We just leave him?
We just leave him.
I could feel my heart beating so fast in my chest.
Do you have a passport?
This time his response was fast. And after it arrived, I had a hard time getting to sleep. Instead I just sat there looking at it, trying to decide what to do. It read:
Yes. And I brought yours.
32
As it turned out, Daniel had never stopped thinking about Sicily. Ever since he saw that note on Jonah’s desk, it had been coming back to him again and again. And now that he’d heard Marian’s explanation, going there seemed like the only choice left. I wasn’t so sure. It seemed right in some ways, but extreme in others. What exactly would we do or find there? But after rattling off my worries for a half hour the next morning, Daniel silenced them with two sentences.
“It’s the life he should have had,” he said. “I think we should see it.”
An hour later, I used my emergency credit card to book two tickets to Palermo. The tickets were almost three thousand dollars, which is more than I have ever spent on anything in my life. The parental fallout from this was going to be swift and harsh. I would likely be paying these off for the next five years. But when the “buy” button came up on myphone, I tapped it with a shaky finger and before I could blink, the transaction was complete.
Then I took a deep breath and texted my dad. I told him that I needed another half day to talk to Marian. And then, while he thought I was soul-searching with a grieving mother, Daniel and I took a cab to the airport and boarded the first leg of our international flight. Just like that.
I expected to get stopped. I expected security to flag me and send me home. But I was a well-dressed middle-class girl with someone who appeared to be my boyfriend, and nobody cared. Daniel was a little more worried, so we worked out a story beforehand. Anyone who asked, we told the same thing. We were college freshmen, going to Italy for a summer language immersion program.Ciao, bella!
I didn’t text my dad again until we got to our first stopover in Toronto. By then he must have been worried for a few hours. I wrote:
I am completely aware that you will never forgive me for this. And I know Mom will probably try to have you arrested. But this was the only way I could imagine to release myself from everything I’ve been feeling. I had to do it without you. I’ll call you from Sicily.
It wasn’t until I was safely on my third flight that I remembered the small container I had smuggled on board in my carry-on. It was wedged between the last of my clean underwear and some granola bars, but it was still there: a small plastic bowl with a powdered version of Jonah inside. The ashes were grayish white with tiny hard bits here and there.
Our plan hadn’t exactly come as a surprise to Marian that morning, but she didn’t say anything for a few seconds after we told her. Eventually though, she got off the couch and brought us a small scoop of Jonah’s ashes. She put them in a Tupperware container with a blue lid.
After she handed them to me, I held them tight, unwilling to stuff them in the duffel bag Daniel had brought with him. She didn’t say anything right away. She just walked us outside and back down the sidewalk. Her eyes were cocooned in the eye makeup she’d never washed off from the night before. Her smile when she spoke was brief and tight-lipped. All she said was: “Say hi if you see him.”
Then she gave us both a long hug and disappeared back into her dark house.
Now I was all alone in an aisle seat, 39,000 feet above the earth, with the mineral fragments of a boy I once loved in my hands. Daniel was up ten rows with a sleeping mask on.We couldn’t get seats together. I had planned on dozing my way across the Atlantic—this final leg of our flight was at night—but, of course, I couldn’t sleep.
I tried reading an in-flight magazine, but the lives of the people inside were so full of enthusiasm and confidence that I couldn’t even distract myself by pretending to be them. And the more I sat there, the more the doubts started to creep back in. I took a few deep breaths and let them out through my nose. Eventually, the woman in the seat next to me leaned over and extended a pack of gum.
“The air pressure bothers me, too,” she said with a smile.
I pulled out a stick. It was easier than turning it down. The woman was about my mom’s age, with dyed blond hair and light gray roots. And she was clearly in the mood to chat.
“What brings you to Italy?” she asked.
“A funeral,” I said, and turned away.
“Oh,” said the woman. “I’m sorry. What a shame.”
I put the piece of gum in my mouth; the artificial sweetener coated my tongue.
“Why is it a shame?” I asked.
“Oh,” said the woman again, blushing a little. “I don’t know. I guess I just meant it’s such a beautiful country. I wouldn’t want to visit it for something like that. But I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t mean to...”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s okay.”
I saw my opportunity to disengage if I wanted to. Instead, I spoke again.
