The bow dipped, and I clung to the front railing as the cap crashed over. It had been twenty-four hours since I had forgotten my name. The thin Italian helming our small boat yelled ragazzo, scendi, scendi. But another wave rose in the distance. There was more yelling as the sailor threw me into the pit of wet nets. The hull lurched and the spray made a corona over my head, and it all dazzled. I thought I saw my father. Then my stomach rolled, I crawled to the side to spew.

That day when I had asked the sailor why he was leaving Greece, I'd asked perché perché because I knew that much, and he'd said per mamma. And I told him I was leaving for something similar, but he just pointed to the pit of netting and said stay.

Yet he threw me out at...

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