One Winter Weekend

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

T ears streamed down Molly’s face as she wound her way through the cobblestone streets and back alleys of the beloved city of her dreams.

The sun had set on Rome, and everywhere she looked, shops were closing up, their darkened windows displaying clothes of red and green and large, intricately decorated signs proclaiming, BUON NATALE.

It was too much to take. What had she been thinking, bringing her and Ben’s families here?

Since she was a little girl, all she’d ever dreamed about was a romantic Christmas wedding in Rome.

She knew the place so well she felt almost like an honorary Roman. She knew the sites by heart, knew the history of the city and the empire that bore its name, the names of the great men and women who had made this the single most legendary Italian city in the world.

And one of the most important things she’d planned for her wedding day was bringing the guests to the Trevi Fountain after the ceremony, to carry out the famed tradition of throwing coins in the fountain.

But would any of her guests truly want to return to Rome? And more to the point, after this trip, would Molly want to?

She passed by the Pantheon, its columns illuminated by a row of Christmas trees lit up along the piazza in front.

It was beautiful and looked so magically festive in such glorious surrounds, but for once, failed to lift her spirits.

She continued walking, eventually crossing the Tiber and coming up on Vatican City.

St. Peter’s Basilica glowed in the sun’s fading light.

I’m usually so entranced by this , she thought glumly. What’s wrong with me?

But she knew exactly what was wrong: Ben. Why hadn’t he stood up to his parents back there? How could he let his mother say such things about her family – and to her?

She could never have imagined sitting idly by while Paddy or Helen said similar things about Ben.

How can we recover from this? she wondered as she found herself walking past the Castel Sant’Angelo.

She knew the answer to this, too: maybe they couldn’t. This was it .

She was in her city of her dreams, at her favourite time of the year…supposedly to marry the man of her dreams, and now everything was ruined.

All because of stuck-up Patricia Pembrey and her penchant for wine and haughtiness.

Molly saw a tram coming and decided to escape for a while.

She bought a ticket and jumped randomly on the departing #19 and took a seat in the back.

She gazed longingly out the window, watching her beloved Eternal City passing by, wishing for something – anything – to give her that familiar burst of inspiration.

It wasn’t forthcoming. Everywhere she seemed to look now, she saw commercialism, tourist traps, and big-city trappings.

There was no magic here anymore, she decided sadly; it was like just any another city.

The accents might be different, the language more melodic-sounding, and the skin tones a bit darker, but a city was still a city. Her parents were right; she should have just got married back home.

Married . She cringed. Was she still getting married? She loved Ben, certainly – but she simply couldn’t handle his mother being the way she was. And if he wouldn’t stand up to Patricia, stand up for his new wife, his new family, this simply was not to be.

She shook her head, and got off the tram to unfamiliar surroundings. The sign designated this area Piazza Buenos Aires, but she was pretty sure she’d never been here before.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been travelling, nor exactly where she was either. She shrugged and trudged on dejectedly.

That was when she saw it.

It wasn’t quite a clock tower – there was no clock on it – but it nonetheless rang out, a bell tower dressed up in its festive finest, beautiful brown Tuscan architecture housing tresses that seemed to stretch up into the sky.

Molly walked towards the structure, entranced.

Suddenly, as the tower rose in front of her, she came upon an archway, lit up with fairy lights, a face in the centre almost gazing down upon her, beckoning her to enter. Where was this?

Balconies like something out of Romeo and Juliet adorned buildings that almost looked like miniature castles. Cars, apartments, trees, and green grassy areas were all smashed up against each other in a thoroughly confusing fashion.

The entire area was decorated with white fairy lights, while multicoloured bulbs hung from the tent coverings of pop-up cafes along the street.

She heard a rhythmic beating from somewhere nearby: a drum circle, replete with locals dancing in time had apparently sprung up in a nearby park.

The winter wind blew chilly now, but no one seemed to care.

Molly turned around in full circle, in awe of what she had just stumbled upon. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, taking it all in. This was the magic of Rome she knew.

It wasn’t in the historical sites or the typical trappings of the ancient city she’d shown her parents – it was here , in this place, wherever it was, with these people, obviously locals, dancing and singing and being festive. The lifeblood.

She grinned as she found herself swaying to the beat, smiles of joy now replacing tears of heartbreak and frustration.

This was her Rome.