26. Indie #2
Maybe a necessary crumbling. Sometimes things need to be broken to be repaired better. Sometimes we gut houses of rot and upgrade them, reinforcing the old bones because they’re good—they’re built to last—they just need help.
Maybe Teddy is getting help. For all my anger and heartbreak, I hope he is. He doesn’t deserve Dawn as his mother. No one does, if we’re being honest.
At breakfast the next morning, delivered to my room again, there is a drawing.
I built walls I thought were protecting you.
They were just pushing you out.
I’ll tear down every one, brick by brick.
Then there’s me, sitting on top of a half-crumbled wall, smiling up at the sky.
Through the mess of brick is a bear that looks beaten down, bloody, and dusty, like he just ran through the wall to break it.
The detail in his eyes makes my breath catch.
Pain and relief captured perfectly. Like it truly hurt him to break the wall, but he did it anyway.
For me.
My fingers gently trace the bear’s head.
Florence is something else entirely.
It’s like stepping into a piece of artwork, stepping into the past. The energy here feels calmer to me, or maybe I feel calmer because of the fun I’ve had over the last two weeks.
It helps that the girls and I chat almost daily, and give me ideas on where to visit.
Go see the pig! Lupita had texted me, and I smiled, knowing just what she meant. I went back and forth with it, thinking maybe it was just nonsensical, but when in Florence, do as the tourists do.
I stand in front of Il Porcellino—the piglet fountain. Tradition is that you rub its snout, and it ensures a return to Florence. Then you make a wish, drop a coin into its mouth, and if it falls through the lower grate, the wish will be granted.
I wait, along with other tourists speaking different languages, all gathered in this one place, hoping for good luck. Children giggle when they walk up to the silly-looking pig; adults take photos and laugh with each other, believing, for one moment, in the magic.
And when it’s my turn, I step up and rub its snout. The statue is bronze, but the snout is a golden color from people touching it, which makes me smile. Closing my eyes, I consider my wish for a moment.
What do I want most at this moment?
For Bluewater to go well.
For me to like New Jersey.
For me to have a successful rest of my trip.
For my heart to mend itself, though it feels like that is happening day by day.
And then I realize it all comes down to one thing.
“I wish for peace,” I whisper.
For me. First and foremost.
…and for him, too.
I place the coin in its mouth, hear it clank, and watch it fall down through the grate.
“Huh,” I say with a grin, before stepping back and letting someone else make their wish.
The entire walk to dinner, there’s a smile on my face, and I feel Ellie’s hand on my shoulder.
At the Uffizi Gallery, I study The Birth of Venus, the goddess of beauty and love, standing on the scallop shell. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. The design and care put into the painting—beautiful. And still, I kept turning to the side, my hand twitching.
The ache of missing him has lessened, or maybe it’s been replaced by the joy of all the wonderful sights I’ve been seeing. Or maybe I am finally healing. Maybe that pig is fulfilling the wish, or maybe it’s me… or maybe it’s him.
I’m a doctor, and I never like to deal in maybes, but… maybe this trip is changing me.
For the better.
I feel more relaxed, less stressed, and less rigid.
I had an entire itinerary planned out for this vacation, down to the minute, and I threw it out the window after the first day.
I ate enough gluten-free pasta to cause a wonderful stomachache.
I don’t set an alarm anymore to wake up; I sleep until I feel rested.
I had it built up in my head for so long, planned it so strictly, that I forgot to take a look around and enjoy it.
On my next-to-last day in Florence, I’m almost expecting it at this point.
I don’t even know how he’s doing it. I know he knows which hotels I booked, and I talked about them with him, and I’m sure he’s also getting confirmation emails, but I don’t know how he’s getting the drawings to the hotel staff to leave on the tray.
But I don’t feel smothered, because I haven’t seen him since London. I was saying guardian angel sardonically, but… he kind of has turned into that.
Dropping off gifts and good luck while staying out of sight. Letting me choose him—or not.
And it is appreciated.
While the wound is still there, it’s scabbing over now, soon to be a scar and a story. To be remembered.
“What did you draw me as today?” I joke as I chew on my breakfast, but when I flip the paper over, I drop it on the bed in shock. “Oh…”
It’s beautiful. The most beautiful, detailed one by far.
It’s like Florence made something inside of him come alive.
The passion bleeds through every line. The shading is careful and meticulous.
I don’t know that much about art, only what I’ve looked up myself so I could talk with Teddy about it, but this… this is divine.
It’s The Birth of Venus, only I’m the goddess of beauty and love. Standing on the shell, my hair and hands tastefully covering my body, with a serene look on my face. I lift the page closer, studying the details, and feel my breath stutter.
And my eyes drift to the right, where a big bear sits on the grass, a cloak in its mouth to cover me.
I stare at it for so long that I’m startled when a tear drops onto the paper, thankfully nowhere near the charcoal. I gently blot off the wetness and place the paper down, wiping my eyes. Then I see the caption at the bottom, and it only brings on new tears.
You are a masterpiece.
“Idiot,” I blubber, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at my eyes.
I press the paper to my heart, as if I can fuse it into my body. Love aches sharply inside me, and then it levels out. Like when your lungs are burning, and you finally surface after being under for too long.
A releasing kind of pain.
The anger is still there, calcified and strong.
And my heart is mending itself slowly, city by city.
But under the anger is something else.
Not forgiveness. Not yet. No, it’s peace.
And that’s what I cling to.