ME, CINDERELLA?(54)

Eliot leaned out, hypnotized by the darkness of the frozen river below. The only way to stop a river from running was to freeze the water in it. But under the ice he could still see the dark water roiling, turbulent. He felt lost, an outsider here as he was in America, an expatriate returning to a country that had long forgotten his place. How could he run away from the trouble that Brynn had brought about in his heart?

He had already run away from his homeland once. He did not know if he could escape the pain again.





I woke early in my room, guilt churning my stomach. The thin sun coming in through the windowpane reflected off of the motes of dust hanging in the air. They twinkled like snowflakes as soft invisible currents of air tumbled them. They turned randomly in my vision, but I was filled with a sense of purpose even as guilty thoughts invaded my mind. Today was special, not just another day.

Today was the day I would go to visit my mother’s grave.

Watching the sunlight twirl circles in the room, I felt detached from yesterday and all that had happened. I hadn’t meant to do whatever I had done that led to Mark’s kiss. Every step taken up until that point had been so normal that when he kissed me I did not know what I could have done to take it back, were I to do it over again. It had felt strange—his lips pressed against mine in the joy of discovery, nervous and desiring. Not anything like Eliot’s possessive and confident embraces And then he had looked at me expectantly.

I recoiled at the memory. Pleading sleepiness, I’d escaped from Mark’s company at last, but not before he had tried to get me to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about anything just then—I had seen the look on Eliot’s face, and it had hit me like a punch to the stomach. That I could wound someone in that way was unthinkable, but his expression made it clear that my ill-timed embrace with Mark had not gone unnoticed. And Mark’s insistent glances only made me sicker to my stomach that I would have to hurt him too. I loved Mark as an intellectual equal and a friend, but no romantic feelings had ever turned my heart toward him, not even now after we had shared a kiss. Indeed, even remembering it made me feel uncomfortable and itchy under my skin.

How could I explain to Mark that I didn’t share his feelings? I had known unrequited love, but it had always been from the other side. Cute boys I crushed on would dismiss me without a second thought, or worse, insult me with pity. Knowing how terrible rejection felt, I didn’t want to hurt Mark, but I most definitely didn’t want to lead him on either.

All of that would have to wait, though, because I was not about to let some romantic attachments get in the way of the main reason I had wanted to come to Hungary in the first place. I pushed back the covers and slid out of bed quickly, pulling on my clothes in the quiet dim room. The other girls slept on. The first day of sleeping in came at the end of a long week, and everyone except for me was taking advantage of it. Some beds emitted the faint sounds of snores and sleepy murmurs, and others were silent as tombs.

An emotional pang shot through me as I walked out to the stairway where I had first found Lucky. I hoped that Eliot would be taking good care of him. Of course he would. Still, I missed the small, boisterous kitten.

Not wanting to be caught by Mark, I eased the doors open and then closed them behind me, tiptoeing down the steps and then walking briskly down the sidewalk. By the time I turned the corner, my thoughts had already turned away from Eliot and Mark and towards my family. My mother. In my pocket my fingers slipped over the scrap of paper where I had written directions to the cemetery where she was buried. I only hoped that I could find her when I got there.

The sky seemed bright as I walked quickly on, and I whistled the notes of the Satie that had been playing in my head all morning.

I’m on my way, mom, I thought, and smiled.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN



As I walked to the cemetery snow began to fall softly around me. Arriving, I couldn’t believe my eyes—the place was huge, three long city blocks at least at the front of it, surrounded by iron fences taller than me. My Nagy had told me that my mom was buried in the back of the cemetery, to the right. I had imagined a small plot of graves, but now that I looked across the street at the cemetery, I thought I might be there for hours searching for the right grave. Maybe there would be a caretaker I could ask.

A street vendor outside of the cemetery waved me over, and I stopped to look at her flowers. Not a single other person was on the sidewalk, and the old woman was eager to see me. She spoke in Hungarian first before realizing that I was American.

“For the one you visit,” she said. “The one you love.” She held out bouquets for me to choose from.