Super Crush (BxB)

Another Victim of Pompeii (S2)

Sneaking out the first few nights was surprisingly easy. Maybe too easy. Mom went to bed at 11 pm on clockwork. I would creep through the secret passage, mosey down the main street of town, and meet Captain Vito waiting to taxi me to Superhero Island.

The guilt was easy to ignore when the sin was committed so effortlessly.

It was more difficult to keep up with Mom during the day. Each morning started with getting coffee at a different cafe. Checking out a random store that offered some item or service that was so quintessentially Italian. Some days we stuck around town and other days we took bus tours to places like Villa Rufolo and Paestum.

Out of our list of day trips, it was the Pompeii archeological site that intrigued me the most. I can't imagine waking up one day to the news that everything you know and love is going to be destroyed by an angry mountain that plans to flood your city with smoke, ash, and lava. Actually, waking up one morning and everything you love being destroyed by an angry holder psychopath hits closer to home.

The artifacts at the site were a bit mind-blowing. It's crazy how all these years later there are still wholly preserved remnants and remains. While pausing at one of the leftover building structures, I admired a mosaic art piece that covered the entranceway. There at my feet, a shaggy-looking dog was presented on the floor made of tiny tiles and grout.

I know they are 2,000 years apart, but I couldn't help but imagine my Central Park buddy, Balto, playing with this Italian canine. The way the mosaic pup is shown, his butt up and front paws down, I could tell he was ready to chase a tennis ball or wrestle in the grass with my bronze doggo.

Then there were the creepy mummified people who look like they were from some low-budget horror movie. The casts were made of plaster that covered the remains of the volcano's victims–the figures forever frozen how they spent their last moments.

At first, I didn't give them much attention until I came across two statues huddled together. For decades, the pair was thought to have been a couple of young women, but more recently scientists have found the two to be men. The scene, both men on their sides, one resting on the flank of the other, had an almost intimate vibe. Seeing them made me wonder. If the end was coming, whose arms would I run into?

Many of the thoughts and feelings I had arrived here with were fleeting. While exploring with my mom during the day and secretly seeing my Dad at night, some of the buzz in my head had died down. Truthfully, I briefly forgot why I was here. I let go of what happened in New York, and the ache of missing my dad all of those years dissipated. However, the drama that has formed between Abe, Clay, and me has only gotten thicker. Looking at the Pompeiian men who are forever connected in plaster sets off a new spiral of thoughts.

Am I Mount Vesuvius, unsteady and dangerous? Am I going to erupt and destroy everything around me? Will my choices be their downfall? By getting involved with their mission, am I destined to put those I love in harm's way?

Even today, as I wander around a huge bookstore looking for my mom, I can't shake the feeling that I need to talk to Abe and Clay. If not about my concern in dooming them, then at least to define our relationships. But sacrificing what I have formed with Clay by officializing Abe and me makes my mind go to a dark place. I envision myself standing in an empty city street with a cloud of volcanic pyroclast rolling towards me and eating me up.

"Mom," I call out, pulling myself out of the mental rubble of the choices I know I will have to eventually make.

I look down the aisles of books without luck.

"Where is she?" I ask aloud as I pass the self-help sections and biographies.

I'm unsure how long we have been here, but I think I reached my limit. I need to step out of the dusty stacks and get some fresh air, but I don't want to leave her behind. I scope out the architecture section because she has loved learning about the building styles we've seen on our trip so far. I look in the cookbook aisle because she is always promising herself to put more time into building her cooking repertoire. I even check the small coffee shop at the front of the store even though I know she has already had two cappuccinos today.

Just as I am about to turn and check for her in the old vinyl record section at the back of the store, I see Mom out the shop's front window. She is outside talking to someone on her phone. Her flustered gestures pique my curiosity. As I slowly move toward the bookstore's door, she puts her hand on her forehead and then rubs her eye. Something she is speaking about has made her distraught.

I quietly open the door just in time to catch the tail end of the conversation.

"I'm just saying. Don't make promises you don't know if you can keep," she says. There is an aggressive edge in her voice.

Then she lets out a sigh and her shoulders lower a little. Mom seems to loosen up a bit. The caller on the other end must be telling her something reassuring.

"Okay, okay. I will let you handle it. Just remember what happened last time," her voice trails off as she turns to find me standing there.

"Alright, I gotta go. Noah is here and waiting on me...Yeah, sounds good...Okay....Bye," she ends the call and stows her phone in her purse.

"What was that all about?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just work stuff," Mom replies as she checks her watch.

I can't get any more probing questions out before she switches gears.

"We gotta go!" she announces.

I pretend to be over the conversation, but I am already trying to figure out when I can swipe her phone to check the call log.

A bit later, Mom and I arrive at a pasta-making class. In minutes, we are covered in flour, mixing and rolling dough, and doing our best to follow the teacher's directions in cutting our creations into ribbons. By the end of the session, our stomachs hurt from laughing at each other and our noodles look questionable. Mine are all cut too thin and hers look like they were made by a kindergartener.

I don't have high hopes for the end result, but the process of making the pasta was a lot of fun. It was the most uninhibited I have seen Mom on our trip. Surprisingly, after boiling them, plating them, and covering them in sauce, the noodles taste so damn good.

With a chuckle, Mom says, "Guess looks can be deceiving, huh?"

Mouth full of spaghetti, I agree with her, "For sure."

***

Book exploration and pasta-making really took it out of us. By the time we got gelato and then walked some of the carbs off, Mom was yawning.

"Might call it an early night, kiddo," she informs me as we walk into our hotel room.

"Same here," I reply, thinking I can get a nap in before hanging out with Abe and Clay.

In the amount of time it takes me to shower, mom falls asleep in her bed. I change into a t-shirt and gym shorts so I can get nestled in bed too, but I know I will not be able to get any rest until I see who Mom was talking to on the phone earlier today.

I hope you never feel compelled to sneak a peek at someone's phone contents. It makes you feel hella dirty. Like creep to the max. A phone is sometimes the most personal item a person has, and here I am snooping my own mother's.

I type my birth year in on the number pad on the lock screen. The angel on my shoulder tells me that if it doesn't work I'm calling it a night. I can rely on other detective means to figure out who she was talking to. But the four numbers do the trick and the devil on my other shoulder cracks his knuckles in delight.

I press the phone icon and up pops her recent calls. I hear the sound of a volcano erupt in my head. Hot pebbles and ash feel like they are raining down on me. My hand goes to my mouth as I stare at the screen. Images of being dug up by an archeologist in this exact same pose hundreds of years from now play in my frontal lobe. 

It can't be...right? Just a coincidence? Right?

Two words that Abe and Clay said the first night at the hideout echo in my ears. There at the top of my Mom's call log, time-stamped at 1:43 pm, her last call was with "THE BOSS."