And she knew about my relationship with Sophie. She knew how she died and who I was. When Ember turned nine, she asked how it was possible that I was her uncle, but she didn’t have an aunt.
The entire room went quiet as soon as the words left her mouth, and Mrs. Anderson rushed from the room, unable to contain her tears. My own emotions were all over the place as we tried to explain to her that her aunt Sophie wasn’t with us anymore. That she died years before she was born.
So, Ember knew why I was here.
“It’s beautiful, Em,” I murmured. “She would’ve loved it. You would too.”
The line went silent for a minute while I kept staring at the ruins of the Roman Forum, walking slower than the people around me. But years of being slammed on the ice, years of concussions and broken bones, made my old age unpleasant.
“I’m sorry you had to go there alone, Uncle. I wish I was there with you.”
Something squeezed around my heart at the sad tone in her voice. She wanted to come. God, she wanted to travel with me, but her obligations didn’t let her. So here I was, all alone in Rome, thinking about the time when we dreamed about being here.
“Actually, I wish she was there with you. I wish Aunt Sophie was with you.”
“I do too, kiddo.” I wiped the tear that escaped from my eye, trying to calm my racing heart. “But it’s okay. She’s always with us,” I said and placed my palm on the snowflake pendant laying on the column of my throat.
“I never met her, but every time I’m out there, on the ice, I get a feeling as if she’s watching over me.” My lower lip wobbled. “Maybe it’s just my imagination, but it’s almost as if I knew her. It’s almost as if she never left.”
And that was the truth. Even years after her death, I still caught myself rushing back home, smiling, needing to tell her what just happened, or what I just saw. Until reality came crashing into me, and my colorful day once again turned into a bleak gray color.
“I gotta go, but please call me if you need to talk to somebody. Okay?”
“Of course.” I smiled, fighting the tears. “Be careful out there.”
Her laughter echoed once again. “I’m always careful. I love you, Uncle. Talk to you later.”
“I love you, too, darling,” I responded a second before she hung up.
For a minute, I just stood there, soaking in the humid evening air of Rome, observing as other people passed by next to me—some were in a hurry, some walked slowly, hand in hand with their significant others, while others, like me, just stared at the ruins of ancient Rome, probably imagining what it used to look like back in the day.
Out of the two of us, Sophie was the one always obsessed with history. But somewhere along the way, after she passed, I became obsessed too. Maybe it was the need to feel closer to her somehow, but old buildings and historical landmarks never ceased to amaze me, and I spent every possible moment traveling and exploring new countries and new cultures, learning as much as I could.
There was so much we didn’t know about other countries, their traditions, their entire cultures, and it was such a shame that not every single person had an opportunity to travel and explore. I’d spent a week once in China, going with a friend of mine, trying to learn more about their culture.
I’d spent a month in Dubai, traveling to all seven emirates. The mix of East and West was fascinating there, and while the buildings Abu Dhabi and Dubai had were skyscrapers, the people there still held on to their traditions. And the expats respected the culture as if it was their own.
Two weeks in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and I realized that the terrible war they had a long time ago, didn’t steal the hospitality and amazing people. I’d been all over Europe, all over the world, but I steered clear from Rome, afraid that it would be too much for me.
But it wasn’t.
Sophie was in every single one of these places. As a young couple took a selfie with the backdrop of some old temple, I could almost see her smiling again, telling me to take a good photo of her.
She was in the air enveloping me as I kept walking down the street, all the way toward the Colosseum. Her scent was in my nose, her touch was on my hand, and I was a fool for avoiding this place this long.
Cars passed on my left and the remnants of ancient Rome stood on my right, fusing together, creating magic in a way that I didn’t think would be possible.
I pulled out the map I took from the hotel and then looked up, squinting at the inscription on one of the stones on the side of the pathway.
Via Sacra.
“Almost there,” I murmured out loud.
When I looked up, I could already see the majestic building, and with an increased pace, I started going down Via Sacra, the ancient central avenue of Rome, past the ruins, past the history that spoke for itself, and when I came onto the clearing, my breath stopped.
I never thought that seeing a simple building—a ruin, really—would make me feel like this. My lungs seized as my heart picked up the pace.
My palms became sweaty, my vision blurred, and something crawled up my throat—a sob, a creek of elation, I didn’t know—but I stood frozen in place, staring at the majestic thing in front of me.
