Page 64 of The Vow

“Para-Taxi, how may I help you?”

“I need a cab that can accommodate a wheelchair at 11 Marcel Lane.”

“Certainly, sir. And where are you headed today?”

“St. Anthony’s General Hospital.”

Twenty-Five

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Snow fell steadily, the kind that dusts everything lightly and robs the world of its color. Snowplows on the highway made the afternoon commute unbearable. By the time we reached my quiet neighborhood, the snow gracefully muted any noise. I had asked the Para-Taxi driver to keep the radio off, and he wasn’t the type to chat my ear off. My world was serene. I was being offered a new lease on life, and the sense of tranquility that followed was like a gift.

The phrase that’s been drilled into my head over the last five months has become my mantra: Nothing changes, if nothing changes. I had signed a contract using my blood, sweat, and tears, and the debt had been paid – the debt I owed to myself.

“The eagle has landed.” The driver’s joke held meaning. It was a sign from pop who was watching me from up in space.

After paying him, I waited while he dropped the ramp that served as my red carpet before helping me onto the porch.

“Do you want me to put your bag inside?”

“Thanks,” I said, unlocking the front door. “I appreciate it.”

“For sure, man. Have a good night.”

My house was foreign to me, too dark, and too silent. I turned on all the lights and then the radio before turning up the heat.

“Police are warning residents to stay off the roads unless travel is absolutely necessary. We're expecting another six inches before it's over. That's not all folks, freezing rain is expected to begin this evening and last into the night. The weather out there is frightful, but hey... snow day! Up next, Green-Eyed Lady...”

The answering machine is blinking with thirty-five unheard messages. Determined to start fresh, I deleted them all. I’m starving, but not for food. My soul is famished, and swallowing my pride, I picked up the phone and prayed for courage.

“He’s alive.”

I could hear the typical sounds in the background of revelers’ laughter, and music that emanated from the 1950s style Jukebox. “I hope you’re happy I am.”

“If you’re asking me whether I hate your guts, the answer is no. Where the fuck have you been? I got your love letters, but you never answered mine.”

Once a week, I waited until I knew Nicky’s was closed, and left Nick a voice message to let him know I was safe, because after days and weeks of soul-searching, I realized that the most important person in my life was my childhood best friend. “Yeah. Sorry. I... needed time to myself to think.”

“I figured. Drove by your place almost every night. I knew you weren’t dead since the driveway was plowed and your mailbox wasn’t overflowing.”

I had asked Mrs. Busybody’s husband to shovel for me and collect my mail. As soon as I offered to pay him, he was happy to do it, because being neighborly comes with a price tag.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For checking up on me.”

“You knew I would, goofball. You missed Christmas.”

“I know,” I said, thinking about pop and what he said about space being timeless. “Merry belated.”

“Hang on. Yo! Justin! Your order’s up. Sorry, Pippo. Damn kid is scatterbrained. You know I was going to break your door down if I didn’t hear from you soon.”

“Then I’m glad I called because I like having a front door. I missed you, buddy.” I did. I missed him. I missed my old life, and I missed the love I once had, the kind of love that transcends this world.

“We all missed you too.”