Arrivals and Departures

Prologue

On the morning of my departure, I buy a coffee at Café Yiasemi.

They know me here now, and I’m left alone when I sit on the patio to work.

I’m sure the locals think I’m strange—an American woman with a big scrapbook and a small pair of scissors.

Glue sticks and a faraway gaze. Sometimes I close my eyes.

Maybe people think I’m sleeping, but I’m creating art in my mind—moving images around, cropping them, seeing how the colors line up.

With my eyes closed, anything is possible.

Money is becoming a problem. My family could help, but I don’t want to hear their opinions about my choices, so I don’t ask.

Beautiful books are expensive, as are supplies, classes, and medical emergencies. But I’ve kept us afloat, one day at a time. I don’t need anyone’s help or judgment.

He is the only one who sees me as I am: creative, beautiful, someone who matters.

What could be more important? For my trip, I pack cotton dresses and sandals.

I paint my toes. It feels frightening to leave my new home and head to an island in the middle of the ocean. I was not raised to take risks.

His belief in me has given me courage—to become an artist, to splurge on myself.

We text as I lock up my apartment, as I hail a taxi.

I can hardly believe this day is finally here.

All my dreams are coming true, at last, at last. I can already envision the collage I will create: photographs of the beach, remnants from evenings of wine and laughter.

Images of me—for once—ablaze. A wooden table with a paper cloth, candles, plates of grilled vegetables, my own bare feet in blue water.

It’s not until I am over the ocean that my phone trills, the first warning:

My love, there is a problem.