Nico is nice. A bit younger than the others. His accent is thicker but similar to Dante’s.

“What part of Italy are you from?” I ask him. If we are going to be hanging out with each other for a while, I might as well make a friend of him and get to know him a little.

“Ahhh, Sicily, where all good Italian men are from!” he says with a big grin, and I laugh at him. It feels good.

“Tell me about where you grew up? I would love to learn more about Italy.” He begins to tell me all about his homeland, and it becomes evident that Sicily is a place loved by many, not just Dante.

The morning flies by quickly and after eating, showering, and having one more check-up by the nurses, I sign a few papers. Then there is nothing left to do except leave. I feel hollow, like a shell of myself. It is the same feeling I had on the plane ride here, when I didn’t know what to expect or what I was doing. Nico bends down and grabs my duffle bag. “Come on, Annie, let’s go.” When I don’t move, he nods at me, silently telling me that it will be okay, and slowly, I move, one foot in front of the other, down the hospital halls and out the front entrance. The sunlight burns through the sky, the brightness something I haven’t seen in forever. The warm feeling on my body is humming through my skin, and I take a big breath of fresh air.

“This way. We can’t stand around outside, we need to move,” Nico says, putting a hand at my back and pushing me along at a quicker pace. The stark reality of my situation slams back into my face as my heart rate picks up, and I follow Nico to a black car parked at the curb right out the front of the hospital.

Nico opens the door, and I slip inside, my body sliding on the soft black leather as he gets in beside me. Before the car begins to move, I sit in silence, looking out the window and wondering where the hell my adventure is going to take me next.

33

Dante