“Doesn’t sound like an easy person to relate to,” Anders comments.
I shake my head. “She’s not. We’ve got better since…well, over the years. But considering she was like my substitute mom throughout most of high school, you’d think we’d be closer somehow.”
“It doesn’t work that way with family,” he says. “Blood doesn’t bring you closer any more than distance does. I should know.”
I watch him. That grip on the steering wheel, the sparrow growing distorted and pale. “Oh yeah?”
He nods but presses his lips together and doesn’t continue. He’s always been that way. Getting information out of him was nearly impossible. Sure, he could recite you poetry or some wordy confession, but it had to come from him. You could never get it out of him on your own. He gave you what you wanted only when he decided to. It explains why throughout the eight months of us dating, he still remained a mystery to me.
To my surprise, he continues. “My father and I…before I was sent to America, my father brought me on board for a two-week fishing trip. At the time we weren’t doing so well. Our relationship, I mean. When my mother left us, we all took it hard and we all had to do what we had to do. Even if it wasn’t what we wanted.”
He licks his lips and gets a faraway look in his eyes. The air between us grows heavy and I think that maybe he’s done talking. “Anyway, I know what my dad was trying to do. To make me see how he made a living. To make me understand. The hardships, the sacrifices. All those things you don’t give a shit about when you’re young, not until you’re older and it’s too late. I didn’t appreciate it. I didn’t bond with him. All it did was make things worse. We even fought one night and…” he trails off. Gives a quick shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter. Blood or not, relationships can’t be forced. More than that, empathy can’t be forced. Understanding. You know?”
I nod. “I know.”
We drive in silence for a few more moments, before taking a turn-off that leads between towering mountains, their peaks bald with rock and alpine shrub. They look like monks, deep in meditation, on their own eternal quest for happiness.
“Are you happy?” I find myself asking him.
He gives me a quick glance. “Such serious topics for people who have only just met.”
I smile expectantly and stare at him for an answer.
He looks back to the road, momentarily biting his lip in thought. “No.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised, considering what we just talked about. “Not even sometimes?”
“Oh, everyone is happy sometimes. Just like you said. But when those sometimes are few and far between, I think no is the only answer.” He glances at me again. “I can tell you I was happy this morning.”
“You were?”
“I saw your message on Facebook. That made me happy.”
I look away, busying myself with the scenery. “Oh,” I say. I’m not sure how I feel about that, but my cheeks grow hot.
Soon we’re heading through tunnels until the world to the right of me opens up and we’re coasting along an absolute fairy-tale.
Holy shit. It’s even more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
“Welcome to Todalen,” Anders says, pulling to small look-out point on the side of the road.
I get out and am immediately overwhelmed by it all. Behind us are the steep, forested mountains that come crashing down to our feet, the narrow road snaking along the base and into a picturesque valley. In front of us are more mountains with snow-dusted caps that seem to rise straight out of the blue sea like an ancient jawbone. In the space between us and the land, gulls dance above a small fishing boat cutting through the water.
“Wow,” I say, sitting down on a bolder at the edge of the cliff, a sharp path below leading down a few feet to the deep water. “It’s stunning.”
“Ja,” he says, standing beside me, hands on hips. “I must say, whenever I come back home it’s nice to have this view greeting me.”
The sun feels stronger here and I’m quickly shedding my sweater and holding out my arms, trying to soak up the sun while I can. “I don’t think I’ve felt the sun since I left Italy.”
“I bet you have a lot of stories about that place,” he says, grinning down at me. “A girl like you.”
I glance up at him, wincing from the sun in my eyes. “A girl like me?”
He just nods. “Come on.” And he goes around the car, getting back in.
Honestly I could just sit here forever, holding on to happiness, but I get up, dusting off my ass, and hop back in.
The engine revs and with a quick smile from Anders, we take off.
8
Anders
Loneliness is a ragged dog
howling at your door
It haunts you
Sinks in your bones
Because you know these dogs are everywhere
Waiting outside everyone’s door
Crying, whimpering, shaking
Begging to be let inside
It’s okay to let them in once
Let them sniff around
Piss on your heart
Curl up at the foot of your soul
But always let them out in the morning
And never, ever feed them.
I have to pinch myself.
My fingers cutting into the palm of my hand should do the trick.
But there are no tricks to make this all seem real.
This impossible reality.
Shay Lavji is sitting across from me in the restaurant, delicately sipping a glass of water and trying hard not to stare at all the people and the sights around her, just as the people are trying hard not to stare at her. It’s all locals—seniors mostly—in this place and rarely do we have
