Page 1 of Two Chances With You

Chapter 1

Ifeel like dying.” That’s what I thought the day I left. When I caught the plane, that day just two years ago. I really wanted to end things. There was a thunderstorm, and everyone was tense and frightened. Not me. I was the only one still smiling. That’s right, the best thing that could have happened would have been an ordinary, unremarkable accident. That way, it wouldn’t have been anyone’s fault, I wouldn’t have had to live with the shame, no one would have had to delve into the reasons why…I remember that the plane lurched and jolted the whole way.

When you’re depressed, when the whole world looks dark, when you have no future, when you have nothing to lose, when…every instant is a burden. Immense. Intolerable. And you heave an endless succession of sighs. All you want to do is get rid of that load. In whatever way necessary. In the simplest way, in the most cowardly fashion, without putting off till tomorrow this thought: She’s not here anymore. She’s gone now.

And so, very simply, you wish that you were gone too. That you could just vanish. Poof. Without complications, without bothering anyone. Without anyone taking the trouble to say: “Oh, did you hear? That’s right, him, that’s who I’m talking about…You won’t believe what happened to him…” Exactly, that guy is going to tell the story of your end on earth, embroidering it with who knows which and how many lurid details, inventing absurdities, as if he’d known you all your life, as if he were the only one who really knew the depth and nature of your problems. How weird…

And to think that even you never had the time to figure out what they were. And there’s nothing you can do to stop this appalling word-of-mouth legend from spreading. What a pain in the ass. Your memory for all time will be a plaything in the hands of just any old asshole who happens along, and there’s nothing you’ll be able to do about it.

In fact, I wish I could have run into one of those strange wizards that day. They throw a cape over a dove that’s just made its appearance and, poof, suddenly it’s gone. It’s gone, and that’s that. And you leave the theater, delighted with the show. But one thing is certain. You’ll never again wonder what became of that dove.

But that’s not the way things work. We can’t disappear that easily. Time has gone by. Two long years. And now I’m sipping a beer. When I think back to how I longed to be that dove, a smile comes to my face, and I feel slightly ashamed.

“Care for another?”

A flight attendant stands next to his drinks cart, giving me a big smile.

“No, thanks.”

I look out my window. Pink-tinged clouds make way for the plane as it sails through the sky. Those clouds are soft, light, and infinite. There’s a sunset in the distance. The sun sinks with one last wink. I can’t believe it. I’m coming back.

A27. That’s my seat number aboard this flight. Right-hand row, just behind the wings, central aisle. A flight attendant smiles at me again as she walks past. A little too close. She leaves a faint trail of perfume; her uniform is perfect. Up and down the airplane’s aisles she goes, with that smile.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts.”

The woman is struggling beside me. And she’s not struggling in silence. “Darn it, I never seem to be able to find the seat belt in these planes.” Observant, with a cheerful smile, her eyes are hidden behind the thick lenses of her eyeglasses.

I help the woman to find it, as she’s literally sitting on top of it. “Here you are, signora, it’s right down here.”

“Thanks, even if I can’t imagine what good it would do. It’s not going to be able to hold us in place.”

“Ah, certainly not, it can’t do that.”

“I mean, after all…I’m just saying, if we crash, it’s not like being in a car.”

“No, not like being in a car, certainly not…Are you nervous?”

“Very nervous, deathly nervous.” She looks at me and appears to regret using that phrase. She seems so worried.

I take a long slurp of my beer while I notice, out of the corner of my eye, that she’s staring at me.

“Please, just tell me something.”

“Exactly what, signora, what do you want me to tell you?”

“Distract me, don’t make me think about what could…”

She grips my hand tightly.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Oh, excuse me.” She loosens her grip, but she doesn’t let go entirely.

I start to tell her some story. Little jumbled flashes from my life, as they occur to me. “All right, do you want to know why I left Rome?”

The woman nods. She can’t seem to talk.

“Well, okay, but it’s a long story…” I feel as if I’m talking to a friend, with my old friend…“His name was Pollo, okay. Strange name, right? I mean, Chicken, what a name.”

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