If Not Now Then When

“Ready?” Tyler asked, pausing at the subway exit. A thunderous blast rippled through Naples’ crooked streets, then—pop! pop! pop!—and the city fell quiet again. My stomach lurched. I wanted to retreat back down into the muggy warmth of the subway station, but I nodded. After all, it was New Year’s Eve.

The three of us—Tyler, an American soldier, Scarlett, the nomadic Australian, and I—moved quickly, glancing up at balconies for falling fireworks and breathing metallic smoke. Deep booms resounded in the distance, then far too close, and a car alarm blared in retaliation. “Italians are crazy, man,” Tyler said. “This feels like freaking Baghdad.” Scarlett laughed and ran her hand through her hair, silver bangles falling down her forearm. She grabbed my hand, which only magnified the danger and drama of it all. “Just up here,” she pointed. “We’re almost there.”

We climbed the last of the stairs to Castle Sant’Elmo hunched over and breathing heavy. Where the streets had been deserted, the castle’s scenic overlook was lined with Napolitanos: old ladies with scarves over their hair, children weaving in and out of the crowd, tall women in slinky dresses, and teenagers smoking cigarettes. Two men greeted each other with hugs and kisses on their cheeks, a bottle of champagne under the crook of each arm.

We found a spot along the brick wall, the city of Naples and its harbor stretched before us. I checked my watch: 11:52. We had made it just in time. “Champagne?” a woman with bright red lipstick offered, open bottle and plastic cups in each hand. “Tonight, you drink champagne!” We laughed and accepted, the bubbly drink overflowing onto our hands (“You never have too much,” she said with a wink). Then, it began: “Cinque, quattro, tre, due, uno…” At midnight, the sky erupted.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before. People shot fireworks off their roofs, in plazas, out of their windows, in the streets—the entire city lit up. My eyes couldn’t keep track of all of the flashing lights, much like the aerial view of a darkened stadium exploding with camera flashes. Strangers began hugging us, kissing our cheeks, wishing us “Felice anno nuovo!” and clinking our plastic cups. It was safe and unsettling, beautiful and terrifying. “I’ll never forget this New Year’s,” I said, amidst the excitement of it all.

“What?” Tyler shouted. He had his arm around Scarlett, their faces aglow from the fireworks.

“Nothing,” I said. “Felice anno nuovo!”