The Thing I'm Most Afraid Of

by Kristin Levine

  I shook my head.

  “Me either.” He poured me a cup of tea. “I can’t . . . I can’t believe that happened.” Dad sounded horrified. “I’m so sorry. I never should have let you go with Sara alone on the train.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “It might have happened anyway.”

  “Yes, but . . . if something had happened to you!”

  “But nothing did.”

  Dad sighed, but his shoulders were still tense. He drummed his fingers on the table, making the teapot rattle. “Becca, there’s something else I need to tell you.”

  “What? Did Sara—”

  “It’s nothing to do with Sara,” Dad said. “Remember when I told you I didn’t buy the tickets to Les Mis because I was worried you might get nervous?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That wasn’t the whole story. The truth is, I was worried I might get nervous. That you might get upset, and I wouldn’t know what to do. I was so afraid that the evening might not turn out exactly as planned, I decided that I’d rather not do it at all. That decision left me feeling so bad, I called Dr. Teresa and asked her to recommend another therapist. For me. So maybe I could deal with some of my own anxiety.”

  “You went to a therapist too?” I asked.

  Dad nodded. “For about a year, once a week, after work. And it really helped! In fact, she helped me see that I’d been too hesitant to take some risks in my own life. That’s what moving to Vienna was about. And I thought that maybe by moving, by dealing with some of my own fears, I could finally be a better parent to you.”

  “But Dad,” I burst out, “you’ve always been a good parent.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Dad said. “Do you ever think about that first plane ride? The one when we went to visit your grandparents.”

  “Of course.”

  “Sometimes I think I shouldn’t have rented a car to drive us all home. What if we had just taken our flight home as planned? Maybe you wouldn’t have developed so many fears if I hadn’t given in to them.”

  “Dad . . .”

  “And the bike. When I tried to teach you back in Virginia, I was all, ‘Watch out!’ and ‘Don’t hurt yourself!’ No wonder you found it hard to learn.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I did learn.”

  “Even the au pair! I’m mean, did you really need a babysitter this summer?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I definitely needed Sara!”

  Dad sighed.

  “Dad, you did the very best you could!” I insisted. “But why didn’t you tell me about the therapist before?”

  Dad shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted you to think I had everything under control.”

  I thought about that. “You know, Dad, I used to think the purpose of my Doomsday Journal was to make me feel in control. I thought if I could just research and plan everything, I wouldn’t ever feel nervous. But now, I don’t think that’s why it works. I mean, no way in a million years would I have thought to put in a page about what to do if your au pair gets kidnapped by the police because someone stole her passport.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe the point is to know that whatever happens, I’ll be able to cope. And somehow, putting my problems and fears down on paper makes them smaller. They’re no longer overwhelming—they’re just black-and-white words on a page. I think the thing I’m actually most afraid of is being too anxious to do all the things I really want to do.”

  Dad was silent for a long time.

  “Say something,” I urged.

  “Tomorrow,” Dad said slowly. “I’m going to have to go buy a journal.”

  I smiled.

  “Think you can sleep now?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Me too.” Dad stood up and put our cups in the sink.

  I reached over to turn off the radio, when something made me pause. The song on the radio sounded familiar. I listened a moment longer before it hit me—the station was playing La Traviata.

  I got goose bumps again, just as I had at the opera. This was a sign. Everything was going to be okay. Sara would come back to us! Well, either that or she would die of tuberculosis. But we had antibiotics now, so that seemed unlikely.

  The music swelled, washing away my fears. I turned off the radio, and Dad switched off the light. We walked silently up the stairs. Before I went into my room, Dad stopped and said, “Becca, I am so lucky to have a daughter like you.”

  And when I climbed into bed, I swear I could still hear the music.

  CHAPTER 34

  Waiting

  Felix and I sat by the phone all day Tuesday and Wednesday, but Sara never called. On Thursday, Frau Gamperl announced she was going to take us into the city to visit the Hofburg. I knew she was trying to distract us from worrying about Sara. The Hofburg was the winter residence of the Hapsburgs. Like the castle in Prague, it had lots of rooms and tapestries and blah, blah, blah. We’d missed the 9:00 a.m. English-language tour, and there wasn’t another one until 2:00 p.m., so we did the German one instead. Felix translated the important bits, half-heartedly. Every time I saw a funny painting or a cool piece of jewelry, I turned to point it out to Sara, forgetting again and again that she wasn’t there.

  After the tour, we walked around Heldenplatz, the big open space in front of the Hofburg. “This is where Hitler gave his infamous speech when he marched into Austria.” Frau Gamperl pointed. “He spoke from that balcony right over there.”

  It was hard to imagine. The plaza was fairly empty and peaceful. But fifty-five years ago it had been filled with Nazis. I shivered. We sat down at the base of a large statue, a man on a horse who was holding a rolled-up flag in one hand.

  “In 1938, right?” Felix asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How old were you?” I asked.

  “I was sixteen when Hitler marched into Vienna,” Frau Gamperl said. “I spent much of the next seven years passing what information I could on to the English. My English was always very good.”

  “You were a spy?” Felix asked.

  “I like to think I was a good citizen. Part of the Austrian resistance.”

  “What?!” Felix exclaimed. “You were part of the O5?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of us.”

  “I like history,” Felix said.

  “There was only a small group of us. But we did what we could. I helped a few families escape when it was still possible. One night, we painted our slogan all across Vienna!”

  “Did you paint the symbol on Stephansdom?” Felix asked.

  “No. But one of my friends did,” she said with a grin. “That was a long time ago.” She stared at the Hofburg.

  “What happened after the war?” I asked.

  “I was twenty-three. I married an English officer—he was part of the Allied forces occupying Vienna after the war. He loved the city, and we settled here. He died when the kids were small, of a heart attack, and for many years I was too busy to worry about anything except getting the next meal on the table. But now my kids have grown up and moved on with their own lives. I spend most of my time now discussing politics and planting flowers in my garden.”

  Okay. Gotta admit. Old lady spy living next door to my father was not what I expected. She’d seemed so dull and old-fashioned, and yet there she was, telling us about sneaking information to the English. She’d been brave. Like Sara.

  “You’re coming to the Lichtermeer, right?” Frau Gamperl asked. “It’s on Saturday.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The march against Haider’s petition,” Felix explained.

  “Oh yeah, definitely!” I said. “But why did you call it a Lichtermeer?”

  “Literally, it means sea of lights. Everyone is supposed to bring a candle and light it when the march starts. There are going
to be speeches all over the city, speaking out against the hatred of foreigners. And the center is going to be right here, at Heldenplatz, where Hitler gave his own hate-filled speech.”

  I looked around the plaza, trying to imagine it full of people. I knew I wanted to be part of the sea of lights.

  * * *

  On Friday, Felix and I rode our bikes to dance class. This was our fourth class, and I was getting pretty good at both dancing and riding my bike. But it didn’t feel right without Sara there. Katarina had called the dance studio and left a message, but I guess Marco hadn’t gotten it, because he came up to us as soon as we arrived. “Where’s Sara?” he asked. We had to try to explain what had happened, right there in the waiting room. Marco got stiller and stiller until his face looked like a marble statue. “Missing?” he asked. “I not understand.”

  But it was time for class then, and we couldn’t talk anymore. Frau Kovács had to demonstrate the steps herself, and she scowled the whole time. She even snapped at Marco when he accidentally messed up. Mai showed up late, and Daisy and Peter both had a cold, so they didn’t come at all. Even Felix stepped on my foot three times. I tried really hard not to yelp, but it hurt! “Sorry,” he mumbled miserably.

  Yeah. That’s how I felt too.

  Felix, Rasheed, Mai, and I went to Giovanni’s Gelato after class, but even ice cream didn’t cheer me up this time. No one had much to say. “Is anyone else going to the Lichtermeer tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Definitely,” said Rasheed. “My dad is from India. He was here legally and met my mom at university. But even though my mom’s Austrian, I was born here, and German is my first language, sometimes when I’m out with my father, people yell at us and tell us to go back home. So yeah, we will be there.”

  Mai wanted to go too, so we all made plans to meet in front of Felix’s house the next evening. As we were finishing our ice cream, I heard Mai say to Felix, “You were so brave.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Felix said. “In fact, I was terrified.”

  “Maybe,” Mai said. “But you still made it back to Vienna.”

  Riding home, I kept thinking about what Mai had said. I’d always thought that I needed to be brave before I could do stuff, but maybe I had it backward. Maybe being brave was about doing things—getting on the bike or stepping onto the dance floor or boarding a plane—and the feeling of confidence came after.

  In any case, as we put our bikes back in the storage room, I realized I’d been so preoccupied with the definition of bravery that I’d forgotten to worry about falling off my bike.

  CHAPTER 35

  Das Lichtermeer

  The next evening, Saturday, August 21, we all met in front of Felix’s house: Katarina, Felix, Dad, me, and Frau Gamperl. Rasheed and his folks joined us too. I was expecting the Kumars and Mai’s family, but Peter and his parents and two little brothers also showed up, as well as Daisy, her mom, her dad, and an older sister.

  Dad pulled me aside before we left. “Becca,” he warned. “I probably don’t need to say this, but they are expecting huge crowds. There’s going to be no way to get out if you get scared.”

  “I still want to go,” I said.

  “Okay,” Dad said. “But what if I get nervous?”

  We both smiled. The streetcar was crowded, and I noticed other groups like ours. It was almost festive, like the Fourth of July (which, of course, they did not celebrate in Austria). When we got off at Schottentor, the streets were already packed. “Streetcar number one isn’t running,” Katarina said. “There are so many people, they are blocking the rails. We’ll have to walk to Heldenplatz.”

  I glanced over at Frau Gamperl.

  “I’m not that old,” she snapped. “For this, I can walk.”

  The crowd got thicker as we walked. Dad and Katarina stuck close to Felix and me, as if they were scared to let us out of their sight even for a moment. By the time we reached Heldenplatz, it was so crowded, it was hard to move. Katarina flashed a press pass, and we all squeezed forward, into another section.

  I gotta admit—I felt a little uncomfortable. Not because it was hot and I was thirsty (which I was) but because there were no easily accessible exits. What if someone has a stink bomb? Or tear gas? Or a gun? But every time I felt like giving up and running away, I touched the little green bag I wore across my body. I’d stitched the leather straps back together. It wasn’t pretty, but it held. Inside, I had my Monatskarte, some money, and Sara’s list.

  Finally, we found a spot to stand, not far from the statue where Felix, Frau Gamperl, and I had talked two days before. Dad pulled a package of long white candles from his backpack and handed them out, one for each of us. Katarina had brought small paper plates with a hole cut in the middle of each and showed us how to pull them down over the candles to protect our fingers from the dripping wax. Frau Kumar passed out matches—from the Heuriger where we’d had Felix’s birthday. There was a light wind, and Daisy’s and Peter’s candles kept going out, but mine burned strong and clear. I helped the others light theirs until they were all burning.

  We were surrounded by people. Everyone seemed tall, giant-sized, and I could barely see a thing. We were crammed in so close together, I almost set a woman’s long blond hair on fire. Another man had a jacket that brushed through my flame. I cupped my hand around the candle and held it closer. A drop of hot wax dripped from the plate onto my hand.

  Will it leave a scar? What if I burn myself? Dad had my first aid kit in his backpack, but it was so crowded, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull it out. I didn’t like being jostled and squished. What if people start to panic? Or riot? I had a section in Doomsday Journal #3 about how to avoid getting injured by a stampeding crowd, but I couldn’t remember what it said to do. I started to shiver even though it was a warm night.

  “You okay, Becca?” Felix asked softly.

  I shook my head. I held on to the candle with both hands, as if for dear life. I will not panic. I will not. I focused on the flame as it burned bright and clear. Sara. Sara. Think about Sara.

  Felix stood on one side of me, and Dad somehow appeared on the other. I could see Ms. Madden with her camera crew on a platform near the speaker. She turned and scanned the crowd. Katarina waved dramatically, and Ms. Madden waved back at us. I felt a little better.

  The first speaker began his speech, and I started to forget about being squished together like sardines. No . . . like bugs in a jar of paprika. Felix translated for me, whispering into my ear.

  “We can’t isolate ourselves; we can’t close our eyes and ears from what is going on around us,” the first man said. “We don’t have a foreigner problem; there is only a problem between poor and rich, because no one has anything against rich foreigners. We must give the poor, the socially vulnerable in Austria the feeling that they are not worthless, regardless of whether or not they are citizens. That is the greatest goal.”

  A clergyman spoke next: “The belief in Jesus Christ and the hatred of foreigners are incompatible. Loving our neighbors knows no boundaries. Like Martin Luther King Jr. with his dream of a society where the color of your skin does not decide whether people have rights or not. Like this dream, we want to have equal rights for all people living here, regardless of race, religion, political beliefs, social class, and also independent of place of birth.”

  “We reject Mr. Haider’s point of view,” continued a member of parliament. “The truth is, his petition makes only one thing certain—that it will rile up emotions and leave our problems unsolved. Many sectors of our economy would cease to function if we no longer had any foreign workers.”

  Another government official went on: “We were happy here, on this side of the Iron Curtain, but we knew that on the other side of the border, our neighbors thought of our land as a harbor for refugees and hope. People are demonstrating tonight not for their own rights and privileges but for the rights of others.”

 
“I don’t believe that the lot of the unemployed in Austria can make us blind to the fact that outside of our borders, millions struggle simply to survive,” a bishop told the group. “I don’t believe that the majority of Austrians can take offense when there are problems in the schools with students who don’t speak perfect German, and yet remain unmoved when children in other places are slashed apart by grenades.

  “I simply don’t believe that seeing Muslim women in their strange-to-us clothing irritates us more than the fact that in Bosnia thousands of Muslim women and girls are defiled, raped, mutilated, and killed.

  “There are situations in which lines must be drawn. Staying quiet, observing, looking away, that may be more comfortable. But when the minority is threatened, the majority must show that they are ready to take them into their protection, to build a wall of people around them.

  “I don’t know how many Austrians will sign the Austria First petition. But I am certain that the majority of Austrians think differently. That for this majority, solidarity with people in need is not an empty phrase.”

  I thought again about The Sound of Music. About how the captain and Maria and the children sang “Edelweiss” at the music festival and how the other performers covered for them, extending their bows so they’d have a couple of extra minutes to get away. I thought about the nuns taking the spark plugs out of the Nazis’ cars so they couldn’t follow the von Trapp family up into the hills.

  Is that what we’re doing tonight? Nothing that seems very big. Nothing irreversible. Just for one night, taking the spark plugs out of a car.

  I suddenly saw the beauty of the evening, the thousands of candles twinkling in the darkness. The people there were saying no, one politician and his followers did not represent who they were as a country. Did not represent who they wanted to be.

  Yeah. I think a few less spark plugs could make a difference.

  CHAPTER 36

  Green Hair Dye