by Alyson Noel
Then later, as I made my way toward shore, my stomach dropped to my knees when I saw Tally sitting next to my towel. But I just took a deep breath and kept moving, putting one foot in front of the other until I was standing directly before her. Then acting as though everything was perfectly fine and okay, I smiled and said, “Hey, Tally, what’s up?” Then I twisted my hair into a long spiral, squeezing it tightly between the palms of my hands, watching as seawater poured through the ends.
She smiled and shrugged, then mumbled something about it being a great day for the beach, and my stomach leapt from my knees to my throat when I saw how I’d left my journal lying right there on my towel, all propped open and ready for anyone interested enough to read.
And just as I started to grab it, frantic to think what she might’ve seen, I remembered that this was Tally, my peace-loving, privacy-allowing aunt who would never even consider peeking at someone else’s diary.
Which pretty much makes her the exact opposite of her sister/my mom who would dive right in without a second thought.
So instead I just nudged it aside with my foot, as though it held no real significance or value, then I sat down beside her and admired my tan as I splayed my legs out before me (well, at least until I got to my toenails which were desperately in need of fresh paint). And since she was just sitting there beside me, not saying a word, I turned to her and said, “Where’s Tassos?” Even though I figured he was probably busy working at his studio. But then I didn’t really care about the answer—I just wanted to plug up the silence.
But she said, “At the house, getting ready.”
And just as I was about to ask—getting ready for what? I REMEMBERED. So I shut my mouth and left it at that.
“I just thought I’d stop by and sit with you for a while. I hope that’s okay?” she said, giving me a cautious look, which made me feel kind of bad, but still I just shrugged. “You’re leaving soon, and I feel like we didn’t get to spend enough time together.” She laughed. “Crazy, huh? We’ve lived together nearly three months, but somehow it just flew by.” She smiled.
I glanced at her and nodded, then I focused back on my toes, partly because I didn’t trust the awful way my throat was starting to feel again, but mostly because I was wondering how she was going to segue this little conversation into that of Petros’s funeral, mentioning how weird it was that neither of us were there. Especially me.
But instead she just sighed and said, “I hope it wasn’t all bad, Colby, your time here, I mean. I know my lifestyle isn’t quite what you had in mind for your summer vacation.”
I just shrugged, because while the majority of it was indisputably bad, it’s not like it was her fault.
“I have to admit, when your mom called to ask if I’d take you in for the summer I was more than a little surprised.” She laughed. “But then she explained about the divorce, and I thought it would be a good break for you. Because believe me, I’ve been there.”
I looked at her, wondering what the heck she was getting at. I mean, how could she have “been there” when the only reason Grandma was single was because Grandpa died? How could she know how horrible it is when your parents wake up one morning and mutually decide that from that moment on they’ll totally hate each other?
“I was married.” She smiled, answering the question I hadn’t yet asked. “A long time ago, right before I moved here, it only lasted a year, and you were just a tiny baby, which is why you probably don’t know.”
“Was it horrible?” I asked, preparing to hear a really juicy, if not tragic, tale.
But she just shrugged. “Not really.” And when she saw my expression she laughed and said, “Not all endings are bad, Colby. Just like not all endings are happy. Some endings—just—are.” She shrugged. “But no matter what happens, you always come out okay.”
And when I looked at her I thought:
More peace and love crap coming right up!
But then I felt immediately guilty for thinking that, so I just scooped up a handful of sand, cupped it in the center of my palm, and watched as it slipped through my fingers, landing right back where it started, settling into place as though it’d never been disturbed. And after it was quiet for so long I just couldn’t take it anymore, I said, “Well, maybe that worked out all fine and well for you, but just so you know, my parents’ divorce isn’t even final yet, and my dad’s already living with someone, and my mom sold the house and has no idea where we’ll go because she’s too busy obsessing over my dad’s new girlfriend, and they just continue along like that, happily screwing up all of our lives, and there’s nothing I can do about it! Not one damn thing I can do to change it! So yeah, I guess you’re right, I just have to accept it because it is what it is, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to be okay, I mean you can’t PROVE that because there’s just no guarantee—” But even though I was poised and ready to go on and on and on, in the end, I cut it off there, since I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t do something completely embarrassing like start crying right in front of her, or worse.
But Tally just shook her head and said, “You’re right, Colby. You had no choice, and everything you’re going through is out of your control. But what I really meant to say is that even though it’s true that all of these things have happened to you, the fact is, you’ve lived through it, and you’re still fine. And you’ll continue to be fine. Your mom will find somewhere for you to live, and you’ll be fine. And if you have to go to a new school, it won’t be long before you learn your way around, make new friends, and you’ll be fine again. You’ll meet your dad’s new girlfriend, and whether or not you like her really doesn’t matter, because either way, you’ll still be fine. Life brings nothing but change, Colby. Our job is to make the necessary adjustments, so we can continue to be fine.”
But she’d barely gotten to the end of her speech before I was already shaking my head. “Um, excuse me for saying this, but how would you even know? I mean, it’s not like your life embraces change,” I said, thinking how she’d moved to a place that’s so unbelievably stagnant and slow it seems like nothing’s changed for over a century. “I mean, you buy your eggs off an old lady on a donkey, you buy your fish off a boat in the harbor, you don’t even have a computer, much less a TV, not to mention how you and Tassos basically keep to the same routine, day in and day out, come rain, shine, or Meltemi wind. So, not to be rude or anything, but in light of all that, I really don’t get how you can possibly claim to be such an authority on change. I mean, you’re practically living in a time warp!”
But even though I was poised for a fight, Tally just laughed. “You’re right,” she said, her legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap, her face as serene as the Buddha statue she keeps in her garden. “And that’s exactly why I moved here at first. I was searching for someplace stable, steady, and calm. And you know what I got? More change. Maybe not as intense as before, but still, it ebbs and flows here just like any other life. Sometimes the change is small, sometimes it’s not, but in the end, you always come out better, wiser, or maybe just okay. And if you’re lucky, you get all three.”
And that’s when I rolled my eyes.
I know I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s not like I could help it, because as much as I’d grown to like her, as much as I’d learned to tolerate our colossal differences, sometimes she was just so dang full of it.
I watched as she calmly got up, grabbed her keys, and then looked at me as she said, “The trick is to learn to see with your heart, not with your eyes, Colby.”
And when I called after her, to ask where she was going, she just smiled and said, “I have a funeral to attend.”
August 21
Dear Tally and Tassos,
The mailman just delivered your new COMPUTER!
I left the box in the kitchen, next to the table.
Is this for real?
Let me know if you need me to show you how to use it!
Colby
Colby’s Journal
&nbs
p; August 22
The second I heard Tally’s jeep drive away, I got up from my towel and ran after her, waving my arms and yelling into the cloud of dust she’d left behind, but it was too late, she’d already gone. So I ran back down to the beach, shoved everything in my bag, and headed back up the road and all the way home. Ignoring the searing pain in my side as I gasped for air and pushed on, concentrating on nothing more than changing out of my wet bathing suit, and into something appropriate enough to wear to Petros’s funeral.
Because the second Tally was gone, I knew she was right. It was time for me to stop worrying about how everything APPEARS. To stop worrying about how it will all END. And learn to enjoy what I have—for as long as I have it.
And just as I was about to walk through the door, a delivery truck pulled into the drive, and some guy climbed out holding this big huge box in his hands that he asked me to sign for, and I nearly fell over when I saw it contained a computer.
But it’s not like I had much time to really stop and gawk since I knew the funeral had probably already started, and I didn’t want to be any more late than I already was, since the Greeks take their traditions very seriously.
So after taking a really quick shower, and twisting my clean, wet hair back into a bun, I threw on a black dress, slipped on some sandals, and flew out the door, running all the way down to the church where I really, really hoped it was being held, since in this case, being wrong meant I had 699 others to choose from. And when I slipped inside, the room was so dim and cloudy with incense it took awhile for my eyes to adjust, and even though I immediately spotted Tally and Tassos somewhere in the middle, I decided to just hang in the back and try not to attract any more attention than I already had.
I leaned against the back wall, listening as the priests in their long, ornate robes chanted an endless string of words that sounded completely unfamiliar, as my eyes searched the crowd of mourners, seeing Petros’s son, Stavros, struggling to remain stoic even though he was clearly overcome with grief, his arm wrapped around a small, pale, trembling woman I figured to be his mother. And after seeing the guy who works at the bank, nodding at the guy who runs the gyros stand, and acknowledging and recognizing a whole host of others, I realized that as much as I’d tried to fight it, I’d somehow become a part of this community.
Then I froze, I mean seriously I could not blink, breathe, or move when I saw Yannis standing next to Maria. But it only lasted a second. Because even though seeing them together made my stomach pang with this deep terrible ache, in the end I forced my eyes to look away, reminding myself that I was there to honor Petros, not to revisit my long list of regrets.
After the ceremony, everyone filed out of the church and headed for the cemetery, and I was standing by the door, waiting for Tally and Tassos to catch up, when Yannis came right up beside me and whispered, “Walk with me.” Not like a question, though not quite an order either, I guess it was more like a suggestion.
So I did. I headed out the door and walked alongside him, neither one of us saying a word, just following the flow of the crowd, until he grabbed my hand, pulled me against the wall, and let everyone pass, until only we remained.
Then he looked at me and said, “Are you okay?”
His eyes were on mine, and his face showed such warmth and concern and care, that I just couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing.
Not that I thought it was funny or anything, since obviously it was a completely normal question under the circumstances (unlike my response, which was anything but normal). But after listening to that little speech of Tally’s at the beach, somehow it all just seemed kind of funny. Because the fact was, until he’d asked, I didn’t even realize that I was okay. That, come to think of it, I’d been okay all along. That even though I was still really sad about Petros, and still really worried about my future, and still beyond annoyed with my parents, and still quite possibly choosing the wrong friends over the right ones, I, Colby Catherine Cavendish, was still okay. And there was a pretty good chance I’d remain that way, no matter what.
That with a little effort, most of the stupid mistakes I’d made could be fixed. And as for the rest? Well, I’d just learn to deal. And for some stupid reason, that I can’t really explain, all of that made me feel like laughing, even though it was obviously NOT the response he was after (nor was it appropriate conduct from someone who just came from a funeral). But I guess it also felt good to laugh again. It’d been far too long since the last time.
And like always with laughing, it wasn’t long before Yannis joined in too, though it was pretty obvious it was more of a hesitant, confused laugh, like he wasn’t exactly sure why he was participating, but figured, well, what the hell?
So when I finally calmed down, I looked him right in the eyes and said, “Oh my God, you’re anonymous aren’t you?” Even though I hadn’t realized I knew until exactly that moment.
He nodded.
So I said, “And that’s why you dumped me, because you read about my trip to Mykonos.” And as I watched him nod again, I couldn’t believe how it’d taken me so long to figure it out. Though I still had no idea how he even knew about my blog in the first place, since it’s not like I ever told him about it. But I also knew it didn’t matter. What did matter was the way I’d hurt him. So I looked at him and said, “I’m sorry.” Which seemed a little inadequate, so I added, “But it’s not what you think because nothing happened, I swear. I mean, I’m not going to lie, we kissed—” I glanced at him briefly, then quickly looked away, the pain in his eyes being too much to bear. “But that’s it. Really—”
I lowered my gaze and focused on my feet, wishing I could go back and change things, yet knowing I could only move forward. So I took a deep breath and said, “I guess I was just so afraid of what I might lose, of what I might be missing out on, that I forgot to enjoy what I have. And I somehow believed that by pushing you away and rejecting everything here, I could reclaim my old life, the one I left behind. Only it didn’t work. It just left me feeling sad and awful and empty inside.”
When I looked up again his eyes were on mine, and it took everything I had not to look away.
“Is he your boyfriend?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.
I shook my head. “I don’t even like him.”
“And nothing happened?”
I gazed at him and swallowed hard, hating the words but knowing I had to say them. “We kissed, but that’s all.”
My hands were shaking, my palms were sweating, and my lips were pressed so tight it hurt, and when I glimpsed his expression, just seconds before he shook his head and looked away, I knew it was useless, I knew it was over.
But then he shrugged and said, “I’m sorry too.”
I froze, wondering if he had his own confession to make, something about Maria. And not really sure if I wanted the details, but knowing he deserved equal time, I asked, “What are you sorry for?”
He shook his head. “It was a stupid game, pretending to be anonymous. I should have told you. I just wanted to know you better. You always seem like you are keeping something back. You could have told me about your parents, and your friend coming to visit. Why did you keep it a secret?”
And even though it was a good, reasonable, valid question, that doesn’t mean I had an answer. So I just shrugged and said, “Well, now you know. But how did you know, about the blog? I mean, is Petros another cousin?”
Yannis laughed. “He is a cousin of my cousin, but not a direct relation. I stopped by his café one day when you were in there, and I recognized you from the boat, but you didn’t see me since you were too busy typing. And when I asked Petros about you, he told me about your blog, and I started reading it so that I could learn more about you. The only reason I showed up at the Fourth of July BBQ was so that I could meet you.” He shrugged.
“So you were stalking me?” I asked, realizing that for someone who thought she knew all the answers, I really didn’t know much of anything.
But he just laug
hed.
“And Maria?” I asked, still feeling that pang in my gut, despite everything he’d just told me.
But he just shook his head and slid along the wall, moving so close I could feel the warmth of his body, his breath on my cheek, as he looked at me and said, “The only reason I was in the port that day is because I was buying the flowers and food for our date. I’m not interested in Maria.” His eyes searched my face. “Unfortunately, I’m still interested in you.”
“Unfortunately?” I murmured, barely able to breathe as he brought his hand to my face, his fingers traveling along my temple, my cheekbone, stopping just long enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, before returning to the curve of my chin.
“You’re leaving.” He shrugged, his eyes gazing right into mine, his fingers tilting my face toward his. “It’s unfortunate.”
“So what happens now?” I whispered, as he kissed the side of my neck, halfway between my ear and my necklace.
“We make the most of it,” he said, his lips meeting mine.
We kissed. Right there, next to the whitewashed wall, smack in the middle of town, where anyone could see. Just clinging to each other, lost in our own little world, oblivious to everything around us, until an old woman walked by and tsk’d.
Actually, she muttered something under her breath as well. But even though I asked Yannis to translate, he just shook his head, and said I was better off not knowing. Then he grabbed my hand and led me to where another old woman was selling flowers from a basket hanging off the side of her donkey.
So of course I said, “Oh, you don’t have to buy me flowers.” Even though I was secretly thrilled that he was.
But he just laughed and said, “They’re not for you, they’re for Petros. Come on, it’s a tradition.”
By the time we made it to the cemetery, the ceremony was over, and everyone had moved on, so Yannis and I walked right up to the grave site, and I watched while he placed a single white rose on the grave and said a few words in Greek. Then I placed a pink rose beside his and said, “Thanks for being my friend. And thanks for giving me good advice and telling me to turn off my computer, go outside, and get a life. And thanks for pulling no punches and letting me know when you thought I was up to no good.” I peeked at Yannis right after I said that, wondering if Petros had told him about the day I came back from Mykonos and how awful I looked and how I reeked of alcohol and sweat, but he was still gazing at the grave, so I took a deep breath and went on, “And thanks for that free frappe. I’ll miss you.”