Jillian

Jillian by Peggy Rockey

Prompt: Rome | Word Count: 1200 Words Exactly | Genre: Fiction
Due Date: May 22, 2019

Crisp new Euros were burning a hole in my pocket as I passed through Campo De Fiori. I’d just sold a painting and I so wanted to celebrate. The market was lively; throngs of locals and tourists wandered among the stalls, voices raised to be heard above street musicians and the blare of nearby traffic. Exhaust from a passing bus blended with the scents of the piazza, flowers, spices, perfume, and hair spray, of the occasional unwashed body. Normally I loved the chaotic activity of the market, but today it just served to remind me that I was alone.

I really wanted to stop at one of the outdoor cafes where people sipped their orange spritzes and ate bruschetta in the hot afternoon. But Giorgio’s unpleasant frown came to mind, as I recalled the landlord’s threat to evict me if I didn’t pay the lease today.

Thanks to the Galleria Varsi, I now had enough Euros to pay the rent, with a little left over for groceries. And maybe some oil paints, if I shopped carefully. I’d been elated when the gallery agreed to show three of my paintings, but after two months, I’d just about given up hope they would sell. Now I thanked my lucky stars one had; but damn, did the stars have to cut it so close?

Reluctantly, I left the piazza and caught a bus into Trastevera. I was making a mental grocery list as I got off at my stop and turned onto Via Angelo Tittoni, where I found a young girl sitting just outside the door to my apartment building. She was rocking back and forth, knees hugged to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” She was wearing a school uniform, and couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen. She looked up at me, green eyes brimming with heartbreak and sorrow.

“Oh! I know you, don’t I?” I spoke in English, intuiting the girl to be a fellow American. “Well, of course I don’t know you, but you live in the building here with your Dad, right?”

“Uh huh,” the girl replied with a hiccup. She wiped at her tears and scrambled to her feet. “I’ve just had the crappiest day ever. I lost my best friend over a stupid fight, she won’t talk to me anymore and the kids at school are always mean to me. I don’t speak good Italian, and I don’t have any friends. My Dad is depressed all the time, and I just want to go back home.”

The words came out in a rush as fresh tears started spilling again. I felt empathy kicking into high gear, wanting to make this girl feel better, but didn’t know what to say. On impulse I asked, “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?”

She hesitated for a moment, studying me carefully before she shrugged, running a hand through messy, curly blond hair. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Come on. My name’s Sheri,” I held my hand out to the girl.

“I’m Jillian,” came the reply, along with a firm handshake that made me think we were going to be fast friends, even though I was twice her age.

She told me about her Mom dying of cancer last year, as we waited for the lift, and proceeded to the top floor, where we found Giorgio looming just outside my door.

“Miss Corrigan,” his deep voice always surprised me, with his short stature and all.

“It’s ok, Giorgio. I have the rent.” I pulled the wad of Euros from my pocket, counting out the amount of the lease.

“You’re fifteen days past due, Miss Corrigan, there’s a fifty Euro late fee as well.”

I added the additional cash to the stack, trying to hide my consternation. No chance for art supplies now, I thought, sending a silent plea up to my lucky stars for a quick sale of another painting.

“Next month I will not be so lenient,” Giorgio warned. “There are others who wish to lease your flat. Have your payment to me by the fifth, or you will be evicted.”

I pretended nonchalance as I assured the landlord I would pay the lease on time. I had no way to make that happen without selling another painting, unless I could find another job, now that the contract job that brought me to Rome ended last month. I turned away, unlocked the door to my flat and ushered Jillian inside.

“Wowwowww!” Jillian’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide as she scanned the flat.

I looked around, trying to see my apartment through Jillian’s eyes. It was colorful and messy. Clean laundry on the couch, waiting to be folded; breakfast dishes left on the coffee table. Mostly the place was cluttered with all the weird stuff I’d collected as subjects for my paintings, along with a smattering of art supplies, and two easels I’d strategically placed to catch light from the wide windows.

“This is the coolest apartment I’ve ever seen,” Jillian gushed. “This is like my dream house, all normal from the outside, but wonderful and crazy inside. I can’t believe you live here! Look at all these paintings. Did you do these?”

Jillian’s whole demeanor had been transformed from sadness to avid curiosity and interest.

“I did. Would you like to paint with me?”

“Oh! Could I?”

So we did. Jillian selected the biggest canvas she could find, and painted with lots of bright colors. She used like ten or twelve brushes and when we finished, about an hour later, her face had changed completely. She was beaming!

“You should give me lessons! I know my Dad would pay you for it. Please say you will?”

It would certainly help, I thought; knowing that Giorgio would not hesitate to evict me if I didn’t have the rent on time. Knowing I would probably have to leave Rome or beg my parents for money if I couldn’t find a way to make it on my own.

“Yeah, maybe. If your Dad approves, I’d be happy to. I liked having you around today.”

Jillian’s smile widened, her eyes bright with happiness. “Let’s go ask him now!”

I agreed, and as we traversed down the hallway to the lift, I couldn’t help but remember how I had found her, dejected and crying. It pleased me that I had been able to make her feel better, and at that same time, I realized that she had done the same for me. Here I’d been feeling alone and out sorts, but my art had make Jillian feel better about herself and lifted us both up out of a dark place. I thought how lucky I was to be able to live, and paint, here in Rome, and now, I had a friend to share that with.

“Dad, come meet my new friend,” Jillian called, enthusiastically, as we entered her flat. “I just know you guys are gonna love each other,” she proclaimed, prophetically, as her dad entered the room.

He was ruggedly handsome, disheveled and, I thought, utterly adorable.

Jillian grinned mischievously. “Maybe it’ll be love at first sight!”