by Mariah Dietz
“Let’s get some dinner,” King says, threading his fingers with mine.
“I need to tell Mercedes.”
“She’ll understand.”
I nod sadly. I should be relieved that he’s ensuring she’ll be okay, yet, whether it’s for fear that she won’t or fear that she will, my eyes cloud with tears once again.
WE WALK into the house holding bags of takeout. I requested Chinese when King asked, thinking about Allie and what she had told me about food and the comfort it brings. Summer and Kash are already in the kitchen, looking over new images she’s taken.
“Where’s monkey?” King asks.
“In her room.” Kash looks to me as he answers, already knowing I’m late for this meeting.
I smile reproachfully and head down the hall.
“Hey,” I say, leaning against the doorframe of her room.
Mercedes looks up, her long hair a curtain around the magazine she’s looking through. “King has a centerfold in here.”
My lips pull up in a smile and my feet lead me into the room with little thought.
I sit on the edge of her bed, and Mercedes sits up, tucking her feet under her so she’s nearly as tall as I am. “Are you going to tell me about your brother?”
I hadn’t intended to. Ever. “Do you want me to tell you about him?”
Mercedes stares at me for several seconds and then shrugs, but I see that she has questions before she asks, “Was he always so mean?”
My first response is to shrug in return, but I stop as my shoulders rise, and swallow. “Yeah, he has.”
“Does it bother you?”
I rub the length of my arm because I’m covered in chills from the thoughts she’s evoking. “At times.”
“How do you make it stop?”
“Stop what? Caring?”
Mercedes nods.
“I don’t know if I ever stopped caring. I just realized that his words were intended to make me feel as badly as he does, and I didn’t want to be miserable like him.”
“I’m sorry he’s such a jerk.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. The fact that they don’t believe in me does nothing but fuel me to be better, push harder.”
“You’re an amazing artist, Lo.”
“And you’re an amazing person,” I say, inching my fingers forward and covering the back of her hand.
“I have something to tell you,” I begin.
“You got in.” Her eyes leave mine, inflicting a sharp pain to my chest. “I already know. I knew as soon as you submitted that you’d get in. So did you, remember? I was there when you got your passport picture.”
“I kind of hoped they’d turn me down.”
Mercedes shakes her head, but she still doesn’t look at me. “Don’t say that, Lo.”
“I’m coming back in September, though. Allie and Charleigh are both staying in the city, and I’ll stay with them when I return until I figure things out.”
She nods, sniffling as her fingers tighten into a fist below my hand.
“I wish I could take you with me.”
Mercedes launches herself at me, knocking me off balance so I’m sprawled across her bed with her on top of me, her narrow arms locked around the back of my neck. I wrap mine around her back as we both cry.
“Lo?” Mercedes asks in a shaky voice after both of us have calmed to the point we can breathe evenly again.
“Yeah?”
She shifts, lying her head on my shoulder and reaching for my newly freed hand. “You remember telling me we have to appreciate what we have?”
“Yeah…”
“You forgot to say, we have to realize what we have in order to appreciate it. I’m glad I have you, Lo.”
My nose tingles and my eyes burn from the quick return of tears. “I’m glad to have you too, Mercedes.” As my words dance across the sounds of our breaths, she snuggles closer to me, her hair tickling my face. I want so badly to brush it away, but I don’t. I wouldn’t move right now for the world.
“I HATE that you came,” I say against King’s shoulder.
“I’m not wasting a second. I told you that.”
“But this makes it so real.” I imagine few are watching us as we cling to one another outside of the TSA security gates, thinking they know and understand what’s happening. But they don’t. They don’t know King, and I’m positive they have no idea how impossible saying goodbye to him is.
“No less real than it would have been if we had said goodbye last night.”
We had a small party at Sonar to celebrate last night. Charleigh attended with her boyfriend, Brandon, and I was glad I had the opportunity to speak to him for a few minutes sans drama to learn that his love for Charleigh was just as deep as hers for him, possibly deeper. I understood before that moment why she had chosen to drop out of the fashion show, but seeing them together made falling asleep last night nearly impossible.
Allie was there along with Mia and Estella, Summer, Parker, a few students from my class, and even Kenzie. I spent most of my time with King and Mercedes, knowing that I would miss them the absolute most. But I had asked all of them not to come to the airport. The idea made it seem so final.
Tears are already skating down my cheeks from the far corners of my eyes, my throat tight. “Why couldn’t I have gone last summer?”
“Stop, Lo.” King’s hand between my shoulder blades presses me tighter to his chest. “I want you to go with the expectation of loving it, not hating it. It’s going to be hard, but we can do this.”
I nod, the wool of his plaid shirt scratching my face. I can’t make a verbal response without choking on my tears.
“Everything is going to be okay. We’re going to be okay, alright? We’ve got this.”
I nod again absently, fighting the cry about to break lose.
“I love you, Lo.” His voice is softer, pressed against my ear, playing through my head like a catchy tune. My fingers ache from squeezing the fabric of his shirt so tightly.
“I love you more.”
He shakes his head. “Not possible.”
“What are you guys doing today?”
King rolls his shoulders dismissively. “Summer has something planned,” he says, but I understand that he has no intentions of allowing her to try to distract him.
“Estella invited you guys to the restaurant for happy hour.”
King doesn’t say anything, just grips me tighter.
“You remember the name of the company you’re getting a ride from?”
“Yeah, it’s in my bag.”
“And you have your power converters and the euros?”
I nod, my throat closing again. He’s preparing to say goodbye. “I want to hear all about your competition tomorrow.”
King nods, moving his lips to the side of my head and softly kissing me. “I’ll tell you everything.”
“I have to go,” I whisper as my tears become heavier, now running down both cheeks in multiple trails.
King nods, his throat moving as he swallows.
“I love you.”
“I love you,” he repeats back to me.
I look back at King several times as I go through the maze of nylon fences, each glance making my vision more obstructed with tears until I’m being beckoned forward through the metal detectors and can no longer see him. Then I lose it.
THE FLIGHT to Italy is long, punctuated by a change of planes in Newark, where I ignore my growling stomach and pull out my phone to call King.
“Hey, baby.” His voice is soothing, making me smile and tear up again as I wander in the direction of a food sign.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“Only eighty-five days until I come home.”
King laughs quietly. “I thought you were going to study your Italian keywords on the plane.”
“You’re a way better distraction.”
“I’ll have Mercedes create a countdown.”
“I already miss you.”
I take a deep breath, fighting to believe his words. “I have to find a restroom and grab some food before my next flight. I’ll try to call you again before I leave. Otherwise, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“I love you, Lo.”
“I love you more.”
I wander around yet another airport with tear-stained cheeks, ignoring the world as I pick through my lunch.
Me: 4 the first time ever, my plane’s early.
King: UR going 2 love Italy.
Me: Not as much as I love U.
King: Good.
Italy is more beautiful than any of the pictures have portrayed. The architecture, the colors, the people, even the cobblestones have me entranced. I want to sit down and draw everything I see. Being away from those that I care so deeply for makes being here bittersweet, but for the first time since learning about this adventure, I feel motivated and excited for what I will see and experience this summer.
I’m impressed with myself as I navigate my way into the hotel, never having issues with getting through immigration, finding my bags, or even the correct car company to get me to my hotel.
The man at the front desk is thin, his hair long and attention set on something behind the counter that I can’t see. When he hears me, he smiles warmly, revealing with thick lines around his lips and eyes that he’s older than I had assumed upon first glance.
“Bonjourno!” He greets me merrily, his arms lifting as high as his smile.
I can’t help but smile in return as I pull out the documents I received that have all of my confirmation numbers.
“Ah, you’re from America!” he says, his voice rolling over the syllables, making them sound like an art.
“I am.”
“My daughter wants to go to America. She’s in love with your country. You’ll have to learn me new words for me to tell her. Her English is much better than mine.”
“Sure,” I say, smiling at his eagerness.
“Come, I’ll show you your room. It’s good you are staying with us. We have a lift.” I’m relieved to hear this. King made a comment about how few elevators there are in Europe.
We walk through the hotel, tiled in a terracotta colored brick, the walls a soft red-clay color. There are paintings on several of the walls, all famous Italian monuments that I hope to discover while I’m here.
He leads me to a door and then gestures widely for me to enter with the sweep of his hand. The same terracotta bricks are inside, along with a gold-framed bed that’s covered with a comforter in shades of forest green and mustard yellow. There are two nightstands, each adorned with a matching gold lamp, a dresser, and an older TV. The room is cold, ugly, but endearing because of the host that is proudly showing me how the few things inside are operated.
I am left to unpack, but instead I pull out my computer and phone to get set up, and while they power on, I draw.
MY PHONE startles me awake. I reach for it, hoping it’s King even though it’s a ridiculous hour. I wanted to stay up to see how things went, but I fell asleep. I sleep soundly here from the thousands of steps and stairs I take each day, and the food that is packed with glutinous wonders that have ensured me peaceful dreams. I’ve been in Italy for two weeks. I’ve eaten at 13 Gobi—the restaurant King told me inspired him to cook—four times already. It truly is the best food I’ve ever tasted. I’ve also seen The Duomo twice, The Pitti Palace, and lost an entire Saturday in the Ufizzi Gallery where I met the statue of David in person.
The sight of Kash’s name across the screen confuses me, but I don’t hesitate in answering it.
“Lo?”
It’s 4:00 a.m. I know by how early it is and the hesitancy in his voice that something is wrong. So does my heart. It’s twisting along with my stomach.
“Lo, are you there?”
I shake my head and quietly respond. “What’s wrong?” I ask when Kash doesn’t immediately respond. I feel the tightness in each of my muscles as my mind races to prepare for what he’s going to say.
“King crashed. He crashed hard, Lo.” My breath is gone. I shouldn’t be able to cry, yet I am. “He’s in surgery.”
My head shakes again. Maybe it never stopped. “What happened? What are they saying?”
“Not a lot yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s in surgery, Lo. All we know is they have to reset his shoulder and elbow, and his hip was fucked up, and…” Kash takes a deep breath, and my tears stream faster.
The tiled floor is still eerily warm under my feet as I begin shoving things into my suitcase, balancing the phone between my shoulder and chin with nothing but stretched silence between us with occasional deep breaths and attempts to get our noses to stop running. I go into the bathroom and quickly shove everything in a plastic bag I paid for earlier today when I forgot my own grocery bag, and drop it into my suitcase as well.
“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“He’s going to be pissed you’re leaving.”
“I don’t care. I can’t stay here.”
“I know.”
I slump to my bed. I don’t know what about Kash’s words hurts me so much. I think possibly it’s the pity, like he understands this from his own experience. Refusing to think of the similarities, I push myself forward and sit up straight.
“Trains and planes are all going to be off for the night. You should get some sleep. I’ll get you a flight out first thing in the morning.”
“You’re not—”
“I am. Get some rest. I’ll call you in a few hours with the details.” Kash hangs up.
A deep-seated pain is rising higher in my chest, magnifying every distinct reaction to this news. My heart is pounding as it races, my hands are shaking, my legs feel unsteady. I shove away from my bed with determination. There’s no chance in hell I’m going to be able to sleep at this point. Instead, I finish packing my last remaining items away, tugging a pair of jeans on, and tennis shoes without any socks because I can’t find any in the mess that is crammed into my bag. I’m lucky to find a bra and hook it into place and grab my jacket before shoving my portfolio into my bag. My messenger bag is filled last, my chargers, power converter, sketchpads, charcoals, and camera all jumbled together. I pocket my phone and head to the door, taking one last look at the hideous bedspread before making my way out into the warm evening in search of a cab.
By the time I’m loading the plane, I’ve only been in the airport for a couple of hours. Kash called an hour later, informing me he booked me on a seven o’clock flight. My feet feel gross from not having the soft barrier of socks, and I briefly wish I had dug for another shirt besides the one I slept in, because it’s several sizes too big.
Flying home is the longest fourteen hours of my life.
Ever.
I don’t bother to call Kash when I finally make my way through immigration. I take a cab to where I know they all are.
The elevator moves too slowly. I want to take the stairs so I don’t have to keep waiting for people to file off and on at each floor, but still having my bags, I don’t. I swallow my impatience with an angry huff and watch the numbers slowly climb.
The front desk only informed me of the floor, which has brought me to a long white hallway that makes me yearn for terracotta tiles. I reach for my phone and hit a few buttons to reach Kash and press it to my ear, trying to balance my bags and ignore how hot I feel.
“Did you land?”
“I’m here.”
“At the hospital?”
“On the right floor, I think.”
Kash emerges from farther down the hall, and I hang up, grabbing my things and pushing them in his direction. He moves toward me, wrapping his arms around me, knocking my bag from my shoulder.
“How is he?”
&nb
sp; “He’s good. He’s a tough sonofabitch. They put pins in his shoulder, and they had to put in a chest tube because a rib punctured his lung, but he’s going to be just fine.”
I sigh as tears course over the well-made paths on my cheeks. “Can I see him?”
Kash nods, reaching for my two suitcases and leading me to a door marked as ICU that makes my skin prickle with a wave of fear.
“You can’t bring that in here,” a nurse says from a desk.
“Can we keep it somewhere? She just flew in.”
“You shouldn’t be in here if you just got off a plane,” she says disapprovingly.
“King would take the bubonic plague over missing her.”
The nurse’s blonde curls shake and her lips purse, but she stands from her desk and moves toward the end of the counter. “You can leave them there for a few minutes. You need to wash your hands very well before you touch anything. And if she’s going to be a guest, you need to fill out another form so I can get her a bracelet.” She looks to Kash with her eyebrows raised in a V as though she’s challenging him.
I hadn’t considered that I could be a risk to him, and it makes my hand pause on the handle of my bag as I lower it from my shoulder.
“I’ll do whatever you need, but I’m going to take her back first.”
Kash places a hand on my shoulder and gently coaxes me forward, and my fears of going dissolve.
The sight of King stops my breath. He has so many tubes, wires, and bandages wrapped around him that my mind instantly believes Kash lied to me about his positive prognosis.
“The drugs have him sleeping a lot, but he said he’s feeling okay.”
I look to Kash, my eyes wide with disbelief.
“Where is everyone?”
“They went to grab some food downstairs in the cafeteria.”
I nod and then move to the sink, washing my hands three times before I dry them with a scratchy paper towel. Then I move toward his bedside, pulling a chair from the corner so I can be as close to him as possible. Kash slips out the door, closing it behind him as a tear falls down my cheek. My fingers hover over his hand, looking for a safe place to make contact without pulling on anything, and eventually rest on his forearm.
