Snippets from I've Become
Chapter 2: Paradise Lost (Section 1)
I have decided to share a few chapters from my manuscript — I’ve Become — and for this post it’s section one of chapter 2. The first post of the manuscript included all four sections. I will tease out this next chapter and share all four sections separately over the coming month of August.
Section 1 CAMOGLI, ITALY (2027)
***Camogli Cemetery, Camogli, Italy (Italian Riviera)***
Pedro and Mauricio stood in front of Jennifer’s grave and watched all of the attendees, including Jennifer’s immediate family – her mother Cindy, her father Øistein, and her older sister Cara – walk towards a long line of black cars (Fern, now 4, was already back at the villa with their nanny Sophia). Pedro’s parents, as well as the rest of his extended family, had returned to where Pedro and Jennifer resided as well – it had been a long, grueling day. A black carriage, darker than the combined feathers of a raven, drawn by four black Friesian horses — their heads adorned with heavy black, feathered headdresses — stood, anachronistically in front of a hodge-podge of different makes of cars. The horses bobbed their heads up and down, clanked their teeth against their bits, sighed softly, and awaited the signal for departure, now that their labor of carrying Jennifer’s body – just an hour earlier – to her bed of eternal slumber was over.
“Jennifer was such a good woman, Pedro,” Mauricio, Pedro’s closest friend whom he’d stayed in contact with since his days in NATO before he retired, said to him. Mauricio dusted off a piece of lint from his sleek black suit, and readjusted his pilot sunglasses.
“And a tough one too,” Pedro added. “She could be such a pain in the ass, but that’s what I loved about her so much.”
Mauricio nodded in agreement, and they both laughed ever so slightly. “Come here, my friend.” Mauricio embraced Pedro tightly and slapped his back several times.
“Thanks, man.”
Pedro pulled away from Mauricio’s embrace and wiped his red, raw, wet face.
“I know I have nothing to comfort you. A bottle of Nero d’Avola is needed now.”
“Si, è una necessità . . .” Pedro stood erect in front of Jennifer’s grave, and patted down his straight, black tie. Mauricio continued to stand at attention next to his best friend.
“Jennifer would agree. I know Jennifer. She’d want you to not only have a glass of wine . . . but the bottle,” Mauricio said, nodding again with Pedro.
Pedro looked up towards the azure sky, which was ablaze with the warmth of a midday Italian sun. Unlike most spring days now, it was blessedly mild. Mauricio crossed himself, joining his first three fingers of his right hand, and placing his left hand’s fingers into his palm. He touched his forehead first, then moved his hand below his chest to the left and right sides, then opened his hand, and finally bowed.
“Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, amen.”
