12 Hours In Paradise (3 page)

“I’m afraid that’s not allowed,” he said sadly. “Oh, how I wish it were.”

“Anybody, then…what if they’re dead?”

“Especially if they’re dead,” he exclaimed brightly.

“Then I guess I’d like to go out to dinner with Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

“Do I know this lady?”

“I don’t believe you’ve met.”

“Can you please introduce us?”

“Laura, I’d like you to meet my friend, Arash, although some people just call him Bright Arrow. Arash, I’d like you to meet Laura Ingalls Wilder, who wrote
The Little House on the Prairie
series, which occupied most of my life beginning in fifth grade when I first discovered her until about
seventh grade when I moved on.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Wilder. My friend…Dorothy. Well, she didn’t mean to be rude when she said she moved on. You understand?”

“Of course she understands. She’s Laura Ingalls Wilder.”

“Then maybe you can share with me why she would make such an interesting dinner companion,” he said. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “It might make her feel a little better, considering that she now knows you lost interest in her after the seventh grade.”

His breath in my ear raised goose bumps on the back of my neck. His lips so close to me made me momentarily forget we were only two strangers just kidding around for an hour. Vacationers.

“Well…well…” I gathered my composure. “Where I live in Reno is in an area just outside the city that’s kind of still country and wild. I like to imagine what it was like for people who lived a long time ago before there was electricity and highways and Internet and cars. Sometimes I ride my horse up in the hills and imagine I’m living back then. Nothing but me and my horse and—”

“Your horse?”

“Yes, my horse.”

“Are you telling me you have a horse?”

“Yes. It’s not that unusual where I live to have a horse.”

“We’re talking about the four-legged beast with a tail and furry matter that grows from its neck?”

“Its mane.”

“And this beast carries you on its back?”

“Yes, I ride my horse.”

“Just a minute.” Arash pulled me out of the flow of foot traffic to the entrance of a jewelry store where an armed guard stood at attention. The guard glanced at us irritably but relaxed when he realized we weren’t a threat. He went back to studying the river of passersby.

“What?”

Arash gently gathered a handful of hair on the side of my head and began a clumsy attempt at a braid.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m just trying to imagine you as you must look when you’re riding your horse. Surely your hair must hang in two braids, one on either side. And your cowgirl hat stopping just above your ears. Your pistol. Do you carry it in a holster on your left or right side?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. Your turn. Who would you invite to dinner?”

“Annie Oakley,” he murmured. “I am seriously impressed.”

“You’d invite Annie Oakley?”

“No, no, no. Let me think for a minute.” He took my hand and pulled me back to the sidewalk, where we began to walk again. Farther and farther away from my hotel with each step. “I think I would invite my grandfather to dinner.”

“Your grandfather? Why him? You can invite anyone dead or alive. You could invite George Washington.”

“Why would I invite George Washington? He has wooden teeth and probably couldn’t eat the steak and corn on the cob I’d be barbecuing.”

“But why your grandfather when you can talk to him anytime?”

“Ah, but that’s just it. I can’t talk to him anytime. In fact I’ve never talked to him in my life. He died when I was a baby, and my parents were stationed overseas at the time. He never got to meet me.”

“Poor grandfather. That’s so sad. What would you guys talk about?”

“I’d ask him about my father. What he was like as a child. As a teenager. As a young man. What made him the person he became?”

“What if your grandfather doesn’t know what made your dad the person he became? Parents don’t always know everything about their kids. And besides, don’t you think that people just become who they’re supposed to be? That they’re just born that way?”

“Is that what you believe?”

“Kind of. I mean, I don’t really think I am who I am because of what my parents have done. I think I’m just me.”

“Did they teach you manners and responsibility?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did they love you and shelter you and fill you with confidence?”

“Yes and no. They love me and shelter me. But they don’t always fill me with confidence. Sometimes just the opposite.”

“Everything they’ve done in the past has in some way shaped who you are right now.”

“I don’t agree. Maybe some of the stuff but not everything. Chester and I are so different, and yet we have the same parents.”

“But Chester is a boy and a second child. You’re the oldest, a girl…and a very beautiful one, I might add.” My face flushed hot. “This can account for the differences in your personalities.”

“Agree to disagree,” I said. “I refuse to believe I’m just a product of my parents…like I’m a ball of Play-Doh these two people molded into a shape. I’ve always known who I was. Sometimes it goes along with who my parents want me to be, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Fair enough,” Arash said. “But I know my grandfather would have some kind of insight into my father that I, as a son, don’t have.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I asked just as though his grandfather was expected to dinner that night.

“Then I’ll kick him out of the house and see if it isn’t too late to ask George Washington.”

“No do-overs,” I said. “Next question.”

“Next question.” He glanced down at the paper. “‘Would you like to be famous? And if the answer is yes…famous for what?’”

“This is a trick question. I know I’m supposed to say no,
but anyone who’s really honest would say, ‘Hell yeah, I’d like to be famous.’ Who wouldn’t?”

“There’s no right or wrong answer, so it can’t be a trick question. And?”

“And what?”

“If your answer is ‘Hell, yeah,’ you have to say what it is you want to be famous for.”

“Hmmm…what about a pop singer? Definitely not a reality star.” I looked over at Arash, and he really seemed focused on my answer, so I wanted to make it good. “I guess a movie star.”

“A movie star?”

“Yup. A movie star.”

“Do you study acting in school?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been in a school play?”

“No.”

“Don’t you think you should get started, then?”

“I don’t
really
want to be a movie star. You forced me to make a choice, so I picked movie star. Probably ninety percent of girls my age would say that. Or singer. Anyway, I have no idea what I want to be, and fame really isn’t my goal. It might be nice, though, at least in a fantasy.” That sounded dumb even to me. I wish I had picked another answer, but I’d already told Arash no do-overs. “Okay, that was stupid.”

“Stupid? Anything but stupid. We’re on an adventure, which by definition means indulging our fantasies.”

We’d arrived at a large stone statue of a Hawaiian goddess, where a group of Japanese tourists were posing for a picture using a selfie stick. They froze into position, vacation joy etched into their smiles. The flash blinked a few times before they all relaxed and resumed their conversations.

“Excuse me.” Arash approached the group. “May we borrow your selfie stick for a moment?”

“Arash,” I pulled on his sleeve and hissed at him. “You can’t borrow someone else’s selfie stick. It’s programmed to their phone.” I felt like I was reprimanding Chester.

“I know,” he whispered confidentially. “I’m just trying to reestablish the human connection that was lost with the invention of the selfie stick.”

Lucky for us, they didn’t seem to understand English.

“Could you take our photo, then?” he asked, holding his phone out to one of the women, who nodded enthusiastically. The entire group smiled in solidarity. The universal language of travel. The universal language of the smartphone.

All of a sudden I knew what Arash meant. It would be sad if everyone started using selfie sticks and nobody needed a stranger to take their picture anymore. He put his arm around my shoulder and drew me close. I held my breath and wished we were wearing anything but those ridiculous matching outfits. But then I thought about it again and decided there was nothing better.

“Me too,” I said when the woman returned the phone. “One with my phone too, please,” I spoke extra loud, the way people do when they’re talking to someone who doesn’t understand their language. As if by being yelled at they’ll miraculously learn the language.

The pretty lady nodded and smiled and took a few more pictures of us.

That time I leaned in farther, pressing my cheek up against the pocket of Arash’s shirt.

We thanked them and went on our way, and they went on theirs. Travelers in the night who would never meet again, but we’d come together just for that moment. A moment they captured for me, not even thinking about its significance. They were on an adventure too. Everyone was that night.

“Okay, so you’ve bought some extra time to think about your answer,” I said. “Would you want to be famous, and if so, for what?”

“I know this is one of those trick questions where I’m supposed to answer yes.” He smiled at me slyly. “But I’d have to say no. I wouldn’t want the scrutiny that comes with fame.

“But…” he said, just as I was getting ready to say, “Next question,” “I would like to invent a time machine, of course. Or discover the cure for cancer. I just don’t want to be known for it.”

“You’re so modest.”

“Not modest. I just value my privacy.”

There was that short
i
sound in
privacy
again. It was so exotic. So swoon-inducing.

“Next question,” I prompted.

“I think I should walk you back to your hotel room. It’s midnight, and that’s the deadline you gave me. I’ve been watching for signs of embers on your cheeks or pumpkins growing out of your ears, and there’ve been none. But nevertheless, it’s midnight all the same.”

“But we need to answer the rest of the questions.”

“I don’t think there’s time.”

“But…” I suddenly felt like I was going to cry. There was no Arash waiting for me back in Reno. There would be no amazing adventure with a magical prince who wore wire-rimmed glasses perched slightly unevenly on his nose. His beautiful, perfect nose. “I can stay out another hour. No one will know. How about you?”

He paused for just a second before answering. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“What does that mean?”

“An expression my father taught me. It means, if you commit to doing something, then you may as well do it all the way.”

“And that’s what we’re doing, right?” I was relieved to hear him say that. “Totally committing ourselves to this adventure. That’s why we’re wearing our uniforms.”

“You’re right again, of course. You haven’t been wrong once yet.”

“Next question,” I repeated, and Arash glanced down at the article.

“Next question. ‘Before a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you’re going to say? If so, why?’”

“Dumb question,” I answered. “If it’s something important. Like if I was going to apply for a job or talk to a college admissions officer, yes of course I’d rehearse what I was going to say. But if I’m just talking to one of my friends…then of course not.”

“What about if you were going to call me?” he asked, and I had to admit that stopped me in my tracks.

“You see,” he said, “maybe not such a dumb question after all.”

“When would I be calling you? How much time has gone by since this night? How well do we know each other?”

“You’re calling me one week from tonight. It’s the first time we’ve spoken.”

“Then, to be honest, I probably would think about what I was going to say. Because…because we really don’t know each other.”

“Why would that matter? Why should you have to measure your words with me? Shouldn’t you just speak from the heart?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d be nervous. This is silly. You answer.”

“Like you,” he said, “I speak spontaneously to my friends but generally pre-think more formal calls.”

“What about…what about if you had to call your chaperone right now and tell him what you’re doing?”

“If I had to tell Mrs. Coburn what I was doing right now, I would definitely rehearse what I was going to say.”

“Would you lie?”

“Absolutely not. But I would present the information in the most advantageous way.”

“Okay, I’m Mrs. Coburn.
Ring…ring…ring.
”

Arash kept walking, eyes straight ahead.

“Arash.
Ring…ring…ring.
Get it? You’re supposed to pick up.” I put my thumb and pinky next to my ear and mouth to pantomime making a phone call.