with that coyote grin I’d learned to hate, and strolled away into the darkness. I seethed with the same anger I’d felt when Wilbur brought that woman to my ethereal home. I wanted to break out of my ghostly prison again, and reclaim Simonetta’s body. I missed being her and I longed for my beloved Sandro.
Was it all a dream? Was any of it real? I was dead, after all, that much I knew, and I’d never dreamt in the spirit world before. I’d been fooled in life, and the coyote had set me straight, but what was he trying to tell me this time?
What was it?
I searched the cold, empty darkness for the answers. I searched within everything I knew to be true. I spiraled into a vortex of confusion; not knowing anymore what was real and what wasn’t. And then a hand was upon me. Flesh and blood.
But how could I feel it?
“Simonetta! He is here!”
Chapter 17
I opened the eyes I once again possessed, and found Antonella standing over me.
“He arrived earlier than expected,” Antonella proclaimed.
“What? Who?” I questioned in my foggy confusion.
“The painter! He is here!”
“Holy shit!” I bellowed, to the shock of Antonella. I jumped out of bed, now accustomed to my legs. My legs . Somehow this had become my world. The Ognissanti was the dream . I could hardly contain my excitement at being back, but realized I’d never really left. “Wait, Sandro is here?”
“Oh, is he Sandro now?” Antonella tsked. “You are to sit for him. Remember?
Oh no . Now I was in a time loop, like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day , doomed to relive the same day over and over until I got it right. What did I do wrong the last time? I shouldn’t have hugged Sandro. That was it! Or maybe, I shouldn’t have made him leave the Medici’s to go to the Miniato. Giuliano could have become horribly angry about our departure from the Palazzo Medici, and prevented Sandro from ever painting again. Or there was the possibility that I just hadn’t done enough to fix the relationship between Mariano and Sandro. The more I thought about it, it could have been anything I’d done or didn’t do.
I made up my mind to get it right this time. And yet, if I had to live any day again and again, it was a glorious day to be chosen.
“What should I wear for the sitting, Antonella?”
At least I knew what she was talking about this time around.
“I suppose the same thing as yesterday. Nothing!” she laughed.
Yesterday .
It was the most beautiful word she could have uttered. The fact that there was a “yesterday” meant that there could well be a tomorrow. I wasn’t in a time loop after all. I was in Simonetta’s body for the foreseeable future. Then, the inevitable thought struck me.
What am I still doing here?
Perhaps my day with Mariano hadn’t done the trick. Or was there was another reason. But how was I to know? I was ultimately alone in this world with no one to guide me.
“What are you waiting for, my lady?”
I was waiting for answers that would never come. Still groggy, I stood up wearing only my shift and made my way to the door.
“He has asked that you pose in his studiolo this time, so you may want to don clothes for the short journey,” Antonella laughed.
“Oh, right.”
She helped me into a royal blue gown with gold brocade, and began to pinch, brush, and pin me in a hurried fashion.
“He wanted my hair down, remember?”
“You know it is improper to go outside with your hair loose and uncovered, flaunted like that!”
Even though it was less than a five minute walk to the Via della Vigna Nuova, and the whole pinning and unpinning thing seemed ridiculous, I decided not to argue and just go along with it.
After being swiftly prepared, I rendezvoused with Sandro in my sitting room with as much excited anticipation as ever.
As we greeted one another, he avoided my gaze. Perhaps my embrace the night before was a bit too much for him. I knew, it is said, that Botticelli was hopelessly in love with
Was it all a dream? Was any of it real? I was dead, after all, that much I knew, and I’d never dreamt in the spirit world before. I’d been fooled in life, and the coyote had set me straight, but what was he trying to tell me this time?
What was it?
I searched the cold, empty darkness for the answers. I searched within everything I knew to be true. I spiraled into a vortex of confusion; not knowing anymore what was real and what wasn’t. And then a hand was upon me. Flesh and blood.
But how could I feel it?
“Simonetta! He is here!”
Chapter 17
I opened the eyes I once again possessed, and found Antonella standing over me.
“He arrived earlier than expected,” Antonella proclaimed.
“What? Who?” I questioned in my foggy confusion.
“The painter! He is here!”
“Holy shit!” I bellowed, to the shock of Antonella. I jumped out of bed, now accustomed to my legs. My legs . Somehow this had become my world. The Ognissanti was the dream . I could hardly contain my excitement at being back, but realized I’d never really left. “Wait, Sandro is here?”
“Oh, is he Sandro now?” Antonella tsked. “You are to sit for him. Remember?
Oh no . Now I was in a time loop, like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day , doomed to relive the same day over and over until I got it right. What did I do wrong the last time? I shouldn’t have hugged Sandro. That was it! Or maybe, I shouldn’t have made him leave the Medici’s to go to the Miniato. Giuliano could have become horribly angry about our departure from the Palazzo Medici, and prevented Sandro from ever painting again. Or there was the possibility that I just hadn’t done enough to fix the relationship between Mariano and Sandro. The more I thought about it, it could have been anything I’d done or didn’t do.
I made up my mind to get it right this time. And yet, if I had to live any day again and again, it was a glorious day to be chosen.
“What should I wear for the sitting, Antonella?”
At least I knew what she was talking about this time around.
“I suppose the same thing as yesterday. Nothing!” she laughed.
Yesterday .
It was the most beautiful word she could have uttered. The fact that there was a “yesterday” meant that there could well be a tomorrow. I wasn’t in a time loop after all. I was in Simonetta’s body for the foreseeable future. Then, the inevitable thought struck me.
What am I still doing here?
Perhaps my day with Mariano hadn’t done the trick. Or was there was another reason. But how was I to know? I was ultimately alone in this world with no one to guide me.
“What are you waiting for, my lady?”
I was waiting for answers that would never come. Still groggy, I stood up wearing only my shift and made my way to the door.
“He has asked that you pose in his studiolo this time, so you may want to don clothes for the short journey,” Antonella laughed.
“Oh, right.”
She helped me into a royal blue gown with gold brocade, and began to pinch, brush, and pin me in a hurried fashion.
“He wanted my hair down, remember?”
“You know it is improper to go outside with your hair loose and uncovered, flaunted like that!”
Even though it was less than a five minute walk to the Via della Vigna Nuova, and the whole pinning and unpinning thing seemed ridiculous, I decided not to argue and just go along with it.
After being swiftly prepared, I rendezvoused with Sandro in my sitting room with as much excited anticipation as ever.
As we greeted one another, he avoided my gaze. Perhaps my embrace the night before was a bit too much for him. I knew, it is said, that Botticelli was hopelessly in love with
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