Things I'm Seeing Without You Read online

  ‘It was a place he wanted to go when he felt better,’ said Daniel. ‘That’s how it seemed.’

  Now Marian really did start crying, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to watch. I got up after a minute or two and got her a glass of water. She drank half of it and smiled at me through her tears.

  ‘Where are you two staying tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘At a hotel,’ I said. ‘Near the university.’

  ‘We should probably get back,’ Daniel said.

  She took another drink of water and then put a hand on my arm.

  ‘I’d like you to stay here,’ she said. ‘Just for a night. Would you do that?’

  So we did. We were a little uneasy about the whole thing, but we agreed because how could we really say no? Marian made us spaghetti with some of the basil we’d uncovered in the garden. We ate. We drank tumblers of diet soda. She pulled some old Popsicles out of the freezer, and we politely licked the frost off of them. She didn’t mention Jonah again. Instead, she asked us mom questions about ourselves.

  I lied and said I was still at Quaker school, and Daniel talked about college. It didn’t seem right to tell her that our lives had been so shaken by the death of her son. That we had both dropped out of life in different ways because of it. Maybe a part of her wanted to hear that life couldn’t go on without him, but I was too afraid it would compound her pain.

  At some point, I called my confused father and told him where we were staying. Then it was time for bed. This time around I was the one on the couch. Which meant Daniel was in Jonah’s room. All night Marian hadn’t once invited us in there, but then when the time came to sleep, she just casually told Daniel it was his room for the night. I could tell he was a little freaked out, but he didn’t let on to Marian. He just disappeared down the hall and shut the door.

  I got a text message only a minute or two later.

  Not sure how to feel about this . . .

  I wrote back quickly:

  What’s it like in there?

  A few seconds passed.

  It’s like being inside his head as a child, I guess. It still feels like a boy’s room.

  Are you sleeping in his bed?

  On the floor.

  Which made sense to me. The bed might be too much, even for me.

  What do you see?

  I thought about telling him to take pictures, to do a panoramic shot of the whole room, but I resisted and left my message as it was.

  You want me to list things?

  Exactly.

  I typed again:

  Please. List things.

  There was a significant pause. I assumed it was because he was writing a longer text, taking his time to catalogue every single item in the room. But when his next text came back, it was short. And all it said was:

  Things I’m seeing without you:

  I shut my eyes for a second. I had thought, stupidly, that I’d only ever played this game with Jonah. Never with Daniel. But of course, he knew about it, too.

  Model airplanes.

  Those were the first words. They stuck there, alone for a moment in their own text bubble. But they were soon followed by others.

  I don’t know my planes well enough. My dad would know. They look like they’re from one of the World Wars. They’re hanging from dental floss over the bed. Maybe in some kind of dogfight. All I can see are the undersides.

  I watched my phone and waited for the next update.

  Quotes on the wall. Written in cursive. Probably his handwriting. I remember seeing it on Post-its around our dorm room. It’s too dim to read them now. But here’s one over his desk by the light. ‘If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.’

  I interrupted for just a moment.

  Mark Twain.

  Daniel kept going.

  Trophies and certificates from Quiz Bowl competitions. There’s a shelf built especially for them. Most of them first place. State competitions. Some individual. He won a lot. More than I’ve ever won for anything. He’s in the paper, too, shaking the governor’s hand.

  A pause and then:

  High school dance photos. He looks so young. He has braces in most of them. Red and blue rubber bands. The girls look nice. Sweet. He’s in one by himself, early on, pretending to hold an invisible date. He has a hand on the small of her back, and another on her waist. He has a serious look on his face. Like he’s in love. The dance is called the Spring Fling.

  Daniel was typing fast now, the messages popping up one after the other, and I was hesitant to interrupt him again. I wanted to know about every detail of the room. I wanted him to tell me every last thing he saw. But I slipped in one response. I couldn’t help it.

  That’s me.

  This seemed to throw off his rhythm. It put a halt to his listing.

  Who?

  The missing girl in the picture.

  I wrote again:

  The one who isn’t there.

  Now his rhythm was definitely off. The streaming sentences of description came to a stop, and the screen remained unchanged. I wondered for a moment if I’d shut it down completely, but another reply came eventually.

  I wish sometimes I could pretend again.

  Pretend what?

  That I’m him. It was easier that way. Easier than being me. And maybe you’d be happier.

  It’s not the right kind of happiness.

  A few seconds passed. Then he responded:

  I was hoping I’d know him completely after coming here. That I would get all the answers and it would all finally make sense.

  He wrote again:

  I thought I would solve the mystery. But there aren’t any real clues here. Just airplanes.

  I leant my head against the armrest of the couch. It was hard against my neck. I wrote without thinking much. I just let the words unfold from my fingertips.

  We’re not going to plan a funeral here, are we?

  No.

  I could feel my palms starting to sweat.

  I have an idea that I can’t get out of my head. I don’t even want to say it.

  His response came quickly.

  Say it.

  You already know what it is, don’t you?

  I think I do.

  But it’s crazy, right? It’s not going to happen.

  Why not?

  There was a pause as I collected my thoughts for a moment.

  If we’re on the same page here, and I’m not sure that we are, I don’t know what to tell my dad. How will we convince him?

  It seemed like a long time before his next message arrived, but it was probably only twenty seconds or so.

  I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t.

  My head was starting to feel light.

  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.

  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 my phone, I tapped it wit
h 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 programme. 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 greyish 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 make-up 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 leant 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 blonde hair and light-grey 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 OK.’

  I saw my opportunity to disengage if I wanted to. Instead, I spoke again.

  ‘I actually agree with you in a way,’ I said. ‘In fact, if you want to know the truth, the dead person isn’t even from Italy. We’re bringing him in ash form. I have him right here.’

  She looked at the Tupperware bowl and inched slightly closer to the window.

  ‘This is just part of him,’ I said. ‘But, as I was saying, if you look at the situation in one way, the whole thing is kind of a giant waste. He’s a pile of dust. He doesn’t care where he is. And he never even went to Sicily while he was alive. Why would he want to come here now when he can’t actually experience it?’

  The woman’s face was locked in a tight-lipped grimace.

  ‘And believe me, this is not the way I wanted to see Italy. I thought I’d be going to Venice with a sexy Philosophy major to drink Bellinis and make out on a gondola. I didn’t think I’d be coming here to plan something for a dead person. This was not the way I had it drawn up, I’ll tell you that much.’

  The woman was miraculously still making eye contact with me. She was, however, holding tight to her armrest.

  ‘But then, I’m also thinking: maybe this is the right way to see it. Because, maybe the one good thing about the dead, if there is anything good about them – which there totally might not be – is that they remind us that it’s actually going to happen. Any old time.’

  I motioned towards the small window to my right.

  ‘And meanwhile, there’s all this stuff. Crazy, sublime stuff. And we’re blind to it all the time. Or, at least, I am. I don’t know about you – I won’t speak for you – but I don’t notice anything. I’ve been walking around like a goddamn zombie for months. I don’t even hear the birds. I don’t hear them! They make such beautiful little chirps, and I don’t care. I don’t care about their chirps. I don’t care if they find mates. But I really want to try to care. I want to try to pay attention to the sublime, amazing stuff. Do you get what I’m saying?’

  I took a breath and brought my seat back up to its original position. A passenger from the row in front made eye contact with me through the crack between seats but quickly looked away. I closed my eyes. The woman next to me was quiet. After a moment I leant over to her and said, ‘Thanks for the gum.’

  Then I looked down the row at Daniel. I wondered if he’d heard any of the conversation, but it was probably too noisy to hear much. I only saw a sliver of his face through the seats. He was leaning against the window like a child. I wondered suddenly if he had a bad association with air travel because of his dad’s work. I hadn’t asked him anything about himself in days.

  Suddenly, I had a profound urge to have him sitting next to me. Just sitting there, talking about everything in his soft, deliberate voice. Also, I liked holding hands during landings, and he had humoured me on the other two flights. I had reached for him and he was there. He didn’t even look at me in those moments. He just grasped my hand and closed his eyes. And, both times, it had eased the anxiety.

  But the woman next to me probably wasn’t going to change seats. Especially now. I’d be lucky if she hadn’t reported me to a flight attendant. So, for the moment, I just sat there looking at the side of his face, rows away, wondering if he was the last person on earth who didn’t think I was completely out of my mind.

  Now seems like a good time to admit that I’ve never really been out of the country. I was in Canada once when I was a kid, but Canada doesn’t really count. It’s Minnesota with Mounties. The only reason I had a passport at all was because my mom was always threatening to take me away on spiritual journeys to lands unknown. Anyway, this is all just to say that I was not really prepared for the city of Palermo when we arrived.

  It was midday when we got there, and the traffic was a total cluster: one huge game of chicken between hundreds of Fiats and mopeds, all carrying an improbable number of humans. In the cab to this intersection called the Quattro Canti, I looked out my window and saw an entire family riding on a single scooter. Seriously: four people. One scooter.

  The toddler was first, just kind of perched on his father’s lap. Dad was next, one hand on the throttle, lit cigarette dangling from his lip. Behind him was the mother, holding on to her husband like she was giving him the Heimlich. And
behind her, barely on the seat at all, was a sullen teenage boy. All of them were tanned. None of them wore helmets. And just when I was about to point this sight out to Daniel, the family took off at an inhuman speed, balancing like acrobats.

  Daniel was passed out anyway. He didn’t do well on planes, he told me, and I’m pretty sure he downed half a package of Dramamine before we left. While he slept with his mouth open, I tried to soak up the street life on the ride to the hotel. The sun-whitened Baroque churches and smoking shop owners, the flocks of kids my age with plumed haircuts typing frantically on their phones. I only caught glimpses as the taxi pinballed its way through the city.

  Finally, we arrived at the Centrale Palace Hotel, which was way too nice for us. We stumbled into the frescoed lobby and stood beneath a dazzling antique chandelier. Daniel had booked the hotel and the place was completely bonkers, a former eighteenth-century aristocratic residence remodelled into a hotel for travellers. In other words: the kind of place I never stayed, and probably would never stay again.

  ‘How the hell can you afford this place?’ I asked.

  ‘I paint houses in the summer,’ he said.

  He looked up at the chandelier.

  ‘This room was like . . . ten houses.’

  Daniel walked to the desk and rang the bell.

  A clerk strolled across the marble floor dressed in a powder-white linen suit. His neck and face were covered in expertly groomed stubble.

  ‘Benvenuti a Sicilia!’ he said. ‘You are on your honeymoon, yes? You said this in your reservation. But, ragazzi, you are so young!’