Author note: This story goes between present time and two years ago. Be sure to take note of the dates.
Saturday, August 2nd.
A D D I E
When Margo, my big sister, was fourteen, she caught our father having an affair with my mother. She used to tell me how shocking it was, even if our father was a good-looking Italian man that had women walking through his restaurant doors in hoards, the question of his faithfulness would never have been called into question.
That was until Margo, who had never even held hands with a boy, walked into the storeroom to collect a pizza sauce and saw her father's pants around his ankles and a woman's legs around his waist.
He brought great shame on the Bianchi name and as I was told, he was given an earful from my Nonna who was appalled at his actions. She never accepted my mother who, while from Italian descent, was born and raised in America. She didn't like to cook, she was career focused, she didn't want a lot of children. This didn't sit right with Nonna, as if the fact that she was a mistress wasn't bad enough, she didn't equate to a good Italian housewife either. But she was beautiful, elegant, dazzling in diamonds and wealth. And she had a good heart, she was kind and welcoming.
Dad left Sicily with my mom, both heading back to her home in California and six months later, Margo was sent to live with them as her own mother fell deep into drugs and alcohol. A year and a half later, I was born. As I grew older, I asked Margo how she wasn't so angry and frustrated with my mother for tearing her family apart. All she ever said was that her father was happier than he had ever been and there were probably things that went on that she didn't understand because of her age.
Margo was like that. She tended not to dwell on circumstantial matters. She couldn't change the relationship that her dad had with my mom. So, she embraced it and she embraced me.
As I watched the expansive land from the train window, I tried to hear what Margo would tell me about this situation. What advice would she have for me now? She was practical so the first thing she would tell me was that traveling on a train from Beverly Hills to Austin, Texas was impulsive and stupid, and I needed to go home and deal with reality regardless of what I felt.
There was no chance that I could go home. It didn't matter what I had left behind, our shared event planning business, May We? didn't matter, the clothes, the shoes, the friends and clients. None of it mattered. I couldn't be sure of what pushed me into choosing Austin, Texas as the final stop, the city where my ticket would expire, and I would have no choice but to get off the train or pay for another leg of the tour.
Perhaps that was for the best, I could just sit on this train, in this seat, claimed as a traveler and hoping that we'd drive far enough that the oozing heart sized hole in my chest would heal the further that we got from home.
It was far fetched of course, for two reasons. The first being that the hole was here, and it wasn't going to close. The second being that this train would end up back in California at some point whether I liked it or not.
My head fell onto the warm windowpane and I watched the road beside the tracks whirring past, fast. So fast that the lines separating the lanes were a blur. The road signs were a blur. My fingertips touched the bottom of my eyes just to be sure that I wasn't sobbing in public again and that the blur wasn't gathered tears refusing to spill. Nope, not a tear so far. I thought that keeping it together would have been a lot harder, but I had a feeling that the hollow pit in my chest was a black hole, draining the emotion and pain before I knew what to do with it.
Instead, I had been on autopilot for the last week and I wasn't sure where the switch to turn it off was.
Even if there was a black hole in my chest, all of that pain and emotion had to go somewhere. The filtration couldn't have been leaving me. I knew that it would be manifesting somewhere, storing itself to spring load and appear at the most inconvenient of times. Perhaps one of those moments would be when I was starting to feel right again. Not that I was sure I'd ever feel 'right'.
No. I knew that I wouldn't.
Austin in the beginning of August was the time that it reached peak temperatures. The sun was relentless, I could feel it piercing my skin from the moment that I stepped off the train and onto the platform where thousands of bodies made it even hotter than it was. For a moment, all I could do was stand still and watch the world move around me.
The colour, the beautiful sun dresses and wide brimmed hats. Flip flops and sandals. Smiles that said, all is well in the world. It never ceased to amaze me how one tragic event, one event that felt so enormous that it should have had the entire population reeling and falling to its knees, was in fact not earth shattering at all. It existed to me and a handful of people back in California.
It made me wonder how much darker life would be if grief was physical. If we could walk past someone and see exactly what it was that they felt. If we could see their heart tearing right down the middle, if we could see the never-ending slow bleed of their mind turning into a dismal mess. I suppose there was a good reason that it wasn't like that. It would be too much. Humans are empathetic. Having to carry someone else's grief would be a quick descent into madness.
The role of a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, a hand to hold was the most that another human could do. Empathy was enough of a curse as it was. As I watched a woman walk past, a skip in her step, thrill in her beaming smile, I knew that I wouldn't want to be responsible for crushing her spirit. Especially not when she reached an older woman, embraced her in a hug and told her how much she missed her.
Envy, envy was a real human curse that I was glad couldn't be seen.
With a backpack on, a pair of Fila trainers and a black T-shirt dress, I began walking. Black was the right colour. Not because it represented how I felt, but because the sweat would be less obvious. And I did sweat. There was no reasonable explanation for how far and how long I chose to walk for, I just couldn't think of much else to do. There was no plan. No destination.
The Colorado River which ran right through the heart of Austin was beautiful on a day like today. The sun hit the rippling surface, appearing as if it was glittering with diamonds. I stood on the Pennybacker bridge which crossed the river, its expanse stretching hundreds of feet and rolling hills flanked either side. There were trees and grass and water for miles. For a moment I inhaled the clean air, searching for peace or a flicker of appreciation for the scene. The fact that I felt hollow, less than hollow, I felt nothing, scared me. I knew that the view was beautiful, and yet the emotion refused to stir.
Night began to fall after some hours of aimless wandering. The sky turned into a dusted orange, the slither of blue became an almost purple shade and the clouds looked like cotton candy. There was an obvious ache in the sole of my feet, it traveled right up into the core of my thighs. I hadn't eaten, I hadn't had something to drink. I hadn't healed one fucking bit and that was the point. To move and think until the pain resided. Just a little bit. That was all I asked.
When it was dark, and there were crickets chirping, stars overhead and headlights illuminating the road in front of me, I wondered if I should have rented a room for the evening. Especially because as I peered around, I realised how far from town I now was. There were no store fronts, no people, no homes. Just the occasional gravel driveway that was so long I couldn't see the end of it, trees and fields.
The night didn't bring much in the way of relief from the heat. It was still humid, and I felt drenched. I came to a standstill and contemplated what to do. What would Margo do? Well, she'd have never spent an entire day walking across Austin in the first place. She'd have caught a cab, rented a room, carefully allocated her hours into set activities so that she could make the most of her adventure.
I knew her so well. I knew what she would do and still, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I'd have never done it as well as her. There was no point in attempting to be half of who she was.
Bullshit, Addie. You're an event planner. Organisation is what you do!
"Excuse me, Ma'am?"
I startled and turned around to the harsh glare of the brightest lights behind me. A shadow stood there, a woman, her hair long and her figure thin. My breath caught.
"Margo?"
"Uh. . . Ma'am are you alright? It's not too safe walking around these parts alone. A lot of traffic passes through and I—"
Whatever she said faded out, just like the rest of the world.