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.I remember some of the lastwords my mom said to me.Shewas lying down on the living roomcouch, under a blanket, pettingSandy Koufax. Obviously, shesaid,  I m going to miss yourgraduation. Then she becameserious but also content. But insome ways it ll be like I m there.I ve already pictured it, imagined it,constructed it in my mind.And I vewatched it.I ve clapped, and I vecheered, and I ve cried.And I amproud of you.Life is short, and lifeis beautiful, and everything islovely.Love it, embrace it, smellthe lilacs, play with the dog, andlove endlessly and fiercely witheverything you ve got.Live withoutregret.My mom s life was all it couldbe.She made sure of it.She madesure of it in the way she lived andthe way she loved.Because there was no magiccure.There was no secret remedy,no ancient tincture to save her, tosave anyone.But then there was.There is and always will be.Themagic cure is in how she lived herlife, and even more so in how shechose to die when given the choice.My mom, even in her death, hasshown me yet again how to live andhow to love.That s the secret.That s the cure.I am no longer the left behind.Iam the living.And I wanteverything this life has to offer.I stop for a second and lookaround at all the shops and storesand stalls.At all the people, goingabout their days, at all the momentsthey re living.This is what I want.I want to live every moment.Iwant to feel everything.I want tolove one girl.I want to walk down this streetwith Holland.I want to show herthe stores, I want to take her to thefish market, I want to buy her ringsand bracelets and all the silly thingsshe loves, I want to share thesemochi cakes with her, I want tointroduce her to my new bestfriend, and I want to hang out withboth of them.I want to be withHolland here, like we planned.Somany nights ago, back in my house,in my bed, I wanted her to comefind me.She didn t find me then,but she found me now, and wearen t the same people we were thefirst time or even a few weeks ago.We re different, but we can bedifferent together.Because this iswhat I believe that secondchances are stronger than secrets.You can let secrets go.But a secondchance? You don t let that pass youby.I dial a familiar string ofnumbers and hit Send.She answerson the second ring.She soundsnervous when she says my name. Danny. Do you remember how mymom was always saying how shewanted to look back on her life andknow she d done everything shecould? Of course I remember thatabout her. How when she once took meout of school early to go surfingwhen I was in ninth grade, she said,This will be one of the things welook back on at the end and areglad we did.Even though neitherone of us was very good at surfing.But it was eighty-two degrees andthere wasn t a cloud in the sky, andshe felt good that day, so we wentand we caught a couple waves.Andhow she always ordered her latteswith low-fat milk rather than skim,saying, I m pretty sure I won t wishI d had more nonfat lattes whenit s all said and done.And howmuch she traveled.She always saidthat when she got to the end of herlife, she wouldn t regret a trip toItaly or Barcelona or Tokyo. That sounds exactly like yourmom.I look up at the sky.It scloudless, like that day my momand I played hooky at the ocean. Where are you right now? I m at the Imperial Palace.Well,outside.Walking around thegardens.Of course.Holland.Gardens.They go together. Will you wait there for me? It lltake me twenty minutes to get there.I have to catch the subway. Of course I ll wait for you.The most interminable minutesI ve ever spent sludge by as I waitfor the next train.I pace, like acaged animal, on the platform andpeer down the tunnels.When thelight from the next train appears, Iwant to reach out, stretch my armsall the way down, and yank thetrain closer.Finally it stops and thedoors slide open.The train chargesby a few stops, and minutes laterI m racing up the steps, taking themtwo by two, and then I run acrossthe street seconds before the trafficlight turns red, the cars and cabsjust a few feet away from me.The Imperial Palace looms in thedistance.I speed through the late-morning crowds in the park thatflanks the palace.Or, really, thepark that flanks the moat that flanksthe palace.I get why the emperorneeds a moat; I m totally down withkeeping people out.But I don tneed a moat anymore; I don t wantone.I cross the park and find thepath to the gardens.I run along theedge of the pond, avoiding thetourists snapping photos of themossy trees and lush green bushesand languid water.On the far sideof the pond are the cherry blossomtrees, their bare branches reflectedback in the pond.I see her.She stands next to thewater, lily pads floating nearby.She s talking to an older, heavysetcouple, obvious tourists inmatching Hawaiian shirts and whitesneakers.She holds a camera andshows them a picture on the backof it.She gives the camera back tothem, and they smile and thank her.They walk away, and she sees meand her face lights up [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]