There is nothing like the feeling of the strong Italian sun on your face, and the sun at Leonina was particularly omnipotent and invigorating. It made time stand still. We’d hang out around the pool on the weekends and there was always some kind of party going on with fun people I was happy to be sharing my time with. It was a great existence, yet there were dreams I hadn’t pursued that started speaking to me, subtly scratching at me like cat claws in my side. I felt, somewhat pessimistically, that it would be impossible to achieve my dreams if I stayed where I was. I will admit to you now, that my defeatist attitude would stay with me regardless of my geographic location. I was always dreaming about something. Life was pretty damn sweet right there where I was, but I had a rare talent for inventing a reason to bale, no matter how abundant my momentary paradise was. I was wanting. I longed to create, to tap into the endless fountain of inspiration I felt to write songs and stories. Me and my ego wanted to be less anonymous than we were. I had more pipe dreams in my head than Home Depot, Leggoland and New York City could contain. I didn’t know where to start on the path to turning my desires into a fulfilled reality, but had an itch that told me I would be better off back in The States. It was after all, the land of opportunity,.... right? I had run away to Siena, and then stayed hiding out like Harrison Ford in The Fugitive. Except I didn’t have to prove my innocence, just the mere matter of my value in the world. I was sure of that, and I felt like I’d be living a coward’s life to stay where I was. Maybe I was just full of shit and excuses. I certainly wasn’t prepared to swallow my pride and accept the miniscule career options that were staring me in the face there in the Sienese countryside. I could have lived a quiet, contemplative existence with the love of a good man beside me, and yet I was hungry for more, even if I couldn’t pinpoint what it was at the time. I was acting like a greedy american for sure, but was also desperate to fulfill a lust to create.
On one gorgeous afternoon mid May, I went out on my own to conquer the six-mile loop around the craters. I had been working my way up to it, as running was one of the only ways I could find a sense of control in those frustrating indecisive times. I made my way up past the castle and to another group of condos where a mother was outside playing with her kids. Their lean and muscular, gray mastiff was leashed onto the fence that sat just off to the side of the dirt road. It was a very big beast. And as I got closer, it started barking up a territorial storm. I would’ve been petrified to continue onward had I not seen it securely tied up. Just a breather after that false moment of security, suddenly, its leash came undone, and in a split second it was lunging at me. There was nothing to stop it from attacking me, and I was gripped with fear. It latched on to my right hip at the bone, and I was face to face with it’s devilish white-blue eyes. This canine was all muscle, and all I could do was pray that it would loosen the searing bite it had on my flesh. The mother started screaming, not knowing what she should do, and suddenly the devil dog let go of me. I was so pumped up with adrenaline from the shear terror of the moment that I started running again as if my life depended on it. The woman screamed “Non correre!, Don’t run!.... I’m sorry!”, but I was already on auto pilot, fueled by an unbelievable rush that encompassed flight instinct, a biologically induced strength, and my common sense that said ‘get far away from here and do it fast’. I had never experienced a physical strength like it before, and haven’t since. I was unstoppable. I left the scene behind me in the dust and the distance, and without thought of slowing down, just kept on running.
I ran down into the lower lake section of the craters and moved through the landscape like a gazelle. Like a warrior. I was barely conscious of my body, my breath, or how far I’d gone. Before I knew it, I had made it all the way back around to the dirt road entrance that led back up to our house, and I began my last ascent. I got inside the house, and with the adrenaline finally waring off, I started to feel the hot pain from the bite again. I called Paolo at work and launched into the drama of the whole story. The creature had left a serious mark on my hip and broken the skin, which was already starting to bruise. Paolo was rightfully concerned, and offered to come home early, but knowing I was no longer in any real danger, I told him “Non ti preoccupare’, not to bother. I had experienced some gripping fear that day, but something had also freed itself up in me. After the terror, tears, sweat and distance I had run wore off, I wondered if it was time to leave. I wasn’t so much afraid to stay at Leonina, as I was afraid to NOT go back to New York. I feared I had been unconsciously living my days masquerading as my own worst enemy, and that it was time to stop the charade.
