Are We There Yet?

by David Levithan

After a time—a time filled with water and alleyways—they arrive at Antico Capriccio. It is a tiny restaurant, on the corner of somewhere and nowhere. It has been recommended by a friend of a friend of Danny's. He had to mention the friend of a friend's name when making the reservation—the Continental equivalent of a secret handshake.

  They are greeted at the door by an old man named Joseph.

  It soon becomes clear that he is owner and waiter, maitre d' and busboy. Whenever possible, he stays out of the kitchen. That is his wife's territory.

  Joseph doesn't speak much English, and doesn't care to hear it anyway. Danny starts to ask if Visa is accepted, but Joseph brushes the question away like a foul odor. Chatting amiably, he seats Danny and Elijah by an ancient fireplace. They are the only ones in the restaurant—or, at the very least, the only ones they can see. Joseph brings them wine before they even see the menus. Danny tries to protest—he prefers white to red. But Elijah takes the wine gladly; just the sight of it makes him feel warm.

  The menus are entirely in Italian. Danny and Elijah both feel the need for Danny's travel dictionary, but they are too abashed to take it out. It doesn't matter anyway—when an answer isn't immediately forthcoming, Joseph pulls the menus from their hands and orders for them. He clearly revels in their confusion, but not in a mean-spirited, French way. Let me take care of you, his smile says. Elijah relaxes and submits willingly after it is made clear that he is vegetariano. Danny has never been able to submit willingly to anything besides his boss's whims. He is not about to start now. He asks if the fish is good. Joseph laughs and walks away.

  “So how was your day?” Danny asks, his fingers tapping the table.

  “Fine.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Around.”

  “The weather was good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It didn't rain?”

  “Nope.”

  “That's good.”

  “Yeah.”

  Talking like this is like throwing small, round stones— nothing can be built from them, except perhaps the cairn of a lost conversation. Neither brother is trying. Instead, they are filling the space, united by their mutual dislike of awkward silence.

  Joseph returns to light a candle. Elijah spots a medal on his lapel and asks if he's ever been in a war. This is clearly the right question to ask. Joseph takes the medal from his jacket and lets Elijah hold it in his hand. In a river of Italian broken by crags of English, he talks about his days in the military—il paese, il fiume, la morte. Elijah hears the word diciannove, but cannot tell whether it is an age or a number of years.

  As Joseph leaves to compel the first course, Elijah finds himself thinking once more about Julia. It surprises him—to be hearing an old man's reminiscence of the war one moment, and to be recalling her eyes in the next. The segue is in the story-telling—he sees Joseph's words as something he wants to share with Julia. He doesn't know whether he'll ever see her again, but still he feels the need to tell her things.

  How strange, he thinks. How very strange.

  His hope to see her again is prayerful—not because it is addressed to a spirit, but because it is mysteriously drawn from an unknown part of his soul.

  My soul. How very strange.

  “So how's your girlfriend?”Danny asks. Elijah is jarred—how could Danny know about Julia—and why would he call her that?

  Danny sees the confusion on Elijah's face and tries again. “You know—what's her name—Cat?”

  “Cat?”

  “You know, the girl you hang out with.”

  “Oh. Cal.”

  “Yeah, Cal.”

  “She's not my girlfriend.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Elijah thinks about Cal and feels a vague sort of distance. For the first time, she seems out of reach. All of their Wonder Twin Telepathic Powers have failed him. “Whenever you need me,” she'd say, “wiggle your ears.” Elijah never had the heart to tell her he couldn't wiggle his ears. He'd just smile and nod, and know (wiggle or not) they would never have distance, even when they were apart.

  But now—what does it mean? Cal is suddenly a homemovie presence. The feeling of non-feeling is inescapable. Elijah assumes it will pass. He reasons it out—in a corner of a restaurant in a corner of a city, it is natural to feel Away and Apart. As soon as he gets back to the hotel, he'll be able to pull out his Magic 8 Ball keychain and conjure Cal from the radio-waved ether. Simple as that.

  As Elijah drifts off and Joseph mercifully brings the first course, Danny's thoughts also turn to the distance from home. He thinks about voice mail and conference calls, even though he hates himself for doing so. He's not so far gone that he doesn't know such thoughts are inappropriate. But such thoughts bring urgency to his life. Without them, he would have no clear game to play.

  “Remind me to call Allison when we get back to the hotel,” he tells Elijah.

  “Allison?” Elijah echoes with a distinct question mark.

  “Yes. She's working on the ranch-dressing account with me. I need to check in with her. See what's going on.”

  “Oh.” Elijah's curiosity deflates.

  “We're supposed to get the shooting script in for this great ad. Spike Lee might direct it.”

  “Oh.”

  You'd think I had the most boring job in the world, Danny sighs to himself. You'd think I was an accountant. Or a dentist. I mean, Spike Lee's a big deal. Advertising is as creative as being a snotty English-major-in-training. Elijah's problem, in Danny's mind, is that he has no sense of what it takes to make a living.

  Danny's problem, in Elijah's mind, is that he has no sense of what it takes to make a life.

  When Danny mentioned Allison's name, Elijah had been hoping she was a girlfriend. Danny used to have dozens of girlfriends, most of them nicer to Elijah than Danny himself. In high school, Marjorie Keener had brought along an extra flower for Elijah when she picked Danny up for the prom. Angelica, Danny's freshman-year college girlfriend, had spent most of their spring break playing Boggle with Elijah until the wee hours of the morning. (Danny never played, because Danny always lost.) Sophie—from junior year—had been cool, even if Elijah had spotted her eating disorder before Danny ever noticed. That relationship didn't last very long.

  Now Danny didn't have anyone. He had Allison—an office full of Allisons. No doubt the only thing he ever shared with them was an elevator ride.

  “So how's your job going this summer?” Danny asks. He's already plowed through his pasta. Elijah has taken two bites.

  “It's okay,” Elijah replies. He'd almost forgotten about working in his school's admissions office. It was that kind of job.

  “So you sort through applications?”

  “Nah. We just file last year's applications. There was this one girl—she painted her whole room the school colors and sent in a photo with her holding a paintbrush. Just to get in.”

  “Did she get in?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “And that's all you do all day—file? Will that get you into college?”

  “Well, we can't all be in advertising.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  Elijah bends back over his pasta. Danny tries to signal Joseph for more wine, but Joseph is nowhere to be found.

  Danny and Elijah are both struck by the abruptness of their conversation. They both know they've gone a little bit too far. They've broken their unwritten agreement—they are allowed to gibe each other, but it's never supposed to get too personal.

  Danny had always been too old to beat up Elijah. Even to a ten-year-old, a seven-year difference seems unfair. Danny was not above using force to get his way—an arm twist for the remote control or a shove to get the front seat. But it was not the habitual violence symptomatic of a usual brother-brother relationship.

  Instead, Danny showed Elijah the depth of his disdain. There were times of pure love, for sure. But when Danny wanted to strike out, he di
d it with a shrug, not a fist. If he wanted to, he could pretend Elijah wasn't there. Elijah could preen or caterwaul—whatever he did, he only made it worse in Danny's eyes. Eventually, Elijah gave up. He found his own private universe. And he learned his own form of disdain.

  The bad can be found in anything. It is so much easier to find than the good. So when Elijah hears advertising, he thinks sellout and phony and liar. Most of all, he thinks, My brother is so different from me. He is so wrong.

  And when Danny hears I'm going to be an English major when I get to college, he thinks pothead fallback and no sense of reality and penniless. He thinks, Anything but me.

  Perhaps Joseph senses this divide as he brings the main course. He has brought them different dishes, but knows they will not share. There is sadness in his eyes, because he knows they will not experience the full joy of the meal.

  The meal is, in fact, one of the best they've ever had. Even Elijah, who never thinks of food as something that can be enjoyed like a CD, is enraptured.

  It is an experience they will talk about for years to come. And, more important, it is a meal they can talk about for the rest of the evening, all the way back to the hotel.

  Elijah is nervous when the time comes to pay the check and leave the tip. But Danny surprises him by leaving thirty percent. They both chorus Joseph with thank-yous before they leave into the night. Joseph smiles and pats the two brothers on the back. He watches as they slowly walk to the vaporetto station. Then he returns to their table and pushes the chairs together before he leaves.

  They are due to visit Murano the next morning.

  Elijah cannot believe it is already their last day in Venice. He feels like he's only just arrived. The prospect of Florence (and furthermore Rome) excites him, but not as much as before. It is the traveler's great dilemma. When he arrived, Elijah had felt he was wandering over vast sands. Now he realizes he's been in an hourglass the whole time.

  Will that get you into college?— Danny's words from last night. His question. The ever-present question.

  The applications lie in unopened envelopes. Cal has put them in alphabetical order on his desk. She scribbles comments under the postmarks, the things she's found from visits he hasn't made, information sessions he hasn't even considered.

  He knows he's supposed to hate high school. Everybody says they hate high school. The cliques, the insecurity, the pressure. But Elijah has somehow found a place that he loves. It is not childhood. It is not adulthood. It is now, and it too resides in the hourglass.

  He'd chosen a high school his brother had never been. Teachers who had never heard Danny's name. Hallways that wouldn't bear his echo. He hadn't been sent away, although maybe he'd made it sound that way to the friends he was leaving back home. But he had wanted to go. He had wanted to live there and sleep there and wake there. He had wanted to be somewhere entirely new. Not because of Danny or his parents, who were at first a little sad about him going away, but then felt better when he said it was about getting a different experience, not about escaping. Funny, but at the time it had seemed like a grown-up thing to do. Planning for your future, his father had said. Once he got there, though, the future was the last thing on his mind. When he went home to his parents and his old friends, that was the past. And Cal and Ivan and the others were the present. The future? Maybe Danny was the future. But less so. The avoidable future.

  Elijah lies awake for an hour before he rises from the hotel bed. He drifts from the past to the near past. He wishes memory could be as easy as breathing.

  Thoughts of Julia begin to blur within the air.

  The sound of small waves seems to bring on the daylight.

  Danny has trouble waking up. The time zones have finally caught up with him. Reluctantly, he gets dressed and plods his way to breakfast with Elijah. He realizes he has become a full member of the Society of Temporary Expatriates—the dining area is filled with people from their flight or from the synagogue or from loud American conversations on the street. Danny feels a displaced sense of community. Even on the vaporetto ride to Murano, he spots a teenager from the plane, who was wearing a Wolverines T-shirt yesterday and now pledges sartorial allegiance to the Bulls.

  Murano is an island known throughout the world for its glass. Danny is surprised to find that most of its buildings are stone. With jet-lag weariness, he allows himself to be led to kilns and hammerings. He admires without touching. He is amazed when color appears from the wand of the glassblower. He expects to find the glass clear, but instead discovers it rimmed with red or blue.

  By the third stop, Danny is ready to leave. He feels very much like his reflection—worn out and only vaguely present. Elijah is kept awake by his wonder. Danny subsides.

  “A nap,” he says. But Elijah isn't listening. He is looking around, as if for someone else.

  “Who are you looking for?” Danny asks.

  “No one,” Elijah replies, focusing now.

  Yeah, right, Danny thinks. He figures his brother is looking for some old lady he helped to cross the street. Or maybe that girl from the plane who wouldn't shut up about herself.

  “Do you want to go back for a quick nap before we leave?” Danny asks, even though it's only eleven.

  Elijah nods. He wants to go back.

  But he doesn't have any intention of napping.

  The laws of gravity vary from city to city. In Venice, the laws state that no matter where you want to go, you will always be drawn back to St. Mark's Square. Even though you know it will be immensely crowded, and even though you have nothing in particular to do there, you will still feel yourself drawn.

  Elijah diverges from Danny at the gates of the hotel and finds himself gravitating. He moves as if he knows the place. It is a spiritual familiarity.

  Past the coffee bars and through the crowds of pigeons, Elijah heads for the basilica. It is busy, as it always is. There are numerous signs prohibiting photography. Some tourists rankle at this and fail to put their cameras away. Others would never imagine taking a photograph in such a place. They stand solemnly before the statues and say prayers of thanks or pain.

  Elijah pays his admission and walks into the entryway. Immediately he is amazed by the floors. Marble of every color— triangles and squares dancing in greater shapes. As others rush past, Elijah kneels down. He runs his hand over the marble. Other people stop to watch him, and it is only then that they too see the floors. Elijah is overwhelmed by the sheer fact of all the people who have walked over this very spot. As he watches Nikes and loafers glide past, he tries to fathom the feet of centuries ago. A person could stay in this same place his whole life and meet millions of people from all over the world. But instead, everyone moves on, and meets no one.

  From the floor, Elijah looks to the ceiling—all gold tile and mural, epic scenes and godly interventions. The ceilings speak a different language from the floors. Both are art, but the ceilings are story while the floors are mathematic. People walk between, every single one of them a foreigner.

  Elijah stands back up and re-enters the flow. He veers toward the corners, delicate shrines that counterbalance the immensity of the building. He stops in front of a saint he doesn't know. Candles flicker at her feet. Elijah loves the ceremony of candles—his mother waving her hands over the flames on Shabbat, or the two memorial candles that beacon through the house on Yom Kippur. This is, of course, a different context. Yet Elijah is tempted to light a candle, just the same. He puts three thousand lire in the box and pulls a candle from its stand.

  He'll light one for Cal. She's Christian, so that must be legal.

  He wonders what she'd wish for. He wonders what she'd want to tell the saint.

  He touches the wick against another candle. He wonders if its wish transfers with the flame.

  The wax drips onto his hand. An old woman shuffles up and takes a candle for herself.

  Cal. Cal. Cal.

  “Happiness,” Elijah whispers. Then he places the candle at the altar. The wax cools on his
hand as he pulls away.

  The old woman lights her candle, and a smile flickers across her face. Elijah thinks of birthdays, and wonders why birthday wishes aren't made when the candles are lit. If he could have his way, candles would never be blown out.

  After a few minutes of candle staring, he drops some extra coins into the candle box. Not for the candle, but for all candles. No payback necessary.

  Back at the hotel, Danny realizes too late that it's too early to take a nap. He wrestles across his bed and tries to contort himself into sleepfulness, but it's no use. After a half hour of impatient waking, Danny shifts to the side of the bed and picks up the phone. It takes a showdown with a contentious operator (who seemingly wouldn't know an AT&T calling card if it rode a gondola up to her desk) for Danny to place a call to his voice mail. There are nine new messages, which makes Danny happy, even as he mentally chastises all the people who have left him messages when his outgoing message clearly states that he is away.

  ‪4 to save, ‪6 to delete, ‪1 to respond. These dialing commands have become an essential part of Danny's being, his voice-mail mantra. Even after a live phone conversation, Danny finds himself hitting ‪6 to erase what he's just heard. Now he plows through the messages with corporate efficiency. He is happy to hear that there aren't any emergencies, and he is happy to hear that not much else is happening, either. Message six is from Cody in Legal, who informs Danny that one of his catchphrases has just been registered for trademarking. Danny smiles at that and forwards the message to Allison. He tells her he loves to be working in a country where the phrase “All the Oil You Need” can be owned.

  After listening through the messages (sometimes twice), Danny faces a different set of options. ‪1 to record a message, ‪8 to change a message, ‪3 to listen to saved messages. Danny ‪1s his work-friend John, just to say hey. Then he ‪1s Allison to tell her all is well and that he hopes work isn't too chaotic with him gone. As soon as he's hit the # key to end, he realizes he has something more to say, so he ‪1s her again and tells her he hopes she's not working too too late. Then he phones his assistant and says the same thing. He thinks about ‪1ing Gladner or Gladner to thank them for the time off. But even he sees how ridiculous this would sound, especially since they've sent him away to think of things other than work.