T
he Volkswagen drifted along the winding path through the hills, emitting a polite beep as it turned a corner. Neil Young’s muffled voice crooned through the car stereo, “just like children sleepin’, we could dream this night away…” My eyes slowly edged open, adjusting to the light streaming in through the window. The warmth of the April sun coated my skin, making me feel drowsy and content and at peace. Justine was in the driver’s seat, following the path the motorbikers we’d met a few stops back had drawn out for us on the map. “Just a couple minutes out from Asciano!” she called out. I rested my head against the back door again, watching as the red poppies and cypress trees passed by in double time, bathed in golden light. It was our fourth month in Italy, and I wanted this feeling, here, forever…. As the song faded out, and the last chords on Neil’s guitar were strummed, the grating sound of “Radar” broke through my deep sleep. My eyes, still shifting rapidly beneath their lids, snapped open. 7:30 AM. I was late. A jolt of panic shot through my body, propelling me out of bed and into the kitchen. Cursing, I peered into the fridge through still-bleary eyes. Out of creamer. Begrudgingly, I poured myself a glass of cold brew out of the can and braced myself for the bitterness as I retreated back to my room. By eight, I was pacing by the bus stop, muscles tensed in the September morning chill. Upon the 8:05’s eventual arrival, I swiped my card, the wrong way at first, and smiled apologetically at the driver. She stared back blankly, tapping her fingers against