Florence Waited

Julie walked to The Bargello Museum. The narrow streets and massive buildings felt comforting. Florence was built on a more human, intimate scale than Manhattan skyscrapers, which she hated, but not suburban-like her home in Pennington with grassy yards and empty windows, which she hated too. Things in Florence were old, but historically old, not falling apart old. The streets were treeless, but many buildings had atriums with private gardens hidden from view unless a door opened. Julie enjoyed spying on them as she passed.

Her feet hurt from the walk despite wearing sensible shoes. Once inside the museum, she sat on the first empty bench and observed the eager museum visitors trek up two long flights of stairs to the galleries, a stream of insects carrying digital cameras and smartphones on selfie sticks. The Florence architects never located anything significant on the ground floor, and elevators were non-existent. They designed each building to guard the critical stuff thirty feet up from warring hoards or flash floods. They’d had both. She’d read The Bargello Museum in the oldest building in Florence, was a barracks and a jail once.

She closed her eyes and relaxed. It was still a novelty to have nothing expected of her and no one to please. Her mother always sensed when Julie would steal a few minutes to read or linger outside enjoying a sunset. She’d call for Julie to help her with some urgent need and shatter the quiet.

She’d come to The Bargello Museum specifically to see the bronze David statue she’d admired in art books. It always intrigued her that the artist, Donatello, had chosen such a slight boy for his model, unlike the muscular youth portrayed in Michelangelo’s marble statue across town in dell’Accademia. Goliath was a giant, after all, and even Michelangelo’s massive David looked beatable. But Donatello’s David was a real loser. Goliath would have found him laughable, even ridiculous. Pictures in books could be deceptive, so she wanted to see both ‘Davids’ for herself.

Julie caught herself nodding off on the bench and left The Bargello with Donatello’s David statue unseen. Jet lag hit hard. She’d return another day. She leisurely strolled to her hotel, enjoying window shopping in the shoe, clothing, and pottery stores along the way.

Her hotel, The St. Regis, situated in an elegant 18^th-century building, was expensive and unlikely to attract a young crowd or noisy tour groups. Her mother would have chosen something cheaper on a side street. Julie was given the Botticelli Room with views of the Arno River and the Duomo. She opened the balcony doors and surveyed the afternoon activity in the plaza and across the river from the third floor – crowds of tourists assembled on the Ponte Vecchio for the approaching sunset. Couples strode, hand in hand, in small groups or rode bicycles in tandem along the river road. Not many solo walkers.

Years ago, when her parents contacted Julie for help, she gave up her tiny apartment and tedious job in a craft store in Princeton to move back into her childhood bedroom. Her friends in the area initially tried to include her in evening and weekend activities, but as years passed by, they started having babies or moved away for better jobs. Julie could hardly leave her parents alone for more than a few hours, anyway.

At first, Julie felt lucky not to have to make the big life decisions that were so easy to get wrong, like her brief marriage, which was probably her fault. She’d only married because she assumed it was the next step after college, and he asked. The longer she lived with her parents, the more frightened she was of leaving. She had no desire to challenge their demands on her, neither thinking of anything but the present nor dreaming of a different future for herself as half a couple. Their marriage counselor felt Julie’s husband needed medication and many years of therapy. She advised Julie to move on. According to her mother, Julie had never been accused of being pretty since she was a little girl. 

She kicked off her sneakers and crawled into the expansive bed. A cool breeze from the balcony teased her into sleep.  She dreamed she was dancing alone in the Piazza with the music surrounding her. Wearing a flowing, vivid blue dress, she pirouetted gracefully, moving across the pavement as if she were weightless.