Light Years Read online

  Dov, of course, wanted to know where we stood. We both knew that four years apart was too much. We wouldn’t survive it. He couldn’t come to Virginia with me, not if he wanted to make it in his uncle’s company. If I wanted us to be together, I needed to stay with him in Israel.

  “All your opportunities are here,” he said. “If you want to go to school, you can. If you want to work, you can. But I can’t work in Virginia. You’re twenty years old. You need to decide what’s important to you.”

  “I want to see the world. I want to get away from Israel, not from you …”

  So we fought, and made up. And fought again.

  “You’re the one leaving,” he would say when I cried. “Not me. All you have to do is stay.”

  But I couldn’t. I had this burning desire to go, to study astronomy, to live in another language, to try something completely different. The days got hotter and hotter. Even at night, the roads and sidewalks pulsed with heat. Air conditioners broke, unable to keep up. Electricity prices rose, paralleling demand. It was too hot to think. I evaded my parents, who said I needed to make a decision and stick to it; evaded getting pinned down by my relatives and friends. At night, lying in bed, I tried not to move, to stay as still as possible as I felt drops of sweat bead on my skin.

  My father, sensing that inertia would keep me in Israel, began to push for a decision one way or another. The deadline to let the university know my decision was approaching. By now there wasn’t enough time to mail it; I would have to fax it to get it in on time. And still I didn’t know what to do. The days were getting hotter, no rain, not even clouds to ease the piercing of the sun. Even the modest prayers for dew that are done in the summer (when even the Talmud teaches that it’s useless to pray for rain) weren’t having any effect.

  I took to walking along the shore at night, something that gave both Hen and my parents palpitations—for once, they agreed. But I needed air. I needed space to think. I didn’t know how you made a decision like this. Yes or no. Go or stay. So much riding on such small words.

  In the end, I accepted my invitation to attend the University of Virginia.

  After I decided, I slept one more night, a sort of eight-hour insurance policy to make sure I wasn’t going to change my mind. I woke up and faxed in my acceptance from the office. I danced a little jig as it went through, feeling elated and nervous and weak-kneed.

  I told Dov that we needed to talk. I didn’t want to tell him over the phone. So we agreed to meet at Shtut. It had been almost a year since I’d gotten the busboy fired. At first I didn’t want to go back. But after months had gone by, I missed it. I’d been back a dozen times by now.

  I called home.

  “I knew you’d go,” my mom said when I told her.

  “You couldn’t have known that,” I said. “I didn’t know it.”

  “I knew,” she said, “you wouldn’t be able to resist the challenge. You never have since you were a baby and nearly crawled off the balcony.”

  “Are you okay with this?”

  “Oh, pashoshi, you know I am.”

  “And you, Abba?”

  “I couldn’t be happier,” he said from the other phone in the kitchen.

  “You don’t think it’s too far away?”

  “Telephones, Internet, plane tickets, Maya, the world is an awfully small place these days. You couldn’t get too far away from us if you tried.”

  “I love you so much,” I said. “You are amazing. Every time I think I finally understand you, that I know how you’ll react, you surprise me.”

  My mother laughed. “Oh, honey, I hardly want to think what sort of narrow-minded people you think we are.”

  “It’s our job,” my father said, “to keep you on your toes.”

  I had a stupid grin on my face.

  “Wow, oh wow. I can’t believe I’m going.” I was nearly hopping in place. Now that my parents knew, it was real. I could picture myself, a college student in America. My heart skipped a beat. “You wanted me to do this all along, didn’t you?” I said. “You just didn’t want to push me, right?”

  “No,” my father said. “We wanted you to choose what was right for you. You’re an adult now. Whatever you chose would have been the right thing.”

  “I thought you might stay,” my mom said. “Mostly because of Dov, but I’m glad you’re going. I think this is one of those opportunities that you would regret passing up.”

  “Have you told him yet?” my dad asked.

  That cooled my high. “No, I had to tell you first.”

  “I don’t think he’s going to be as happy.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “Okay, I’d better go. I said I’d meet him at four.” I glanced at my watch. I had thirty minutes to get ready.

  “So he gets to hear it face to face and we only get a phone call?” my mother said.

  “Ima, don’t.”

  “Just kidding, honey, just kidding.”

  I hung up, smiling. But I was worried about Dov. Would he really believe I was abandoning him by going to Virginia? I couldn’t really blame him if he did. Maybe I would feel the same if I were the one staying behind. I loved him so much, and it hurt thinking we’d be apart for so long. But we could do it. If we really loved each other … I wondered if he would want to break up with me, and my breath hitched at the thought.

  So. I washed my face and fixed my hair, leaving it mostly down, the way he liked it, even though it was hot. After a moment’s hesitation, I went ahead and put on makeup. If I was going to find out he didn’t really love me, if he was going to break up with me, then I wanted to look good. If he did love me, and if he did think we could do it, then I’d still look good. Besides, Hen was always urging me to put some on when I went out.

  “You put clothes on your body,” she said. “Why go out with your face naked?”

  I still didn’t exactly agree with her, but nearly two years of living with her had rubbed off on me.

  No base, no powder, too damn hot for that, but I put on mascara and eyeliner, making my eyes slightly more catlike.

  I decided to wear the rust colored halter top from the night of the party with the mayor. I slipped into a narrow black skirt and borrowed Hen’s strappy black sandals, grateful once again that we wore the same shoe size. I didn’t know what I would do when I moved out and wouldn’t get to use all her great shoes.

  I went into the kitchen for a glass of juice. What was the best way to tell him? God, this was so difficult. How could I make him see? And then before I could take a sip, the glass slipped through my fingers and I had time to say, “Damn it!” before it hit the ground.

  There was a mess by my feet—broken glass, juice on the floor and the cabinets, dripping in red lines down my legs and on the sandals. Damn.

  I mopped up the floor and wiped down the cabinets, making sure to get all the little slivers of glass because both Hen and I walked around barefoot. Then I went back to my room to figure out what to wear instead of the skirt and how to clean Hen’s expensive sandals.

  As soon as I stepped out of the apartment building, the heat hit me like a fist. My face prickled with beading sweat. The blacktop shimmered with heat, and I knew by the time I made it to Shtut, I’d be dripping.

  Pearl, Hen’s neighbor, was struggling with her bags of groceries. I glanced at my watch. It was already four. I ground my teeth and then hurried over to help her carry them in. She wanted to chat, but I was able to get away.

  I hurried to the bus stop.

  The bus arrived a few minutes later. I found a seat near the driver and hugged my purse. I tapped my foot impatiently and kept glancing at my watch. I hated being late. I really didn’t want to keep him waiting. At the same time, I was elated. All this time I’d been scared to decide, afraid I would disappoint people who needed me. And yet my own parents supported me. I wanted to dance, I wanted to fly. This was finally the sort of adventure I’d dreamed about, doing something special and exciting. And it didn’t have to hurt anyone. Like
my father said, it was a small world these days. Maybe Dov and I could work it out. I could come back every summer. We would e-mail, call, visit. I wasn’t a bad person, selfish and shallow. If this was really love, if this was meant to be, then it could work. If not, then what did it matter anyway? It was the first time I thought that I could actually have everything I wanted. Maybe I didn’t have to choose.

  We were stuck in traffic. I was now fifteen minutes late. We passed a small accident in the middle of the road. A man stood on the sidewalk crying, cradling his arm.

  I was staring at him in surprise and in pity when I heard a loud boom. The windows on the bus rattled and I could feel the vibrations through the seat and all the way into my chest. There was shocked silence on the bus for a moment. Someone screamed.

  “My God,” I thought. “Something exploded.”

  Everyone on the bus started talking at once, trying to figure out what happened, where it happened. It was surreal. Someone said the mayor’s office was nearby, the American embassy. Even though people were shouting and trying to see what happened, we all stayed on the bus. We didn’t know what else to do. The traffic started moving again. Someone said maybe it was a car bomb. I could see over the driver’s shoulder and suddenly I noticed a cloud of black smoke rising in the distance and it finally sank in that another terrorist had attacked.

  This was the closest I had ever been to a bombing. I’d only seen their aftermath on television. I didn’t know anyone else who’d ever seen one. I had actually heard the explosion. Goose bumps raced up my arms. I felt tears prickling. What was happening to my country? How could we live like this? How could this keep happening?

  As the bus crept forward, we got closer and closer to the smoke. I could hear sirens behind us. The bus pulled up onto the curb to get out of the way. The driver turned on the radio, searching for news, but there was nothing about it yet, it was too soon.

  Then my cell rang. I rummaged through my purse, pulled out the phone, and glanced at the readout. It was Hen.

  “You won’t believe what just happened,” I said. I was upset and glad she called—I needed to tell someone about this.

  “Maya, where are you?” Even through the fuzzy connection, I heard the edge of panic in her voice.

  “On the bus, going to Shtut. Why?”

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh God, oh God.”

  “What?” I was totally floored. Hen was losing it. My skin broke out in chills. “Stop it! Stop saying that.”

  She wouldn’t stop. She was sobbing.

  “Hen, what happened!”

  “Get off the bus!” she screamed in my ear. “Now! Maya, get off the damn bus!”

  The bus was about to pull away from the curb.

  “Okay.” I was nearly crying now. I didn’t know why. “Hen, I’m getting off, I’m getting off. It’s okay. Don’t cry. I’m getting off.” The whole time she kept screaming “Get off now. Oh God, just get out of there!”

  I stood up before the bus could lurch away, grabbed my purse, and with the phone pressed to my ear, I made my way to the door. “Can you hear me? Hen, listen! I’m getting off.”

  “Now, hurry, hurry, Maya.” I had never heard her like this. My guts were coiling and my hands were clammy. I couldn’t stop crying. I was feeding off her hysteria. I needed to breathe. I needed to calm down.

  “Hen, please.” I took an unsteady breath. “I’m okay. Where are you?”

  The bus pulled away with a belch of black exhaust. The heat was still there, pressing on me. There was a bench, and I sat down.

  “Are you off the bus?”

  “Yes, Hen. I’m off the bus.” I spoke slowly, but my chin trembled, I was so scared. There were sirens howling all around me. Ambulance and police racing to the scene, which I suddenly realized wasn’t far from me. “What happened? Are you okay? Are my parents okay?”

  My heart clenched at the thought that someone from my family could be hurt.

  “Maya.” She took a deep, unsteady breath. “There was a bombing at Shtut.”

  I felt nothing. Of all the things I was braced to hear, that wasn’t one of them.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you understand? There was a bombing. Now, five minutes ago. The guard at the office just told us.” Her office was close to Shtut, I remembered.

  “But I’m only four blocks away,” I said. The numbness was fading. Still, it couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense. Shtut was off the main square. It was on a small street, a local café. Not the sort of target bombers go for.

  “I knew you were going there today and I thought you said you’d be there at four.” She started crying. “I—I ran over there b-but they wouldn’t let me get near.” She was sobbing. I could barely understand her.

  “No,” I said. “No. You’re wrong. It couldn’t be Shtut. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Excuse me?” I felt a cool hand on my shoulder. “Where was there a bombing?” I looked up. A middle-aged woman was looking at me.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “maybe Café Shtut.” But I still didn’t believe it. “My boyfriend is there.” As if that settled it. Nothing bad could happen if Dov was there.

  And then I heard Hen say, “Oh, my love, I am so sorry. Shtut is destroyed. I saw it. It was Shtut.”

  I heard the pity in her voice and the anguish and I finally realized she was telling the truth. I’d been headed there. And if I hadn’t been running late, I would have been there when the bomb went off.

  “Hen, Dov was there. Waiting for me.” I tried to swallow. “Did you see him?” My voice was rising as my throat tightened. “Did you see him when you went to look for me?” My voice was spiraling higher and higher. I felt that cool hand lift my damp hair, stroke my neck. The woman was still there, touching me, making hushing noises. I brushed away my tears.

  “I don’t know,” Hen said. “I wasn’t looking for him. No, I didn’t see him. They wouldn’t let anyone near. But you’re safe, thank God. I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead, but they wouldn’t let me look for you.” She was crying again.

  “Dov was meeting me there.” My lips felt numb. I could barely talk. “Didn’t you see him?” I couldn’t stop asking. “How could you not see him?”

  “No,” she said again. “I couldn’t get close. They didn’t let anyone near.”

  The woman petting my hair looked at me with pity. I wanted to tell her that everything was okay. I knew what she thought.

  “He’s okay,” I told her, dragging the back of my hand across my dripping nose, pressing the heel of my palm against my eyes. “Maybe he was running late too.”

  Other people had stopped, drawn by my crying, my rising voice, and the woman by my side.

  “What happened?”

  “Another bombing,” she said. “This one thinks her boyfriend was there.”

  “God damn it,” someone said. “Fucking terrorists.”

  I didn’t want this. I didn’t want them looking at me with pity, thinking I was a victim.

  “Where was the hit?” one of them asked.

  “Café Shtut,” I said, fighting to be able to speak through the rising panic. “Café Shtut on Grossman.”

  There was a murmur around me.

  “Your boyfriend was there?”

  “I’m sure he’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to call him.”

  In fact, all around me, people were pulling out their cell phones, calling their kids, their friends, making sure no one had made the mistake of stopping by Shtut for an afternoon snack.

  I hung up with Hen and dialed Dov’s cell-phone number, but my fingers shook so badly it took me three tries. The call couldn’t go through. I wanted to scream.

  But it didn’t mean anything. His phone could have been broken earlier today. He had dropped it before, had to buy a new one. Maybe the lines were down. Or maybe his phone was broken in the blast but he was fine. A million excuses ran through my mind.

  He was fine, he was fine, he was fine. I wrapped my arms arou
nd my middle. I could hear people shouting on their cell phones, all able to get through, talking with their loved ones.

  “He was there waiting for me,” I said. The woman hugged me and pushed my head against her soft bosom and I sank in, hiding my face. I wrapped my arms around her and held on. I felt her arms gather me like a child.

  “Shhh,” she said. “Shhhh. There, there. It’ll be okay. I promise. It’ll be okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. Dov hadn’t been late. He had been there, drinking a coffee, waiting for me to arrive.

  Chapter Eleven

  VIRGINIA

  I stepped off the lit path and into the darkness of the shadows cast by the oak tree near the history-department building. The dark surrounded me, hiding me.

  I studied the building in front of me, the lit doors and locked windows. It was fitting that the history department was in a distant, dusty building. History. Forgotten. I wondered if its location here was someone’s idea of a joke. Chemistry, physics, even English and music were all at the heart of things, which is why I never stood in front of the School of Engineering thinking morose thoughts. I’m sure if I even tried, the building’s cosmic aura of Newton’s Laws of Thermodynamics would interfere, blocking transmission of such inconsequential nonsense.

  Late at night, with the stars shining clearly above and the moon distant and cold, I was hidden beside the history department, haunted by my own history.

  I stood for a moment under the tree, hands dug deep in the front pouch of my old hooded sweatshirt. With my dark hair and dark clothes, standing in the shadows I was perfectly camouflaged. As invisible as I could ever hope to be. I felt weightless. I could join the nighttime molecules, looking so much like them that I could be them. I felt safe in shadow, safer in disappearing than I ever could be in the light. With the darkness under my feet, no one could see me and I was free.

  All the students I met seemed to fear the dark. They wanted to always stay in sunlight, on illuminated paths. The girls, especially, seemed to think that without streetlights they were at risk. Like children, I thought with disdain and envy. They didn’t even realize that light could conceal far more than it ever revealed. It deceived you, tricked you, and lulled you straight into the heart of danger. Like moths, they gathered under streetlights to feel safe. My heart clenched when I passed them in the shadows, unseen and unheard amidst their giggles and shouts. They were so vulnerable. Anyone could harm them while they continued to think they were safe, surrounded by a force field of mere photons for defense.