Creative Writing #1

On my first visit to the Pantheon, I decided to also explore the world-famous Piazza della Rotonda. The square was bustling with tourists coming to visit the awe-inspiring temple, locals leaving gelaterias with their large cones full of brightly colored gelato and couples who walked purposefully through the piazza without even looking at the sights surrounding them. After wandering through the square, trying to avoid the bright glare of the sign directing tourists to the nearby McDonald’s, I found a small, darkened cartoleria that had a modest display of paper and journals that I could see through the closed window. I decided that I would return to this place soon just to browse their selection of journals so that I could possibly find one for class.
The next time I saw the cartoleria was at night, after a walk through Rome with twenty other students in my class. After our teacher recommended that we visit the small store, our class rushed the store and I was left outside wondering if I wanted to join in the chaotic search for a journal in the cartoleria. I ultimately decided to come back later when I could spend time in the cartoleria by myself, trying to choose which journal was the perfect one to hold all of my thoughts and observations about Rome. I returned the next evening, before dark.
When I stepped into the store, I first noticed that it was not a brightly lit area with different types of journals prominently on display, as I had anticipated. Instead, I found a dim, small space with one young woman working at the counter. I looked in the door to the tiny store and was surprised by the total lack of noise inside. Outside, in the piazza, restaurant patrons were conversing loudly and tourists were commenting excitedly on the Pantheon, but the inside of the store was completely silent. I could almost hear the faint swish of the cashier turning the pages of the book she was reading. I cautiously walked into the store, not wanting to disturb the rare tranquil silence I found in this haven near the crowded piazza. What I found inside was a book lover’s dream. The entire cartoleria was lined with antique-looking, dark wooden shelves that each held a stock of leather-covered journals. The journals were arranged by type and size. Lined, unlined, large, small, dark leather, lighter colored. I was overwhelmed by the smell of leather that seemed to envelop me as I stepped towards the shelves to have a closer look. I spent at least an hour in the store, just looking at all of the different types of journals and thinking about what I should write in them. I do not usually write in a journal, but I imagined myself sitting along the Tiber writing about the people and events that I would see. I would open my leather journal and be inspired to fill the blank, ivory pages with observations and my thoughts. However, I was quickly jerked back to reality when I saw that this dream that was centered around this leather journal would cost me at least 60 euro. I decided that the fantasy was not worth that much, especially when I considered that this one journal was equivalent to giving up 30 cones of gelato.
I decided that I needed to leave the cartoleria before I made a purchase that I would regret later, so I put down the beautifully crafted, dark brown journal and turned to leave. Just as I was about to walk out the door, a brightly colored pattern caught my eye. On a table in the front of the store, there was a small stack of paper-covered journals in various colors and patterns. They did not incite the same longing to write in them as the leather-bound journals, but they were elegant and lovely in their own way. I browsed through this stack of less expensive journals and finally found a journal that was decorated with multi-colored flowers with gold accents that made the flowers shine. The gold work reminded me of the gilded artwork that we saw so many times in churches that I reminded. I took the journal to the cashier and finally broke the silence with my embarrassingly bad Italian to ask her how much the small book cost. After paying more than I ever had before for a blank journal, I walked out of the store into the dark, chaotic piazza clutching my journal and thinking about what I should write for my inaugural journal entry.