I had no speech prepared.
For the last two days, I had been trying to think of something. But, alas, there was nothing. Maybe it was the distraction of being in another country. Maybe it was whatever was happening with Daniel. But now I was standing in a medieval cave church, where everyone felt a little afraid of what might happen next, and my time was running out.
I knew there was a limited span in which this ancient cavern would still feel like an amazing discovery. It was a church carved into a cliff by people from so long ago that it was nearly impossible to imagine their lives. But, as incredible as that was, if I waited too long, the cave could easily transform back into just another dark musty space filled with bird droppings and invisible lizards. And I couldn’t allow that to happen. So I said:
“Guys, I think we should get started.”
At the sound of those words, everyone in the cave stood completely still and silent, and the trill of birdsong filteredin, echoing in the darkness. Then Grace nodded. Daniel held the bowl of ashes, and Paul adjusted his camera to the low light levels.
Meanwhile, I thought back to the one evening I’d spent with Jonah. The one at the farmhouse. It wasn’t incredibly epic or romantic. And it wasn’t the beginning of a love that anyone would much care about. But lying on the couch with him that night, I had felt the beginning of something, and it was indistinguishable from the reverberation of the music outside and the moonlight slanting in through the windows. And even though it had all eventually fallen apart, I still had that day and the way it felt. I had lived it, and it was mine forever.
I wanted to create one more day like that.
One more day worth keeping.
That was what I needed to do somehow in this hollowed-out chamber in Sicily. It was cool inside, but I was still sweating. I cleared my throat and stepped into the light of the doorway. I looked at Grace and at Daniel. And all I could think to say when I opened my mouth was something that had been replaying in my mind for months.
“This,” I said, “was not how it was supposed to be.”
The short sentence bounced around the cave, coming back to me word for word.
“I just want to be honest,” I said. “It seems silly to doanything else at this point. The truth is that we’re not supposed to be here, and we all know that. We’re not supposed to be inside of a church made by old-timey people. We weren’t supposed to bring Jonah here. We weren’t supposed to hide from an Italian park ranger on horseback.”
I paused and waited for my echoing voice to quiet.
“Also, maybe this is obvious, but Jonah was not supposed to die. Not yet. None of it was supposed to happen like this.”
Grace eyed me quizzically.
“I don’t mean to be bleak,” I continued. “I know it sounds that way. What I mean is that nothing ever happens the way it’s supposed to. Everything is messed up. Everything is flawed. And if we didn’t have imperfection, I’m not sure what we would have left.”
I looked out into the light outside. Its brightness compared to the darkness of the cave washed out what I could see of the landscape. Paul crouched down on one knee and pointed the camera up at me.
“The way I see it, we have a bunch of imperfect moments all lined up, one after the next, and we feel this strange, imperfect love. Then, before we know it, it’s all over. We give everything we have, but that can never be enough to make things just the way we want them, or to keep someone with us as long as we’d like. But the struggle is worthsomething. And the love is worth something even though it’s imperfect. And maybe we should try to celebrate this brief, incomplete thing we’ve been given. Maybe that’s all we can do when we find ourselves in the dark.”
Everyone remained quiet. I couldn’t tell by looking at them how they felt about what I was saying. Still, no one interrupted me, so I kept going.
“Just because something didn’t last as long as you needed doesn’t mean it wasn’t genuine. Jonah and I had an imperfect love. So what? That doesn’t cancel it. And it’s not gone. It’s still here. And, today, I just want to bring it back. I want to make it tangible again for a little while.”
I reached out for the ashes and Daniel handed the container to me. I opened the lid and stuck my hand inside. They were powdery and warm from Daniel’s pocket.
“Jonah,” I said. “This is Tess.”
My voice was getting a little shaky, but I steadied it.
“Daniel is here, too. And I guess we came all the way here to say good-bye to you. If it’s true that we knew you the best, I wish you had let us understand the whole of you. And I wish you’d felt more peace with who you were. But we can’t change that. We can only celebrate what we knew. And, personally, I’m still glad I knew you.”
I looked at Daniel. He nodded.
“And Daniel is too,” I said.
I pulled out a handful of ashes.
“We’re not erasing you,” I said. “And we’re not leaving you behind. But we need to put you somewhere. So you aren’t... everywhere. I hope you get that.”
I let go of the ashes and they drifted down to the floor of the cave church, passing through the light like smoke. I was about to reach my hand back inside, but then I stopped and handed the container to Daniel. His eyes were squinting in the light of the cave. I could tell he was struggling with what to say, but finally, he opened his mouth.
“I forgive you,” he said, reaching his hand into the Tupperware. “And I forgive myself.”
