was exploring!” But instead I put everything back and opened the door for Matt and said, “Your turn, Bratface.”

  Matt took one look at my face and said, “You look stupid.”

  I started rubbing off the makeup, but Mom said, “Let me fix you up, Sweet Pea.” She reapplied the lipstick and gave me a French braid.

  I thought I looked pretty good if I do say so myself.

  Even Dad said I looked cute. Mom knows I'd rather look pretty than cute, but it was still nice of Dad to compliment me.

  Anyway, we're about to go exploring. Ready or not,

  Dear Diary,

  You know that tower Rapunzel was stuck in? Well, in Florence, or Firenze (Fee Ren Zay), there's this cool old palace bell tower that points up way above the other churches and buildings, and I can just picture Rapunzel inside it letting down her golden hair. In New York I bet that tower wouldn't even look tall. Old? Yup. Tall? Nope.

  We crossed the Ponte Vecchio (Pon Tay Vecky Oh), or Old Bridge. It's so old that it was already old when Columbus discovered America! The bridge goes over the Arno River, and it has jewelry shops, ice cream stores, and scarf sellers right on it. Today was cloudy, so the Arno didn't look blue. It looked more like cappuccino and sort of matched the color of the buildings on its banks.

  Here's the problem with Florence: the winding streets are too narrow for the traffic and crowds. We spent all day dodging cars, buses, mopeds, motorbikes, and motorcycles, trying not to get run over. At first Mom and Dad were holding hands (which they rarely do in New York), but soon Dad started cursing again (he said H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks twice). He said city drivers are as crazy as highway drivers because they zoom around on motorbikes and don't wear helmets and park on sidewalks and yak on cell phones, and some even have kids riding behind them holding on for dear life.

  “Motorbikes are dangerous,” Mom agreed.

  “Let's rent one,” Matt said.

  “What are you, mental?” I said.

  Matt sang, “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, what you say is what you are.”

  We started arguing, but Dad told us to knock it off. I asked Dad why they built such little streets, and Dad explained that they didn't build them too narrow on purpose, they built them for people, horses, and carts, way before anyone thought about cars or buses.

  “Or stretch limos,” I added. “A stretch limo in Florence would get stuck for life.”

  Mom said, “Let's go to the Uffizi.”

  The Uffizi (Oo Feet Zee) is a big old museum that is supposed to be a “must-see.” Mom and I waited on the longest longest longest line while Dad and Matt played catch nearby. Even Mom admitted she should have made a reservation, because some people got to cut in line.

  Inside, Matt and I played a game he made up called Point Out the Naked People. We ran from painting to painting, and Mom didn't mind because at least we were paying attention to art.

  She even took a turn. She pointed out a painting by Botticelli (Bah Ti Chelly) called The Birth of Venus. It shows this long-haired lady, the goddess of love and beauty, standing naked on a seashell. Matt said she looked like Barbie with no clothes on, but I said that Venus looked more like a real woman.

  Mom also showed us a painting by Leonardo da Vinci (Lee Oh Nar Doe Duh Vin Chee). I thought it was lovely. Everyone is dressed, and the angel Gabriel is telling the Virgin Mary that she's pregnant. She wasn't even married to Joseph yet, but it was God's son, so it was a miracle.

  I think Italy is full of miracles. I also think Italy is rated R.

  Which I can handle. But maybe Mom and Dad should have left Matt at home with a baby-sitter.

  Matt got hungry before I did. He said, “Dad, you said there are McDonald's all over Italy, and I want to go to one, and I'm putting my leg down.”

  I said, “Your foot, not your leg, dummy.” But since I like McDonald's too, I started singing my latest poem:

  Matt started singing along, but Mom and Dad said that instead of burgers we were going to buy bread, cheese, and salami and make a picnic. That was a good idea except that all the bread, cheese, and salami shops were chiuso (Q Zo), which means closed, which is what shops are in Italy at lunchtime. Restaurants stay open (duh), so even though we didn't go to McDonald's, we did find an outdoor ristorante (Ree Store On Tay) with lots of tables with umbrellas.

  Dad and Mom ordered bean soup, and Matt and I ordered minestrone soup, and we all had panini (Pa Nee Nee), which means sandwiches. The ham in them was more dark pink than light pink, but I ate everything except for some bread, which I fed to the pigeons.

  Pigeonwise, I was Miss Popularity. But as soon as they flocked around me, Matt scared them all away.

  After lunch, Mom bought a pair of sunglasses and Dad looked at shoe stores and I checked out the postcard racks. Matt bought a stuffed balloon toy with a face drawn on it and yarn hair glued on top. It was like a squooshy Mr. Potato Head. First I told Matt that it was a dorky souvenir, but later I begged Mom to buy me one too. She did. So for a short while, we both had squooshy souvenirs.

  At a little museum called the Accademia (Ack Ah Demmy Ya), Matt behaved inappropriately.

  People from all over the world come to see this famous sculpture that Michelangelo (Michael Ann Jello) made almost five hundred years ago. It's of David, the guy in the Bible who, with stones and a slingshot, won a fight against a giant named Goliath.

  What Michelangelo did was he took a huge hunk of marble and carved and carved until it looked like it could breathe. You can see the veins on David's hands, the nails on his toes, and all his shoulder muscles. David looks like one of those lifeguard guys who work out all the time.

  Dad read in his guidebook that Michelangelo said, “David was already in the marble. I just took away everything that wasn't David.”

  Isn't that cool? When you think about it?

  Mom said that when Michelangelo finished the David, everyone agreed it was a masterpiece except one important man. He thought the nose was too big. So Michelangelo took a handful of marble dust and a file and climbed a ladder in front of the man and tricked him by pretending to scrape away at the nose. He let some dust fall from his fingers, and the man said, “Ah! Now it's much better!” (Hee hee.)

  Well, here's what I wanted to say: You can see David's you-know-what!

  He's totally naked!!

  Matt started pointing and giggling and taking his very last photos, so I giggled too. But Dad got mad and said, “Melanie, I thought you were more mature.”

  I hate when Dad says stuff like that.

  I hate when Matt gets me in trouble.

  He tried it again. When Dad wasn't looking, he pointed at David's behind and started laughing.

  I told him to cut it out and that he would appreciate sculpture more when he grows up.

  We walked down some more narrow streets, and suddenly there was the Duomo (Dwo Mo), this huge cathedral. In New York, St. Patrick's Cathedral is all one color: gray. The Duomo is covered with white, green, and pink marble. We climbed up the stairs inside, and then walked out and looked around at the red roofs of Florence. That was fun (for me, not my legs).

  Dad took pictures, and Matt and I played catch with our squooshy things, but then I tossed mine to Matt, and Matt missed, so mine went splat, and the balloon ripped, and dusty white flour flew all over. Dad got mad at me, but it was Matt's fault. I told Matt to give me his squooshy thing, and he said, “No way.” I lunged at him, but Mom stepped between us and told me to calm down this instant so we could all go out to dinner.

  “McDonald's?” I asked.

  Dad looked at me as if he couldn't believe he and I were even related. At least he couldn't send me to my room, since it's about a zillion miles away.

  I made up a poem
, so I said it out loud:

  I thought the poem might make Mom and Dad at least smile, but Dad just said, “Melanie, we are on vacation, for heaven's sake. Stop being negative.” Then he said I have the best problems of anyone he knows.

  Which didn't exactly help me feel positive.

  I looked at Matt, and he was smirking—the repulsive little newt.

  Anyway, Mom and Dad took us to this fancy ristorante, and I thought things were about to improve. A jolly man welcomed us in and walked us past tables of yummy food— salami, melon, breads, pastries—and also some yucky stuff—roasted peppers, mushrooms, mussels, garlicky spinach. We sat down, and Mom and the man talked about what to order, and he kept saying that everything was fan-tastico (Fon Tos Teek Oh), which I figured meant fantastic. He didn't sound phony. He sounded like he loved everything on the menu. (He looked like he did too.)

  Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm, I thought. I can't wait.

  Well, I don't know what happened, but a few minutes later he was bringing out appetizers, and in front of me, he plunked a floppy pink baby octopus, grilled. It had eight disgusting tentacles and a million disgusting suckers. I was seriously

  More like horrified. I almost started to cry, but Dad quickly traded me his tortellini soup, and Mom started apologizing because she didn't know what the heck she had said that came out “octopus.” (The special, maybe?)

  For the main course, the man brought me spaghetti with meat sauce. But then he immediately ruined it by sprinkling parmesan cheese all over it. Mom and Dad both had sole as their main course, so I couldn't even trade.

  Besides, this time no one even cared.

  Matt, meanwhile, had pork chops with French fries, and was happy as can be. He called his French fries Italian fries, and Mom and Dad thought that was just so adorable. Like when he wants something and says, “Peas! Peas! Peas!” instead of “Please! Please! Please!” Or like once when Mom was going to take us to Central Park and Matt got all dressed up and Mom said, “Those are your best shoes!” and Matt said, “Those are my best feet too,” and Mom just laughed.