Ешь, молись, люби

Chapter 98

           Mygrandfather’swife-hissecondwife-isthisreallyniceladynamedGale,inhereightiesnow.Shehauledoutthisoldphotoalbumandshowedmepicturesfromthe1930s,whenshewaseighteenyearsoldandwentonatriptoEuropeforayearwithhertwobestfriendsandaguardian.She’sflippingthroughthesepages,showingmetheseamazingoldphotographsofItaly,andsuddenlywegettothispictureofthisreallycuteyoungItalianguy,inVenice.Igo,’Gale-who’sthehottie?’Shegoes,’That’sthesonofthepeoplewhoownedthehotelwherewestayedinVenice.Hewasmyboyfriend.’Igo,’Yourboyfriend?’Andmygrandfather’ssweetwifelooksatmeallslyandhereyesgetallsexylikeBetteDavis,andshegoes,’Iwastiredoflookingatchurches,Liz.’"

           Yudhigivesmeahighfive."Rockon,dude."

           WesetoffforourfakeAmericanroadtripacrossBali,meandthiscoolyoungIndonesianmusicalgeniusinexile,thebackofourcarfilledwithguitarsandbeerandtheBalineseequivalentofAmericanroadtripfood-friedricecrackersanddreadfullyflavoredindigenouscandies.Thedetailsofourjourneyareabitblurrytomenow,smudgedovermydistractingthoughtsofFelipeandbytheweirdhazinessthatalwaysaccompaniesaroadtripinanycountryoftheworld.WhatIdorememberisthatYudhiandIspeakAmericantheentiretime-alanguageIhadn’tspokeninsolong.I’dbeenspeakingEnglishalotduringthisyear,ofcourse,butnotAmerican,anddefinitelynotthesortofhip-hopAmericanYudhilikes.

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