Almost Venice

I stood on the platform in Florence for an hour and a half, hoping as hard as I could that I had gotten the time wrong. That maybe it was the next train…
I had arrived at the meeting place in front of the train station at 9:04 AM. I was four minutes late, but surely this would not have any great effect. I absolutely beamed with pride at the packing I had done: everything I would need for two days in my little Prada purse. I was too tickled with myself, swinging my little bag on my arm, allowing my back to be prominently displayed with all of its non-backpack wearing glory. My ticket was with the friend I was waiting for, so at 9:15 I checked the departure board for my platform, just in case. I was to depart from platform nine. I returned to my post. At 9:20, panic building, I did a lap along the platform, perhaps my friends were already inside? I raced to the meeting spot one more time, pacing frantically, then at 9:28 AM I sprinted to the platform, just in time to watch my train to Venice leave without me.
Maybe I was wrong! I thought desperately to myself. Maybe it was the next train? I resumed my post and waited. Tours passed in and out of the station. American kids shouted with glee upon noting McDonalds. A girl sprinted off toward a bus she just caught. I stood alone. My Prada purse suddenly heavy with clothes and disappointment.