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But that year, under my insistence, my mother finally yielded to my wish to spend a holiday in Sicily. I had always been passionate about the South. In my dream, Sicily was always covered in gold. Everything was gold: the golden Baroque cities glistening under the glowing sun of August, and far away, the gently rising mountains of Theocritus directing our gaze to Homer's wine-dark sea. Now when I look back at myself at the age of fifteen, I recall only two pieces of literature that lent my monotonous school life a subtle romantic air: A la recherche du temps perdu by Marcel Proust and the Eclogues by Virgil. For a short time I was so fascinated by Eclogue II in which the handsome shepherd Corydon, mad about the beautiful youth Alexis, chases his unobtainable lover around the sinuous valleys of Sicily and, now sunk into the bottomless depth of his melancholy, throws his empty songs to the ever-flowing, irresponsive rivulets in the Sicilian woods, that I dreamed about a romantic. At first, I said no, I'm not going to be a third wheel. Then she mentioned that Chip was going with them, and that he had been asking about me.I asked her to give Chip my phone number, and that he could call me if he wanted. A few days later he called, and we chatted for a bit. He said that he was going to the festival, and said that he'd like it if I went with him. I told him I'd think about it and to call me the next day. My ex was going to be on vacation that week, and he always takes boys camping, so I knew I'd be alone. I had planned on working, but the schedule was full, so I decided to go.When he called back, I told him that I'd go with him. He said that he'd pick me up at ten o'clock Sunday morning. I asked him to call me Saturday night to confirm. Then I called Deb and told her. She said that it's a real good time. She said that the four of us would go together, and that we'd meet Krista there. I could sense that Debbie was hiding something.I woke up on Sunday morning just.
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