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Back The Year the Maps Changed Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Map
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. Acknowledgments
  74. About the Author
  75. About the Publisher

Luca took the rest of the day off. He told Pop that he was going to take me someplace special. “Our own little corner of heaven.”

And then he did—the chairlift on the Arthurs Seat summit. The metal double chairs had a little canopy like an umbrella up top. They’d swing you down this 950-meter-long cable, starting 314 meters above sea level (the numbers were all written on warning signs at the ticket booth), with nothing for protection but a skinny metal bar across your lap as you went diagonally down the mountain.

And the view from up there . . . it’s really something else. I remember thinking that I could touch the tops of trees with the soles of my shoes if I just swung my legs enough. And I remember knowing that my mom would have loved it up there with us.

Luca guessed what I was thinking. “Your pop says Maria used to love riding on this when she was younger.” And then he kind of muttered, “But probably not quite this young.”

It was true I was young for the ride. I think the lift operator had been a little nervous to let me on, but since Luca was still in uniform he’d sold us tickets and let us go anyway. I think Luca had been worried, too, because he’d kept one of his big hands on the collar of my dress the whole way, and I could hear him gulping when my swinging legs made the chair sway.

I was no closer to heaven that day and I’m not so sure I even believe in it now—the place or the idea—but I felt closer to Mom. And every year since, when Luca and I made our annual trek to the summit, I felt like I got closer still. We’d talk about Mom while we were up there, just the two of us, in a way that we couldn’t with our feet planted firmly on the ground.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

I have decided that memories are a little like mountains. You need to hike to the top and get some height—what Mr. Khouri calls perspective—so you can look down at how far you’ve come, and see all the people and choices that make up the map of your life.

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2

The Greater the Height

On the second to last Tuesday of the school holidays in January 1999 (in Australia, our holiday vacation extends through the whole month of January), we were snaking our way up the mountain: me, Luca, Anika, and Sam. And even though I must’ve made that climb a dozen times, I still got a little green around the gills, as Pop liked to say, when we lurched around corners. My stomach would go one way while the car went the other.