By Will Greer

My parents always made it their goal to get the family on a plane and overseas once every other year, during the first two weeks of July. When I was four years old and my sister was two, we visited France. It was an amazing trip, from what my parents told me. Of course, I have a very slim recollection of those weeks as a four-year-old. Fast forward to when I was six years old, and the time for the next family trip arrived. We had a new addition to our family, my one-year-old brother. That summer, my parents picked Italy. 

When we got there, we were always moving, always going on adventures, whether that be throwing a ridiculous amount of money over our shoulders into the Trevi Fountain because our younger selves wanted unlimited wishes or going on walks down the identical cobblestone roads in the beaming hot sun for what felt like hours. That was just how my parents rolled. They liked to make the most of their time on vacation. We went to numerous cities, but the most prominent one was Rome. We visited all the big tourist attractions in the city, the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, etc. We ate pizza and pasta and multiple servings of gelato every day. The one thing my parents always promised us after a long walk was gelato. Somehow, that always got us up and moving, even though we hated the long walks. It was dreadfully hot, so gelato was the perfect reward.

The one thing that always stayed the same was our night-time routine. We would go to a square for dinner and watch the 2012 Euro Cup, which was taking place at the time. The square was ecstatic with energy, cheering on the Italian squad. If memory serves correctly, Italy made it to the finals, where their journey to the cup was tragically ended by Spain in a 4-0 defeat. Now, if you asked me the name of the square or where it was, the only detail I could tell you was it was in Rome. In my family, and to this day, the square is referred to as “The Square.”

We visited the square every night. We probably ate at every restaurant the square had to offer. Let me paint a picture of the square. On the outer rim, you had all the dim, romantic lit restaurants, which had patios filled to the brim with locals and tourists. As you approached the centre of the square, you saw it filled with various vendors or entertainers, doing just about anything to score a penny from the tourists. My personal favourites were the teenagers trying to sell us these little slingshots, which shot up into the air and lit up the sky like a colourful shooting star. Looking back on it, it was just a piece of plastic with an elastic and an LED, but my siblings and I were truly perplexed by this cheap piece of junk soaring through the sky. I’d say we bought at least one a night, only to shoot it onto one of the restaurant roofs and lose it about 10 minutes after buying it.

One night was different. One night, my parents must have been invested in the food or the soccer game on the TV, as my four-year-old sister snuck away, with the lights of the vendor’s toys guiding her to her destiny. When the rest of us realized she was out of sight, it was too late. She was gone. There was an instant panic that flooded the dinner table. With such a big task at hand, they needed the best person for the job. That was six-year-old me, of course! I was tasked with rescuing my sister from the dangers of this energetic square, with nothing but my bare hands and a walkie-talkie given to me by my dad in case I needed to call for backup.

My mission began. I felt like the SWAT team, rescuing a hostage from a life-threatening environment. I felt like I was the main character in a Mission Impossible movie. Although the circumstances may have been a little different, it felt like the biggest responsibility for a six-year-old like me. So, I did my velcro shoes up extra tight and set out into the square.

I was weaving and dodging all the adults like a Plinko ball making its way to the reward. It was my mission. Nothing stopped me, unless I caught a glance of one of the colourful pieces of plastic, and then I might have stopped by to watch the young adult shoot it into the air a few times, but I would quickly snap out of the trance and get back to the task at hand. I looked everywhere, around all the restaurants and the various vendors, but she was nowhere to be found.

My worry was increasing at a rapid rate. If she wasn’t in the square, where could she be? The only thing keeping me going was the look of disappointment my dad would portray if I came back and told him I had no luck. I knew I had to prove myself, so I kept looking. I was probably looking for five minutes total, but that felt like hours on the six-year-old clock. Out of nowhere, I caught a glimpse of a small, blonde-haired girl, and I immediately knew I had found her. I mean, how many blonde people are in Italy and are under four feet tall?

I rushed over, assuming the worst, like she was being kidnapped by some evil vendor in the square. As I got closer, I realized she was just sitting there peacefully, watching a vendor, who I had never seen before, spray painting various canvasses, creating these unique, fascinating pieces of art. Now I understood why my sister was watching the process. It was truly perplexing. But before anything, I had to report back to my dad, telling him the anticipated news. As I grabbed the walkie-talkie out of my back pocket, I felt like a million bucks, like I had just solved world hunger. I radioed in and said, “Dad, I found her!” He replied, “Good job, Will, I’m proud of you.” That meant everything to six-year-old me.

Before I could report back to home base, I had to do one thing. I had to sit down beside my sister and watch this random vendor make a few more paintings, because it truly was mesmerizing. I turned off the walkie-talkie, tucked it away and enjoyed the show.