I've tried really hard to think of someone who fits this description. And I can't. I suppose there's no one I've known such a short time who has left much of an impression. So instead, I'm going to share (yet another*) mission story about someone I really didn't know at all. He wasn't exactly friendly, but he was helpful and I was definitely grateful he was there. Mom, you probably shouldn't read this story.
First a little background. As I've mentioned before, my last companion was quite beautiful and not so great at Italian. She was brand new, so I'm sure things improved after I left. Because she was at the beginning of her mission and I was at the end of mine, she was a bit naive and I was a bit cynical. Plus, I've got that aforementioned mean streak that makes shutting people down come so naturally. So when the creepy men came along, as they did almost every day, I was in charge of telling them where to go and how to get there.
As missionaries in Verona, we rode the bus everywhere. One night, we finished an appointment just after nine and headed to the nearby piazza where a bus would shortly come to take us home. There was a major bus interchange near our apartment, from which we could walk home in a few minutes. The piazza was quite dark and there was a young man waiting near the stop. He kept his distance from us and avoided eye contact, so we didn't talk to him. My lovely companion had picked up a rather persistent admirer at the same stop a few weeks earlier, so I was a little wary of men traveling by themselves at night. So there we were, my companion trying to decode the bus schedule, me waiting on the sidewalk a few yards away to be sure we flagged down any bus that might pass, and the other guy, waiting and keeping his distance.
After a few minutes, another man approached from across the street. He was Romanian and rather drunk. Likely due to his inebriation, he didn't even notice my beautiful companion and came straight up to me. He started mumbling and pointing telling me something about a drink. Eventually, the mumbling developed into, "There's a drink in that bar over there." Of course he wanted me to come get a drink with him. I ignored him and prayed that my beautiful companion would stay put. He was quite insistent about the drink and the bar, so I finally told him to go back into the bar and get himself the drink. About the time my companion walked over to see whether I was speaking with a potential contact, the other man at the bus stop turned and looked our way. Upon catching sight of my lovely companion, my new drunk friend was really interested and became even more adamant about the drink in the bar. Sadly, I had to inform him that she didn't speak Italian (especially not slurred Italian with a thick Romanian accent), so he'd have to keep conversing with me.
As his insistence escalated, a bus appeared out of the night and I politely informed him that we needed to get on it. He boarded as well, as did the other man. Near the middle of the bus, there were two single seats open, one behind the other. We sat in them and I turned sideways so I could keep an eye on my companion behind me. The young man from the bus stop took a seat near the back. The drunk man stood next to us, still trying to somehow charm us with his inebriation. I tried ignoring him again. He pulled out his cell phone and told me he wanted our number. As he got louder and louder and closer and closer to my face, I noticed the man from the bus stop watching our one-sided conversation very closely.
It's interesting to note that, while the bus wasn't crowded, the seats were all full. But no one said anything, most people just staring mutely into their laps or out the window into the night. The one exception was the man from the bus stop, who continued to watch intently.
At this point, I started wondering how best to get out of the situation. We had only encountered such persistence once before, and that was with a smooth, sober man in a crowded piazza in the middle of the day. Late at night on a bus was less ideal for warding off would-be wooers, especially drunk ones. I considered the options. The bus line does end, eventually. Once we'd been through every stop, in theory he would have to get off. However, that would potentially leave us far from home in a remote neighborhood alone with a bus driver and this burly drunk Romanian. Although we could stay on the bus, it would sit at the last stop for five or ten minutes, the driver would get out to smoke, and we would be stuck. Even assuming he did eventually leave, we would have to ride the circuit all the way back home, putting us out way past curfew.
Alternatively, we could follow our original plan, getting off at our stop and heading for home. Maybe he would give up when we exited. However, men had followed us off the bus in the past. That's just fine in midday, but even major bus stops are frequently deserted at night. While not great, this option was the most likely to get us home on time. So, I decided to take it. As we approached our stop, my companion and I stood up to leave. The Romanian announced that he too was getting off here. Fortunately, the young man who had been watching us intently moved toward the exit at the back of the bus. At least we would have a potential ally once we got off.
Then, as the bus pulled to a stop, the solution came to me. Thanking heaven that we both spoke English, if not Italian, I instructed my companion to stay on the bus. The doors opened and I beckoned for our friend to get off. "This is your stop, right?" I asked. What could he do? He was too drunk to come up with a good excuse, so he had to get off. Once he did, I saw the young man from the back of the bus walk over toward him, looking around for us. As the doors closed, he saw that we had stayed on the bus, our eyes met and I hope he understood that we were grateful for his help. He nodded to me, acknowledging that we were safe, and the bus pulled away.
My companion and I exited at the next stop, half a block away. Thanks to those wonderful Roman city walls, there was no way our ardent admirer could see us. We went home a different way, home not more than two minutes later than we might otherwise have been.
Having a brand new companion is, in many ways, like being a mother. I think I felt most like a mom when trying to help protect her from creepy men. I was happy to help, but it's kind of lonely when you're the only one who knows where you're going or how to communicate with people. I was grateful, that night, for someone else in the world who was worried for our welfare. As President Kimball said, "God does watch over us and does notice us, but it usually through someone else that he meets our needs." No angels necessary when a concerned Italian will do.
*Sorry about all the mission stories. I guess that's when everything interesting happened to me. More likely, it's just a very condensed period of meeting new people and having new experiences. So there are lots of stories to tell. And I want these recorded somewhere for when I've forgotten them. Truly, this is a selfish pursuit.
