of the first week, Carlisle was on her way out for a morning stroll through the city when she bumped into another woman coming out of the first-floor apartment. “Oh my, it’s been so quiet down here, I wasn’t even sure anyone lived on the first floor,” said Carlisle as she looked up toward the woman who was at least half a head taller. She extended her hand, “I’m Carlisle. It’s nice to meet you.”
“What a relief to know there’s another woman in the building,” sighed Nicolette. “I’m Nicolette, by the way. The only other person I’ve seen here, besides my husband, is the disheveled-looking man in the gray suit. But I’ve only seen him twice. Creepy, to say the least.”
The two women ended up taking their conversation out to the front courtyard, and Carlisle happily put off her walk until later in the evening when the temperature would start to cool again. She’d been busy exploring, but had also felt a little lonesome from time to time. “Maybe this woman and I can become friends,” she thought.
Carlisle knew she and Nicolette made an unlikely pair who probably would not have been friends if they’d met stateside. But it was a different world in Italy, and their circumstances were anything but normal. Over the course of their conversation, Carlisle learned that Nicolette had come just about as far as she had to be in Verona, although for very different reasons. In a way, Nicolette and her husband were coming to something in Verona, while Carlisle’s mission was to get away.
They were a pair of opposites to be sure, Carlisle thought as her writer’s mind started viewing herself and her new friend as characters in a book. The two were physical opposites…one was tall, blonde and Hollywood-attractive, and the other was of average height, brunette with wholesome girl-next-door looks that most people described as cute. Carlisle shuddered at the word. She’d been called cute all her life and had thought it was fine until she’d read an article in a magazine during her late twenties that said “cute” was the consolation prize given to women who didn’t qualify as gorgeous, beautiful or pretty.
As for personality traits, Carlisle could see that Nicolette was a bit sarcastic, but she did have a knack for making things funnier with her sarcasm. It was clear the tall blonde would be the center of attention at any party, while Carlisle tended to skirt the perimeter of the room while hovering near the hors d’oeuvres or hiding behind a tall plant. Carlisle’s personality and outlook on life was the glass-half-full type—or at least it had been—while Nicolette was definitely a glass-half-empty woman who seemed to zero in on the negative. Perhaps they could balance each other out nicely, Carlisle had decided by the time they parted ways.
“My husband is in Siena until late Sunday morning,” Nicolette turned to say as she walked back toward her apartment. “If you’d like, we can meet here tomorrow morning and chat over cappuccino. In fact, we could meet regularly.”
“That would be lovely, Nicolette,” Carlisle responded, looking forward to some company and frequent morning chats.
During the day it was still a bit too hot to walk around and explore, so Carlisle often stayed in and daydreamed about the history of her apartment instead. She always did so under the guise of working on her book, but then she’d get lost in thought and, before she knew it, it was time to make dinner, take a siesta or go for an evening walk.
One evening toward the end of her second week there, Carlisle rounded a corner and came to a small piazza. It was an unexpected reward for venturing down a different street rather than retracing her steps back home like she usually did to avoid getting lost. She’d gone that way because of the music in the distance. Her curious nature would never allow her to ignore that if there was time to explore, so she followed the music and now stood at the point where the
“What a relief to know there’s another woman in the building,” sighed Nicolette. “I’m Nicolette, by the way. The only other person I’ve seen here, besides my husband, is the disheveled-looking man in the gray suit. But I’ve only seen him twice. Creepy, to say the least.”
The two women ended up taking their conversation out to the front courtyard, and Carlisle happily put off her walk until later in the evening when the temperature would start to cool again. She’d been busy exploring, but had also felt a little lonesome from time to time. “Maybe this woman and I can become friends,” she thought.
Carlisle knew she and Nicolette made an unlikely pair who probably would not have been friends if they’d met stateside. But it was a different world in Italy, and their circumstances were anything but normal. Over the course of their conversation, Carlisle learned that Nicolette had come just about as far as she had to be in Verona, although for very different reasons. In a way, Nicolette and her husband were coming to something in Verona, while Carlisle’s mission was to get away.
They were a pair of opposites to be sure, Carlisle thought as her writer’s mind started viewing herself and her new friend as characters in a book. The two were physical opposites…one was tall, blonde and Hollywood-attractive, and the other was of average height, brunette with wholesome girl-next-door looks that most people described as cute. Carlisle shuddered at the word. She’d been called cute all her life and had thought it was fine until she’d read an article in a magazine during her late twenties that said “cute” was the consolation prize given to women who didn’t qualify as gorgeous, beautiful or pretty.
As for personality traits, Carlisle could see that Nicolette was a bit sarcastic, but she did have a knack for making things funnier with her sarcasm. It was clear the tall blonde would be the center of attention at any party, while Carlisle tended to skirt the perimeter of the room while hovering near the hors d’oeuvres or hiding behind a tall plant. Carlisle’s personality and outlook on life was the glass-half-full type—or at least it had been—while Nicolette was definitely a glass-half-empty woman who seemed to zero in on the negative. Perhaps they could balance each other out nicely, Carlisle had decided by the time they parted ways.
“My husband is in Siena until late Sunday morning,” Nicolette turned to say as she walked back toward her apartment. “If you’d like, we can meet here tomorrow morning and chat over cappuccino. In fact, we could meet regularly.”
“That would be lovely, Nicolette,” Carlisle responded, looking forward to some company and frequent morning chats.
During the day it was still a bit too hot to walk around and explore, so Carlisle often stayed in and daydreamed about the history of her apartment instead. She always did so under the guise of working on her book, but then she’d get lost in thought and, before she knew it, it was time to make dinner, take a siesta or go for an evening walk.
One evening toward the end of her second week there, Carlisle rounded a corner and came to a small piazza. It was an unexpected reward for venturing down a different street rather than retracing her steps back home like she usually did to avoid getting lost. She’d gone that way because of the music in the distance. Her curious nature would never allow her to ignore that if there was time to explore, so she followed the music and now stood at the point where the
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