Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 57

                I can travel. The answer comes to me, swimming through the mist. The world is mine to see and I can appear anywhere I want in an instant, based on whim or something stronger.

                Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. Of course I’ll stick to the places Penny would have wanted to see. I think I’d subconsciously gravitate to them anyway. Maybe that means the search isn’t over though. Maybe the world will pull us back together. Isn’t that what people say? The person you’re meant to be with will find you in the end. I think I have to trust that.

                I set off down the street, ridding myself of the tears that attempt to take me over.

                I walk for a while, taking in the sights that surround me. A fact that occurs to me as I walk around the city: Rome is big. Everything is big.

                You can be walking down the narrowest street, taking in the beautiful architecture, the cobbles, the high quality of clothing everyone decides to wear, turn a corner and be stood in front of the world’s biggest church, or most impressive fountain, or gargantuan temple.

                I use Penny’s guidebook to take me round the city. I decide to head for the Capitol Building as the book suggests it contains a museum. A consistent fact of my life that I have always been unable to shake, is that I’m a sucker for a museum.

                The sun is bright and the air is cool as I continue my solo walking tour. I flick through the guidebook as I go, reading Penny’s annotations. There are so many underlined passages, and folded down pages. She must be here somewhere, this is her city. It’s strange how you can make a place yours, even without visiting. Some places take on romantic images in our heads. Oases of perfection in a world we don’t have the time or patience to fully explore.

                In the back of my mind, the cruel voice whispers. If she’s here, why didn’t she take her guidebook?

                Of course there are a thousand answers. Maybe she doesn’t know she can touch things yet. Maybe she’s committed it to memory.

                I push the thoughts from my mind. They’re not good for my worrisome brain.

                I turn a corner and smile. The sign says ‘Finnegan’s’ and the pub is most definitely Irish.

                The green inside me can’t resist and in duck inside, glad to have found a slice of myself in a foreign place.