Gillian Gidwin's Renaissance

The delicate cling of the copper bell that rung above Gilly’s head felt like a little blessing, a rebirth every time she stepped through the wooden threshold of Cafecito, and, in her case, that was putting it mildly – incredibly mildly. If she really wanted to be melodramatic about it, and she definitely had a bad habit of doing so, then she’d compare every morning to a reawakening, something new to add to the dull of her studies, because what was a morning without a fresh wall of new art pieces placed pleasingly to a brick feature wall, and those dry-humored millennials-turned-baristas?

        It was the beginning of September when she first lingered outside Cafecito with a hesitance that wasn’t like her, but there was something intimidating about the students she caught glimpses of through the large glass framing both side of the front that made her confidence stutter in her step.

The entirety of the art department, and more than a few handfuls of theater students, a seclusive group of literature majors, too, looked like they belonged to a sepia French film from where she stood. Their expressions were similar, brows pinched in the middle while they discussed whatever they were discussing with the flourish of their hands instead of the volume of their voices.

They wore their berets, dark brown trousers, their black turtlenecks and polished oxfords while carrying their style and their vintage messenger bags filled to the brim with their thick, single-lined aesthetically pleasing looking textbooks like they knew, really knew, who they were, and as predictable as they might have looked to anyone else walking past the café, Gilly found them fascinating, albeit a bit intimidating.

She had walked into Cafecito that day, a nervous, naïve first-year embarrassingly thrilled to be amongst those gold-framed reflections of what she’d hoped to be, but the her then wouldn’t be prepared for the inevitable conversation she’d have with her parents just a few days later, who were determined to straighten the strings of her motivations in another direction like some poor, secondhand marionette.

At least she still had her berets.

With a wistful sigh, Gilly took a large step inside the warmth of Cafecito, a small coffee shop tucked in between an abandoned accounting firm and an antique shop with an interesting collection of loose-leaved teas and intricately decorated tea sets.

Unlike the seemingly endless mazes of history overflowing the mismatched bookcases and displays in Little Yesterdays that Gilly has definitely gotten lost in, Cafecito felt like the complete contrast.

The color of the walls was easy on the eyes being such a dark brown, and the rusty orange couches and their matching love seats looked comfortable, lived in, really. Despite always tripping over the ends of the earth-colored rugs, Gilly had a fondness for those death traps, too.

And though she had to give up more than she wanted to a year ago, Cafecito felt like her silver lining, an inside to a reality that might have been hers if she wasn’t such a coward.

        “Good morning, Gillian Gidwin.”

        “Selasi!” Gilly greeted back with a wide smile. My favorite barista, she wanted to add with gusto, but Beau, who was sporting a new head of lavender curls, was just within earshot working the bar and she didn’t want to pick favorites so openly.

        There was no one else to blame with her favoritism but Selasi seeing as he didn’t mispronounce her surname the first time they met.

He was adorably focused on writing her name on the side of a plastic cup, which looked incredibly small in his hands as he parroted back what she had told him when he asked her for her name.

And since Gilly was full of bad habits, she said her full name.

What could she say? It had a zing to it.

She was hardly to blame.

        When he said her name, though, it felt euphoric.

There was no Gillian Goodwin, Gillian Goldwin – just Gillian Gidwin.

        She had almost shed a tear on the spot. Whether she actually did or didn’t shed a tear wasn’t ever up for any discussion. She’s always refused to disclose whether she did, in fact, shed a tear, and it would stay that way for as long as she lived.

        As popular as Cafecito was for its atmosphere and its location, which was only just a jaywalk away from the university’s creative departments, it was still early, way too early for anyone to bother to wake up to.

There were a couple of trials and errors on Gilly’s end before she figured out the best times to drop by and linger like a ghost. Much to her delight, the earl mornings were one of the best times to come inside and relax under the warm glow of the hanging lights.

After ordering her hazelnut latte, Gilly hung around the front, her eyes inclined to study the baked goods on display. With no other customers in line behind Gilly, Selasi relaxed against the top of the display, forearms spread out as he leaned forward, because his height allowed him such a luxury.

“Hey. Guess what?”

Gilly’s gaze was stuck on a certain treat.

“What?” She asked absentmindedly.

Knowing Gilly for as long as he has, Selasi rolled his eyes, grabbed at Gilly’s treasure with a pair of tongs, and handed her the biscotti on a white ceramic plate.

“You know the second floor that Frankie’s always been promisin’ to make something out of?”

        Gilly nodded a bit distractedly as she took a generous bite of her biscotti. She hummed in contentment, completely missing the glint in Selasi’s brown eyes when he leaned even closer.

        To be almost 6’5, Gilly thought when she had to crane her neck to finally catch Selasi’s insistent gaze.

        “What?” She asked again through a mouthful of biscotti as she gave him a strange look, the impatience there on the downturn of her lips.

        Selasi grinned. “The second floor is now a something.”

        Gilly’s jaw fell open for only a millisecond despite herself before she kept chewing.

        “But I’m here every day! I didn’t hear any construction!”

        “This place does close, you know.”

        “But I wasn’t even told? That’s so mean.”

        “You don’t work here, Gilly.”

        She sniffed. “I’d still like to be included.”

        Selasi laughed, shaking his head in incredulity. “Listen, that’s not the only thing, though,” he said through a chuckle.

        “Next you’re going tell me there’s a third floor,” Gilly murmured darkly before Selasi could elaborate. She took another large bite while he rolled his eyes.

        “Listen,” he said, dismissing her pout with a wave of his hand, “Frankie made the whole floor into a studio, or something. Cleaned it up real nice, bought some easels—he even took the boards off the windows. Says that he’ll let anyone rent it out whenever they want.”

        Before Gilly could even attempt to say anything, Selasi added, eyes practically sparkling, “But get this. He was tellin’ me to tell you that he’s willin’ to give you a special pass for it since you’re his favorite university student around.”

        Gilly blinked as Selasi watched on expectedly.

        “Oh,” she eventually said, a frown settled on the soft lines of her face. She looked down, nibbling at the bread in her hands as she grew uncharacteristically quiet, even for her.

        “Oh? That’s it?” He asked in disbelief. “Weren’t you listening? You could use the space, rent it out after closing hours—the whole nine yards! Frankie even said—”

        “Look, that’s really nice of you guys, and Frankie, too, but I… don’t really, uh, draw anymore, remember? I haven’t even painted a thing since I changed majors. And it’s not like I have anything to use even—even if I wanted to! Paints have always been expensive, but you know what else is really expensive? Those damn business books, which obviously should hold some priority, right?”

        Gilly was babbling, digging up excuse after excuse—and she had multiple! But these excuses weren’t fun to bring up, especially since they weren’t excuses spurred on by her own will.

        “Gillian,” Selasi started, but she was already stepping away, adjusting the strap of her backpack on her shoulder.

        His brows furrowed in concern.

        She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “I should go and study, or something. I’ll see you later, okay?” She turned to leave, marching towards the entrance with her drink cold against her hand, but she stopped midway, hesitation clinging to a conclusion she had to create before she let her curiosity take hold of her intentions that would, without a doubt, start something new, bringing her back to something old.

        Her renaissance would be one hell of a chapter in her life.

        The thought enough was tempting.

Selasi watched on, the concern still there in his eyes, but a fond smile grew when Gilly stood there with her shoulder taut, her posture on the brink of something resolute.

With a huff of frustration, Gilly spun around in her worn out sneakers and marched right back to the counter with a scowl.

“One look!” She said, pointedly ignoring the way Selasi bit his bottom lip to prevent the laugh in his throat. “It’s not my fault that I’m curious, and it’s completely your fault for telling me about something so wonderful when you know how curious I can get, so just one look. That’s it.”

The chuckle was too difficult to contain, so Selasi coughed into his fist and turned towards Beau, who has been busy enjoying himself too much watching their exchange.

“Cover for me really quick?”

Beau nodded, his lavender curls brushing against his freckled cheeks.

Gilly was more than tempted to lean across and pinch his face until his freckles stained her fingers, but she followed Selasi towards the back of the café instead.

Much time hasn’t passed, but the neighborhood was starting to wake up, not that Gilly really noticed, because the heavy beat of her heart rattled her nerves to the point that it was the only thing she heard, the only thing that she felt.

A fire escape scaling the back of the building was the only way to reach the second floor. Gilly followed close behind Selasi and waited behind him when he unlocked the door. She rolled on the balls of her feet and took in the scenery for the briefest of moments until Selasi pushed open the door.

He wasn’t kidding when he said Frankie cleaned the place up. Gilly had only been to the second floor once; except she never actually stepped a foot inside. It was nothing more than a quick glance into a flooded storage room while she waited for Selasi to stack bags of coffee beans in her waiting arms.

“Woah,” Gilly mumbled as she wandered inside.

The space was open, practically empty excluding the few easels stacked and folded against the wall, paint buckets filled with brushes and fresh paints, and a lone shelving unit, but the light flooding in through the window that took the whole of the wall at the farthest end of the room made it look full. The hardwood floors were polished, the dark wood contrasted to the white of the walls, which were also almost empty.

There were a few light fixtures spaced across the length of the walls.

Gilly looked towards Selasi with a raised brow, motioning at the lights with a motion of her head.

        He leaned against the doorframe. “I’m tellin’ you, he’s renting out the place for all kinds of things for the art department, gallery opportunities included for any undergraduates or graduates.”

        “That’s really cool of him,” Gilly said with a grin before she continued to study the room.

        Gilly looked on with wonder, trying to place the picture in her head to the space provided in front of her. She could practically see it there, workshops being held, a circle of easels with a source of inspiration at the dead center of them. She imagined a coat rack in one corner, a tarp or two on the floor, the same people she always sees on the bottom floor migrating towards the second floor, putting their tools to use. New art pieces scaling between canvas and clay would be created here, right above her head. It wouldn’t be long until instruments would take some of the space, eventually she hoped.

It would be a secret haven for anyone and everyone.

Everyone except her.

What a horrible reminder, she thought.

        While Gilly was stuck in the middle of her imagination, Selasi was already moving, grabbing an easel, an empty canvas, a bucket of art supplies, and setting it up until Gilly noticed and spun around at the noise.

        Neither of them moved.

        “What are you doing?” She asked after a beat of silence.

        “…What does it look like I’m doing?”

        Gilly raised a brow.

        “Aren’t you an archeology major?” She asked.

        Selasi rolled his eyes hard enough that they could have practically rolled out of his sockets. “Gilly come on. I’m setting you up.”

        She frowned. “Why?”

        “Why else?” He shot back.

He let out a sigh, getting tired of beating around the bush, which wasn’t really his thing. Selasi was a straightforward guy, but his next words made Gilly want to run out of the room anyways. “Just because your parents made you switch majors,” he said, setting the bucket beside the legs of the easel, “didn’t mean you had to stop cold turkey.”

        “I didn’t really have a choice,” she replied, suddenly feeling defensive.

        “Of course you did, they just made you feel like you didn’t.”

        Her lips thinned into a straight line.

        “I know you miss it, Gilly,” he added in softly. “So, just try. Nobody loses the kind of talent you had to time.”

        Selasi gave her a smile and left the room, the door clicking behind him before Gilly could join him.

        A few minutes passed.

Nothing happened.

No physical movement anyways, just the constant thread of thoughts stifling her thoughts. Realistically, there was nothing forcing her to stay in the room. She was her own person, sort of, which meant she could leave right then and there.

        She always figured the faster she lost of her love for this world, the easier it would be to go through the motions of her time at university graduating under a major she never really wanted to explore.

        Too much time had passed, she tried to reason through the months. It was the same thought that crossed her mind there while she stood in the middle of the room. It was her second year as a business major, and if she switched now, if she fell right back into her love for the paint nearby, it’d be too difficult to get where she wanted to be, she wouldn’t graduate in four years, and her parents—

        They had dreams once, right?

        Gilly sighed, but she found her feet moving to stand in front of the canvas.

        There was thud as she let her backpack fall to the floor and a clatter as her hands moved to grab a brush, a picture already in her head as the paint palette fit snug in the crook of her elbow. She squeezed the tubes of paint on the wooden surface of her palette. She rolled back her shoulders, her eyes taking in every inch of the emptiness in front of her.

        The gentle scrape of the bristles of the brush against the cotton of the canvas felt like a second home, though nothing would ever beat the atmosphere of Cafecito. There was something growing in the center of her chest., though. She didn’t know if it was relief or a foreboding bundle of anxiety that’d probably settle after she finished her painting, but there was a clear picture in her head, as grand as a renaissance.

        There’d be push back, a rekindling of a first love, a necessary salute to the godforsaken studies of business she very well respected but loathed, and it wouldn’t feel as magnificent as it sounded, but it would feel like her again. There’d be momentum, fresh faces and even fresher environments, the very same ones she always wanted to be a part of.

Selasi’s smugness would be unfortunately inevitable, but so would his support.

        It took a couple of strokes in when Gilly realized she wouldn’t be able to let go of this, something she knew all too well, but this time she didn’t want to, or, at the very least, not as easily as she did then.

        So, Gillian painted straight through the day, missing two lectures in the process and consuming godawful amounts of caffeine provided by Beau, but she was home, contentedly stuck in the newest chapter of her life in an empty place, which sounded as horrendously as it felt, but Gilly didn’t care.

        She was a painter, not a poet.

        "What a declaration," she murmured, her smile soft and her laugh even softer.