JENNY KERR

Retrospective 

Turns out there are two Number 17s. In hindsight, I should have noticed that on the Trieste bus map unfolded over the kitchen table like a stiff tablecloth. The idea was to catch the Number 17 bus to the Van Gogh exhibit, thereby learning the city’s bus system and simultaneously having a cultural experience, even if Van Gogh was Dutch not Italian.  

In hindsight, I should have purchased a paper bus ticket instead of relying on the phone app, because electronic tickets need to be activated while on the bus — in this case the wrong Number 17 — which hypothetically works fine if you have paid for international data on your phone line. I shouldn’t have panicked when the wrong Number 17 took a turn east, when I knew full well that the museum was south. 

I also should have chosen a quieter time of day for my inaugural ride instead of rush hour, so when I asked the elegantly manicured woman sitting next to me in inglese where I should get off for the museum, twenty five people wouldn’t have heard her answer: the last stop. And now I know that if I push the Request-Stop-Now-For-Goodness-Sakes button, I should exit the doors closest to that button, not try to mi scusi my way to a farther door, because the driver might not open it, and I will have to retreat using my umbrella as a baton of sorts.  

If I visit again, I’ll know to bring headphones for the downloadable audio guide and the WIFI password will already be stored in my phone, so I won’t need to ask the cashier to type it in for me after three failed attempts. Revoltella with a capital R is not easy to spell when there are so many people waiting impatiently in line. And I’ll visit the bathroom on the first floor before making my way to the fourth, because if there’s anything Italians do well, it’s stairs. And I’ll tuck a bottle of hand sanitizer into the pocket of my small purse next to my headphones. That’s just in case they’re out of soap again. I will not stash it in my backpack, because that will need to be checked in a locker by the cashier who might already be annoyed. 

If I visit again, I’ll sit longer on the bench in front of Portrait of a Young Peasant, waiting until school groups pass, taking care to notice how it’s actually the long brushstrokes of red in the shirt that makes the blades of grass appear so green. I’ll sit there for a long time thinking.  

And speaking of green, if I return, I’ll know not to get on the Number 17 green line. I’ll wait for the brown one. 

Jenny Kerr resides in Corvallis, Oregon (United States) where she works as 8th grade English teacher. When she’s not reading her students’ poetry and short stories, she writes her own.