August 8th
It’s funny—in some ways, an archaeological excavation is just reading a story in reverse. That’s all stratigraphy is, really. The top of the soil is the end of the story, and the bottom is the beginning. And as we are digging up the past, the layer that we start with is the layer that the grave ends with. By removing each one, we travel back in time, further and further, until we finally reach the bottom. Until we reach the start. I think I like that.
Anyway, my plane leaves in three hours and I still can’t get my boots to fit in my suitcase. I have no idea how I got them in there in the first place! I think I’ll miss this apartment in the end, even with the roaches. Even with the blistering heat and cracked-tile floors. Even after everything that happened.
I better get moving. Still have to make my way to the city before my flight leaves, and I know firsthand just how tight the roads out of here can get. So, I suppose, dear diary, that this is goodbye. And if I make it home, I’ll burn you.
August 7th
Right. I think I’ve recovered. Touch and go for a second there. I swear, I’ve never seen anyone party as hard as the Italians. I don’t think any of them remember anything. And I don’t think any of them suspect.
August 6th
I have never been more hungover in my life. God, I feel sick just writing this.
August 5th
Early start, around 5am. We shut down the site today, had to return all tools and take inventory. They noticed a spade was missing. We tarpaulined the active digs, but the completed sections of the necropolis were backfilled. The site manager (thankfully) said that it would be a tripping hazard to leave Roman cist tombs open like that. New students will arrive next month to continue with the other graves, but ours is tidy and packed with the sifted soil. No one will dig there again. Pierre is safely tucked away in labeled baggies and has been taken to the lab. A skeleton in the closet—so to speak. It feels so strange knowing that it’s over. That it’s all over. Done and dusted.
The missing spade is a problem though. I hope they don’t jump down our throats about it. Or to conclusions. If they bring it up, I’ll just offer to buy them a round of drinks. That usually works.
August 4th
Okay, so, I have a plan. I have no idea if it’ll work, but I need to try. I only need to stick it out here for another few days, then I’ll be gone. Just a few days, then I can leave this all behind me. I have to leave this all behind me.
August 3rd
My hands are shaking. I don’t even know what to say. How can I say anything? I can barely hold the pencil. I’m supposed to be journaling my field notes right now. My supervisor is watching. But I can’t, how can I when I know he’s there? It’s nearly noon, the heat, the smell. Someone’s going to notice. Someone is going to find him.
—Supine individual in grave 6b fully excavated today, with skeletal remains packaged for transport to the museum laboratory. The individual is mostly complete, with only three distal phalanges, the left hamate, and hyoid identified as missing. This, alongside the pristine collection of 24 glass beads and golden bracelet excavated on August 1st, is an impressively complete find for the region. The in-field biological profile suggests—
Oh thank God, she’s gone. It’s like everyone is looking over my shoulder. I have to do something. I can’t just…leave him there.
August 2nd
Something happened. Something terrible happened. I swear it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything. He just fell. He fell and stopped moving. Stopped breathing. That’s what happened. He was standing, right there in front of me, and then he wasn’t. I didn’t touch him! I barely touched him. We shouldn’t have gone back out there, I know that. It’s way too dangerous in the dark, and the roads are awful. But he said we had to, that we had to finish the dig before he left. What was I supposed to do, say no? We put in all that work and the site manager was going to take it all away from us. That’s what he said, that the site manager was going to take all the credit for what we did. For what we found. Had they just let us dig the way we wanted to, then none of this would have happened.
I just wanted some credit. Is that so wrong? I wanted some credit for the work I was doing. I was the one who found the grave. I was the one who opened it. So, yeah, I went with him to finish the dig. And then he turns around and pulls the same shit as the manager, saying that this was his discovery? That he’s going to submit our find to a journal without me? I barely touched him. We were yelling, that’s all. I had the right to yell, after what he said. I barely touched him. Except to move him. Except to check if he—
What was I supposed to do? We were trespassing, we were fighting. I ran. I just left and ran. I’m surprised I could find my way back, I could never have found help in time! What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? What is there to say?
August 1st
Unbelievable! I mean absolutely, awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping unbelievable. You think you’ll be ready. You see it in books and documentaries. You see artifacts in museums and archaeologists in movies. But to find something yourself? Oh man. When my brush slid across the surface of the first blue bead, nothing could have prepared us for that. And they just kept coming, Pierre was covered in them. I found 14 and he found 10. We think it’s unheard of for the area. The lab might be able to give us a more precise timeframe, but the beads date the grave to the 1st century CE. Incredible.
He kissed me behind the olive tree. I have never been kissed like that before. I hope I’m only ever kissed like that again. We only have one more day. What am I going to do without him?
In typical fashion, when the site manager saw the beads we were pulling, he told us to stand down. Said that he’d take over the dig from there, make sure that the context was preserved. And of course, that’s when he finds a gold bracelet on Pierre’s arm. Ridiculous. That was our find. We did the excavation exactly the same way he did. It can’t be allowed to stand.
July 31st
After several days of slow, meticulous digging and scraping, it finally happened. Our grave is now opened properly! From what we can tell, it contains a single individual lying on their back. We haven’t exposed much of the skeleton yet, so I can’t provide a sex estimation. But we decided to nickname the bones Pierre. He says he’s sure the skeleton is male, anyway. I’m not sure how he knows, but I trust him.
The site manager came by around lunch and seemed satisfied with our progress. But he did make a remark about us being distracted. Which seems entirely uncalled for, as we’re doing the best work at the dig, frankly. Who cares if we steal a kiss during our breaks? Not me, that’s for sure.
After the manager left, he tucked my hair behind my ear and said that he’d like to take me to Paris. That’s why he chose the name Pierre for our skeleton. His voice makes me feel like I’ve been filled with warm honey. Oh, take me to Paris.
Then we went out for pasta and wine. He didn’t like the ravioli but I thought it was simply divine. I think he must have better taste than me, or at least, a more refined palate. I’m glad we ate out at any rate because the apartment kitchen was a mess when we got back. I know it’s Europe in the summer, but I really struggle to understand why they tolerate roaches in the apartment. It’s like the field school doesn’t really care about the students’ wellbeing. Luckily for me, he squished it with the heel of his boot as soon as he saw it.
July 30th
Pathetic. I am absolutely pathetic. I had a dream about him. A good dream. A very good dream. The days are hot as hell, but somehow the nights are still cold enough to get into your bones. The field school only gave us sheets for our beds. No blankets. So, it’s easy to find yourself awake in the chilly apartment far earlier than you’d like, and before everyone else. But at least I had a good dream.
The men and women sleep in different rooms here. Seems ridiculous for university students, we’re adults after all. But, even so, I can almost feel him there, through the wall. It’s like I can feel his lips on mine at this very moment. We have so little time before he goes, I want to savor every single moment. Pathetic. I can’t wait until breakfast.
He’ll be at breakfast.
July 29th
Something amazing happened today. I was doing a surface survey of the north section of the necropolis and spotted an anomaly in the loam. The site manager thinks it’s a new grave and chose me to start the excavation. And when the manager asked for a volunteer to help me, guess who raised his hand! That has to mean he’s serious about this. About us. What else could it mean? God, how is this feeling even better than being chosen to excavate? How is this feeling even possible at all? I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so happy.
The grave we’ll be working on together is in a secluded part of the site. The only company we’ll have is a lonely olive tree at the edge of the necropolis. We’ll be able to hear anyone coming from a mile away. I’ve never felt so happy.
July 28th
Okay, okay, I have to describe today from the beginning. Because it was just so perfect. Not only did he grab me a muffin for breakfast this morning, and sit next to me on the bus to the site, he also carried my tools to the dig for me. I told him he didn’t need to, but he insisted. It was so gentlemanly, he went on and on about how my hands were too soft to do it myself and that he was happy to help. Of course this was silly, I mean, we’re on an archaeological dig together. I don’t care about getting my hands dirty. But it was so considerate. And he was clearly thinking about my soft hands, so who am I to complain!
And then, right before we broke for lunch, he came over to say hello and check out the work I was doing. He even noticed that I hadn’t kept my layers perfectly straight and offered to help smooth them out before the site manager came around. The manager is really nit-picky—like, too much so. It’s getting a little grating, actually.
Anyway, on our way back to the apartment, the bus got stuck on one of those narrow roads into town. We had to wait an extra hour before we could get towed out. And while we were waiting (he was sitting next to me again) he brushed my leg with the back of his hand. It was so quick, I actually wondered if it was by accident! I swear, I have never seen such attractive hands in my life. But it was definitely not by accident because, when we got back, he offered to buy me one of those little spinach pastries that he knows I like. We walked through town together, until we reached the sea.
And then he kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me.
He even apologized for not doing it sooner. Apparently, he’s just a really private person and didn’t want anyone from the field school to see us. He likes to keep his personal and professional lives separate, you know? We’re all going out for drinks later tonight, and I’ll be honest, I have never been so optimistic about someone.
July 27th
I have no idea what to think. No, really. Zero clue. We have to wake up early to head to the excavation, right? Usually out the door and on the bus between 5 and 6 am. That way we’re not working in the hot sun—July in Italy is no joke. Blistering even. So, we’re usually out of bed and at breakfast by 4:30. He didn’t turn up to breakfast at all today, which was strange because he’s normally the first one there. He did make it to the bus on time, and smiled at me when he got on, but then he sat next to someone else. Which is fine, but I couldn’t help but think that maybe I embarrassed myself last night? Or maybe I’m overthinking things? He sat at the same table as me over lunch, and then again when we all went out for dinner. So, he clearly doesn’t mind being around me. But maybe he’s trying to keep his distance? Oh God, I really hope I haven’t messed this up.
July 26th
I can’t believe everything that happened today. I will be honest! I’m a teenybit tipsy. But I have to journal it down before I forget. We went to the dig this morning, which was awesome. But get this. After we got back, the beautiful, blue-eyed man was buying me drinks all night. Yes, that’s right, the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life was buying me drinks. Gin and lemonades. Delicious. And we talked and talked. Everyone else went back to the apartment before us, but he said we should stay out longer and get to know each other better. So I was like of course how could I not. Apparently, he is from the UK, which obviously. That accent! Somewhere called Exeter. I think it’s close to London. And he’s doing a PhD in Classics. I was like, wow, and here I am just doing my bachelor’s degree. He has to leave the dig early though, because he has his doctoral defence in August. He’s really just here as a fun break, which is so cool he can just do that. I had to apply for a whole scholarship to fund my place here, and I’m so lucky to have gotten it too, a lot of my classmates applied and they’re all incredible. So, it was super competitive. But imagine just being able to turn up for fun, so impressive. We walked back to the apartment together and I swear those floor tiles in the front, those cracked ones, are trying to murder me. I must have tripped or something, but guess who was there to catch me. The way his hands scooped me up like I was a feather sent butterflies flying in my stomach. You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that way before. Okay, right. I need to sleep now. Not long before breakfast.
July 25th
Before I left home, everyone warned me about the Italian men. The most beautiful men in the world, they said. They will charm you and flirt. Call you “Bella” and buy you limoncello. No one said anything about the British men.
And, oh, the British men. They should have warned me about the British men. How is it that a rolled-up button-down shirtsleeve turns the forearm into sexiest part of the human body? And why is it that I can’t stop staring at the forearms of a man I only just met? Oh yeah, I met a man. A British man with a glorious accent, incredible blue eyes, and just the sexiest forearms I have ever seen. How does one even do that, have sexy forearms?
He’s a graduate student, I think. We didn’t get to speak much. It was the welcome party after all, and there was always someone interrupting. The site manager and my supervisor were passing around drinks most of the night as well. Everyone here seems great. Some really smart people too. We head to the excavation for the first time tomorrow. Maybe I’ll be able to have a chat with the beautiful, blue-eyed stranger on the way.
July 24th
I love starting a fresh diary. And the timing is perfect because guess what? I have officially landed in Italy! It’s my first time out of the country and it is so beautiful. From here, I head directly to the archaeological field school. If I can find a taxi, that is. They’ve got a big apartment near the dig. I’m so excited for the next two weeks. It feels like—I don’t know. It just feels like anything and everything is possible.
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