time I felt like this about a boy. I don’t know that I ever
have. It’s—” Gabriella stops. She tries to rationalize if it was the drinks or the moment.
“It’s like there was no one else,” she says, shaking her head. “And, you know what? He had your book! He had your
Valle del Cauca
book in his library. He told me they’d bought one of the farms in the book because of your pictures. I think that’s a good
sign, don’t you?”
Gabriella stops, feeling guilty. She can’t bullshit her mom. She’s dead; she knows everything. Gabriella sighs. She can’t
pretend not to know what her mother already knows.
“Mami, his dad is a mafioso,” she continues, lifting her head up and looking down at the casket, trying to see her mother
beneath the marble and the wood.
“Actually, I think he’s a pretty big deal mafioso. And I wonder, Mami, if I should just walk away? Now you see why I can’t
tell Daddy. He’d make me fly back in a second if he knew.
“Although.” Gabriella pauses, but even before she speaks, she can hear how unsatisfactory her explanation sounds. “I mean,
he’s
not the mafioso. It’s his dad. He’s a victim of… of fate.
“Do you hold people accountable for what their parents do? People can change the circumstances they were born with, don’t
you think? It’s what free will is all about. It doesn’t seem fair, Mami,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not his fault
that he is who he is. I wish…”
Gabriella doesn’t know what she wishes, but the wetness on her hands startles her. She realizes she’s started to cry because
the tears are sliding from the casket onto her hands.
“Mami, he might not even call me. He hasn’t called me. It doesn’t matter. But Mami. I still wish I could talk this out with
somebody. I wish I could talk this over with you.”
She stops for a bit. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she says, looking around.
Gabriella wipes her eyes and scrambles through her purse for a tissue. Long ago she learned she couldn’t do without tissues
when she came here. You just never knew.
“Anyway, Mami,” she goes on, and this time she looks outside the gate at the trees and listens, for the first time that day,
to the birds that are quietly chirping out there. It’s a fine place to rest in, she always thinks. She imagines that at night,
when everyone’s gone, her mother and grandfather get into these big, lively discussions with the great-grandparents—who were
supposed to be partyers—and if there’s such a thing as afterlife wine, they probably drink gallons of it.
“I’m fine. I really am. I’m graduating this spring, and I’m making my mind up about what I want to do with my music, you know?
Sometimes I think I should bag the classical stuff and just write jingles. Daddy says it will be inane, and I can make a ton
of money and he can retire. Of course, he’d hate for me to do that. He thinks I’m some kind of prodigy, but it isn’t like
that at all, Mami. Sometimes I think it’s pointless to have studied music. I mean, who am I kidding, right? I’m not going
to be a serious classical pianist. God, I’m a wreck every time I have to perform. But I’m going to score a short film that
my friend Patsy is directing in the film department. Daddy thinks it’s a great opportunity, and it can open doors in the business.
“But Mami, I’d like, for a change, to decide on my own. Maybe to not run it by anyone at all, because then everybody has an
opinion, and it’s not even about me anymore, you know? It’s about what they think I should do and what they think I should
want, and never about what I might really like. Last year I told Daddy I was taking a semester off to study Italian in Rome.
Oh my God, he almost had a heart attack!”
She sighs.
“Well, then he spoke with the conservatory in Rome and set me up there for classes, and of course, I didn’t want to do it
anymore. The whole point was
have. It’s—” Gabriella stops. She tries to rationalize if it was the drinks or the moment.
“It’s like there was no one else,” she says, shaking her head. “And, you know what? He had your book! He had your
Valle del Cauca
book in his library. He told me they’d bought one of the farms in the book because of your pictures. I think that’s a good
sign, don’t you?”
Gabriella stops, feeling guilty. She can’t bullshit her mom. She’s dead; she knows everything. Gabriella sighs. She can’t
pretend not to know what her mother already knows.
“Mami, his dad is a mafioso,” she continues, lifting her head up and looking down at the casket, trying to see her mother
beneath the marble and the wood.
“Actually, I think he’s a pretty big deal mafioso. And I wonder, Mami, if I should just walk away? Now you see why I can’t
tell Daddy. He’d make me fly back in a second if he knew.
“Although.” Gabriella pauses, but even before she speaks, she can hear how unsatisfactory her explanation sounds. “I mean,
he’s
not the mafioso. It’s his dad. He’s a victim of… of fate.
“Do you hold people accountable for what their parents do? People can change the circumstances they were born with, don’t
you think? It’s what free will is all about. It doesn’t seem fair, Mami,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not his fault
that he is who he is. I wish…”
Gabriella doesn’t know what she wishes, but the wetness on her hands startles her. She realizes she’s started to cry because
the tears are sliding from the casket onto her hands.
“Mami, he might not even call me. He hasn’t called me. It doesn’t matter. But Mami. I still wish I could talk this out with
somebody. I wish I could talk this over with you.”
She stops for a bit. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she says, looking around.
Gabriella wipes her eyes and scrambles through her purse for a tissue. Long ago she learned she couldn’t do without tissues
when she came here. You just never knew.
“Anyway, Mami,” she goes on, and this time she looks outside the gate at the trees and listens, for the first time that day,
to the birds that are quietly chirping out there. It’s a fine place to rest in, she always thinks. She imagines that at night,
when everyone’s gone, her mother and grandfather get into these big, lively discussions with the great-grandparents—who were
supposed to be partyers—and if there’s such a thing as afterlife wine, they probably drink gallons of it.
“I’m fine. I really am. I’m graduating this spring, and I’m making my mind up about what I want to do with my music, you know?
Sometimes I think I should bag the classical stuff and just write jingles. Daddy says it will be inane, and I can make a ton
of money and he can retire. Of course, he’d hate for me to do that. He thinks I’m some kind of prodigy, but it isn’t like
that at all, Mami. Sometimes I think it’s pointless to have studied music. I mean, who am I kidding, right? I’m not going
to be a serious classical pianist. God, I’m a wreck every time I have to perform. But I’m going to score a short film that
my friend Patsy is directing in the film department. Daddy thinks it’s a great opportunity, and it can open doors in the business.
“But Mami, I’d like, for a change, to decide on my own. Maybe to not run it by anyone at all, because then everybody has an
opinion, and it’s not even about me anymore, you know? It’s about what they think I should do and what they think I should
want, and never about what I might really like. Last year I told Daddy I was taking a semester off to study Italian in Rome.
Oh my God, he almost had a heart attack!”
She sighs.
“Well, then he spoke with the conservatory in Rome and set me up there for classes, and of course, I didn’t want to do it
anymore. The whole point was
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