Fare Forward Page 6

  "What is it?"

  "I met your grandmother when she was exactly your age." I stare back at him and try to meet his powerful words.

  "No," I start to object. I want to clarify that this is not at all a priority, the last thing on my mind as I am going to begin school. "Papa, this is—"

  "Gabriella, listen to me." He speaks with an intensity that I know requires my attention. "I know you have been too busy to notice the effect you have on people. Men, I mean. Except, of course, Philip."

  My face burns as he proceeds with the topic that has previously been off limits. I had begun to notice the reaction men were having to me. My hair, which had once been characterized by its unruly, untamable craziness, now fell in soft curls around my face. My skin had an even glow and my eyes were a gray blue that matched the northern Massachusetts sea. My body was strong and lean with developed muscles from years of swimming against the current. I was tall, taller than most of the girls I knew, just like the women who had preceded me in my grandmother's family.

  The summers when I would wander around our beach community barefoot and free—with only a bikini and T-shirt on, going unnoticed and happy in my solitude—seemed to have ended this past season. I thought that it was because of him, my grandfather and his work, the unusual presence of the world famous physicist in the small oceanfront community. But for the first time, the thought occurred to me that it might have nothing to do with him at all.

  "Did you hear what I just said, about meeting your grandmother."

  I turn back to him. "No, that won't happen to me. Not now."

  My hand tightens unconsciously around the amulet, my special gift, the treasure from so many years ago, being given to me now as a symbol of the transition.

  His past, my future.

  "Take it, Gabriella, and remember that you are right."

  "It's hard enough for me without her, but, you, how can you—"

  "You are right to feel that those who love you are always with you."

  "Papa, to see you like this, I could never imagine your life without each other. How you would go on."

  "But you do, you must."

  "I hope that I can find what you two had."

  The right side of his wise, beautiful face begins to suggest a smile. Almost imperceptibly he raises his eyebrows, a mix of gray and brown, and smiles at his own personal secret.

  "You will."

  I look back at him and meet his eyes.

  "I just remembered." I stop and face him. "That music. The music you were just playing." I point to the table where the stereo sits. "She told me it was composed by someone she knew very well."

  He shakes his head and turns away.

  "She said he was someone special, the composer, that she knew him. Do you remember now?"

  "No."

  But he says it too quickly. I see a flash, a room in a white stone house, a party, and a piano. A young man playing with many people listening and watching. My grandmother is looking into his remarkable green eyes, and my grandfather is looking at her.

  "Actually, I might vaguely remember something, but it was such a long time ago."

  "When we were on the roof together one night, Papa, she said it was the kind of thing that could make you fall in love or break your heart. I always wanted to ask her what she meant. She meant the music, right?"

  "Yes, of course. The music." He looks at me for a few seconds then turns back to his reading.

  As I walk slowly out of the library, I hear him behind me mutter something under his breath. It's my words "someone special," a strange irony in his voice. More than that, I feel his eyes on me, sealing the fate he seems to know awaits.

  A mixture of joy and apprehension.

  * * *

  12

  * * *

  I RUN TO FIND a seat among the many students waiting for the assembly to begin. Excitement, uncertainty, and reverence for the campus fill the great open plaza of the university. We are all taking our place along a wavelike continuum that will create the history of our culture. Humbled by the traditions we were taking on, we have come from colleges all over the world. In this moment are all those who have come before and their accomplishments. I feel the endless possibility and promise that the opportunity holds. This is what fuels the burning desire in every one of us to make our mark and be different, add something new.

  The dean of the Graduate School of Architecture takes his place at the podium and looks out at the expectant students.

  "Welcome. You have come here to search. To begin a lifelong journey of clarification, the challenge of what your lives will mean and what you can add to the world. Each of you will conduct your own experiments and research. You should know that this is what links all of you to the past and future."

  I want to answer the challenge. No longer am I merely a visitor at Columbia University walking along the uneven brick path and through the tall black iron gates, guarded regally by the frozen stone figures. As a small child I had passed by their timeless forms, courageously looking up at their beautiful, silent granite faces, seeking their distant gaze while holding the hand of my grandfather.

  I look around at the great steps and plaza in the center of the campus, the trees and the historic stone buildings that line the walkway. I can feel the energy. But it is not simply from the rushing groups of people, laughing and talking animatedly. There are posters everywhere on campus of my grandfather's face, announcing his upcoming lecture at the university and the list of international awards he has recently received. His eyes always on me.

  "There he is!" Emily has dragged me into the bookstore and screams as she runs over to a large table set up with a life-size cardboard figure of my grandfather.

  "Look, Gabriella, doesn't he look cute?"

  I run around to the other side of the nearest bookcase and try to get away from all the eyes that have turned in our direction.

  "This man." Emily points to the center of his cardboard chest, talking to no one in particular. "He is going to show everybody. That he is right." She leans toward his flat corrugated face and puckers her lips in a kiss.

  "Gabriella, where did you go? Gabriella?"

  I crouch behind the books, wishing I could disappear. "Come on, Emily, please stop, honestly," I whisper loudly from behind the stacks. "Let's get out of here."

  "Get used to it, sweetie. Your grandfather is about to change the way we see our world."

  I hoped she was right. He had spent his entire life devoted to proving what many believed was impossible. Safe, I thought, in the confines of the academic world. Now, I had so much more to worry about. Before, I could find him in his office or study, in a controlled, protected environment. But now, he was everywhere: on every newsstand, bookstore, radio show, and television network, traveling around the globe. There was no more denying it. He had become an international celebrity, and the world was waiting for him to reveal the results of his life's work. I worried about the exposure, the press, and what we had discussed in his library, the threats to his safety. He had made light of it, but I knew he was determined to move forward and show the skeptics that he had not spent the last twenty years of his life moving toward the extreme fringes of the scientific community. That instead, he had found the very heart of it. His proof. Answering the questions that had been asked since the beginning of time.

  I was glad to have Emily with me. Her plans, however, were quite different than mine.

  "I'm in business school, Gabriella, remember? You're the dreamer, and I'm—well—the practical one." She winks and begins to list the many differences between her upcoming experience and mine.

  The powerful history we shared was a bond that could never be broken, and Emily represented a tangible link to many critical events in the past. Including Lily and my family.

  "Incredible how we're finally at the same school. We always hoped this would happen."

  "When we only had the summers."

  "Our summers together in Gloucester will always be a rea
l and significant part of our lives." Emily throws her arms around my shoulders as she did whenever we talked about those days.

  "I know." I could feel the emotion building in me. "I just wish Lily could be here with us. She should be here too."

  "Gabriella, you saved her. You saved her life." She knew that I would not allow discussion of that terrible day when the car almost claimed Lily.

  "I made a mistake; I waited too long. Emily, I—"

  "We're not going to talk about that now, okay? Please?" Her voice is soft, gently changing the subject. "How about all this?" She points to the campus and the people all around us. She is exuberant at the thought of moving forward into our futures. "Please, stop worrying about everything. It's time to meet some new people, get invited to the best New York parties."

  I roll my eyes. "That's the last thing on my mind, Emily."

  "You can still design things, silly, but it's time for you to have some fun."

  "Emily," I say and laugh at her single-minded focus, "you're too much."

  "No, really, we've waited a long time for this."

  Things seemed to be playing out as predicted. In a crazy way it was a comfort to know that she was orbiting the same campus as I was. She knew to respect the boundaries I had created around myself. It was for her own good, I remind myself. I'm like a bad luck charm when it comes to relationships.

  "Hey guys, look who's here." I see one of my new roommates approaching us with a group of friends. "It's Gabriella—Vogel."

  I can see them all sizing me up, looking for any evidence of extraterrestrial traits.

  "Do you girls want to join us for coffee? We were just going over to the student center."

  "Great idea we would love to—" Emily starts to accept the invitation.

  "Not now," I cut Emily off. "I'm going to be late." I realize that I sound abrupt and try to soften my tone. "But thank you, anyway."

  "We absolutely have time, Gabriella."

  "No." I glare at Emily. "We don't."

  "Well, we wouldn't want you to be late for your first day of classes now would we? Not the famous Dr. Vogel's granddaughter!" one of the young men says sarcastically.

  "Yes, right." I force a smile. "That wouldn't be a very good idea."

  He runs over to one of the many posters of my grandfather's face and tears it off the wall, pumping it up and down in his arms as if he was a political fanatic celebrating a martyr.

  "Look guys, we live with a celebrity," he says to no one in particular.

  "Leave her alone!" Emily says protectively.

  "It's all right." I push her away from the group and turn quickly, relieved to escape the conversation. I reach out and link my arm through Emily's and I see her grinning at me.

  "See, Gabriella, you're a normal student. Just like the rest of us."

  "I love you, but I really have to go."

  "Making new friends and everything. You're getting your life back."

  "Thanks—but I never knew I'd lost it."

  "You know what I mean; you've been sad for so long. But all of that's in the past. This is going to be the beginning of everything." She points to the campus. "Just like your grandmother always said."

  "What?"

  "She told us don't you remember? That we would go to school together in New York. Just like they all did, your grandparents and your parents. She said that it would be the beginning of everything for you. That's exactly what she said." Emily waits.

  I stand very still as the memory washes over me. I realize that I hadn't thought of her words until this very moment and, in remembering, everything suddenly made sense.

  "Yes, actually, now I do. I felt it at the beach the other day, and, now, I know why." Unlike my grandfather, Emily loved to talk about the past.

  Her eyes fill with tears. "She said she would be with you, to always remind you of who you are, who your family is, and, especially, everything you love about this world."

  "This world?"

  Emily shrugs her shoulders, as if to indicate that she's not sure exactly what it means either. I look down at my hands held firmly in both of hers, squeeze them back tightly, and brush the hair away from her eyes.

  "You're my family too, Emily."

  * * *

  13

  * * *

  HOW MUCH THIS building has seen. Standing sentry like a parent watching its children, Hamilton Hall was the home of undergraduate life at Columbia University. I enter the great lobby, a central core filled with stairs and elevators so characteristic of the buildings of this era designed by the architects McKim, Mead and White. Often furnished with sofas and cushioned chairs, these areas became places for gatherings of students. My eyes scan the walls for announcements of interest as I distractedly climb the stairs to the classroom. I hadn't been in this building in many years and look down at the printout of my new schedule to confirm the location of my first classroom and lecture.

  I ignore the strange feeling, that something feels odd. I am surprised not to see a larger crush of students heading to class. I try to focus on my destination. I know this professor, Wallace Gray. Famous for his lectures on James Joyce and T.S. Eliot, he is an old friend of my grandparents. I'm looking forward to taking something completely different from the rigors of the architecture school and seeing a familiar face, a connection to my past.

  "It's poetry, Gabriella." I remember how my grandmother had introduced so many great authors to me at a young age. "It's an architecture of words. The beautiful, lyrical presence of black letters building shapes on a white page."

  I run up the last flight of granite steps as my hand grazes the black iron banister of the building. Their shallow incline allows me to take two at a time. I feel the heavy book-laden backpack bouncing against my body. I round the top landing on the third floor and look down to confirm the room number once more. It is difficult to see in the dim light. The doors in the corridor are all closed, and, once again, I have the strangest feeling. That I am not in the right place.

  It's too quiet.

  Where is everybody? Why, despite all my efforts at organization and precision, was I never able to get it together right? I find the room and push the door open with more force than I intend, expecting to see a class full of students. But the space is completely empty and silent. The early-morning light pours through the arched-top windows that face the east side of the campus. The shocking stillness is in marked contrast to the bustling activity in the center of campus. I walk in slowly and drop my bag on the floor, furious with myself, as I realize without a doubt that I am in the wrong place.

  "Great way to start your graduate career, Gabriella. Typical!" I say out loud.

  Frustrated, I sink down into one of the wooden seats that fills the room. I put my head down and feel the heat of my breath on my arm. Yet, it's not just my breathing I notice. I have the distinct feeling that I am not alone in the room. It is a sense that I have often felt, an awareness that is always with me. I pick my head up and move the hair away from my eyes as I try to focus.

  Someone is standing in front of me.

  I thought I had been alone and am embarrassed at my self-deprecatory speech. He looks at me as if he finds some sort of humor in the situation.

  "Hello, are you looking for something?"

  His voice is beautiful, soft, unfazed. He has a slight accent that I don't recognize, different than the New York colloquial ways of speaking.

  Nothing unusual about that, I am at Columbia University I remind myself.

  "My class, my first class. Poetry with Professor Wallace Gray. I thought it was in this building, this room. I must have made a mistake."

  I am still clutching my schedule.

  He slips his fingers through his dark wavy hair. I see the strong curve and shape of his shoulders through the pressed oxford shirt he wears, absently tucked into his well-worn corduroys. An olive cashmere sweater is tied around his waist, and his sleeves are rolled up revealing his arms. He places his hands on his hips and looks at me
, taking everything in. His gaze is clear, strong, and steady, and I think I detect a slight smile at the edge of his lips, as if he's confirming who I am. He seems to be illuminated by the light entering the room. And then, I see something incredible in his face. He is looking at me with the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. The whole scene is so contrary to my expectation that I am unable to string words together. I can't speak, yet cannot tear myself away from his hypnotic gaze.

  "I'm so sorry to disturb you." I finally find words and attempt to gather up my things with a grace that I never did possess, dropping books and papers.

  He watches, but doesn't say anything.

  "I'm so late, I don't know what happened, there must have been a mistake on my printout." I wave the useless piece of paper in the air. "I'm usually in Avery Hall, the architecture building, I mean, most of the time so—well you know, I don't get over to this side of campus that often, anymore, since I'm not an undergraduate and I was taking an elective, sure that I had an English class in this room."

  I try to balance everything I am holding and look futilely at the schedule in my hands. Stay calm, make sense. I know that I am not, so I stop talking and look up at him.

  "Sorry again, for interrupting, I mean, bothering you."

  And then it happens.

  I am practically knocked over by it. The powerful combination of the pressure in my head and the vision—what I see. I realize that I've seen his face before. It's his eyes I recognize most, their color, and also the feeling of what it's like to be near him. It's crazy but I seem to know who he is— from a dream—a definite recurring vision I have seen many times before.

  It's him.

  He is everywhere in my memory and in my mind. I try desperately to separate what I know is real from what is not, push away the vision and stay in the present, standing in this room with him. Not in my head. But it is overwhelming—the images come one after another. I see it all so clearly.