Story #1/Part 1

We'll just call this Mia because I can never actually come up with names for these stories. I wrote this for my mom a few years ago, she was so proud of it :) I should really work on it some more, edit it, add and take away some of it but once a whole bunch of people read it (and believe me a whole bunch did, it seemed not as important to make many changes)  I'll most likely post this in parts because it is long and what I am going to consider complete.  So here is part 1.  Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Mia

Sitting on my mother and father’s bed and realizing now that I was all alone in the world was probably the hardest realization I’ve ever had to face. Going out into the living room and facing my sisters, knowing now was the time that we would have to start sorting through her things, was not going to be easy for me to say the least. My mother and I had some hard times through the years, I suppose like all mothers and daughter’s do, but unlike a lot of the mother daughter relationships out there, we had to deal with losing our best friend, together. My father, was not perfect in any shape or form, but to say he was my hero was probably the closest thing to the truth I had ever known when I was 16 years old. My parents really loved each other, and for that I always considered myself immeasurably lucky. Both my parents have been married previously, my sisters and brother had not had it easy when my parents found each other, leaving behind ex-spouses, and combining different families. I wasn’t there for that transition, but I see even now, how bitterness can still pop through the surface when memories arise in one my sister’s long winded stories they all tell me about. I am the youngest of a large brood, a mix match family, that if has nothing else, all love each other unconditionally, my father was the back bone of that love and loyalty to each other, and once he was gone, my mother tried to step in. Keeping the family “together” was always a little harder for her though, coming from a broken home, I don’t know if she always felt as comfortable as she lead us all to believe she did. Laying my head down on my mother’s pillow I can smell her white linen perfume and shampoo. On the side of her bed is her night stand, that hasn’t changed since I was a little girl. A lamp, and phone, small knick knacks scattered around on the top of it, it is still the same after almost 30 years. Even in the small drawer, there are miscellaneous items that still hold a mystery for me. I remember as a young girl, always looking through my mothers and father’s drawer’s, looking for secret treasures, and answers to the universe I was sure my parents were tucking away for me somewhere in the midst of their clothes. Tugging on the drawer to her night stand, inside still lay the mix match junk that was there before as well, keys and business cards, some aspirin and cards, I pulled the draw out further and tucked in the way back found a small pink book. I know for sure, that this book was never there when I was a child; this is something with a little mystery that my childhood imagination would have just loved. The reason I thought I didn’t remember it though, was because I reasoned it was probably mine. I slowly opened the old worn cover, shocked to open the first page and see hand writing I didn’t recognize right away.  Sitting back against the pillows, I decide to take a peek inside the book, read a few pages to see what I would find.

Dear Mary                                                                  January 10, 1960

You were my Christmas present from the local Salvation Army this year. You are very pretty, with a pink cover and blue paper inside. I’ve decided to name you Mary, because I’d like to think I’m writing to the Virgin Mother. I’ve read so much about her in church and catechism classes, she sounds beautiful and serene, and all a mother should be. All I wish I had. I’m sorry it has taken me a few weeks to get started on you, but I’ve been a little busy, but I promise to write in you as much as I can from now on. I’m going to start I suppose by telling you a little about myself. My name is Colleen, and I’m sure you are going to be my closest friend, for a very long time. I’m going to be 15 in just a few months, but I don’t expect anything for my birthday, the last time I received a gift, it was a broken pair of ice skates, I’m sure Rose found in someone’s garbage, and Mrs. Rossi made a cake that everyone else got to eat, so I would always know how it is to feel to want she explained to me. My life isn’t very exciting to say the least but I’ll start by telling you about yesterday.

The morning air was damp and cold, the thought of struggling out of bed in that air was torturous! Let me tell you Mary it is horrible to get out of bed when the morning is still dark. I knew if I didn’t get out of bed soon, I would regret my decision of sleeping a few extra minutes and keeping warm under my blankets. There was nothing worse than the cold, in my eyes, but being cold and hungry didn’t sound appealing either. As Rose, my “mother” had always said, “to survive in this world Colleen you must earn your keep, I did not bring any beggars into this world, you’ll work hard for what you get and you’ll thank me later”. Thanks my ass! She got me into this situation as far as I’m concerned. To just think, if I was only adopted, that family wanted me so bad, a nice home, warm clothes and warm food in my belly each day, love and happiness would be the story of my life instead of this!

            The cold hardwood floor sent a chill straight up my spine as I struggled to pull on my only pair of woolen paints, a flannel shirt my little brother had given me last year for Christmas, which had grown to small for him, and my old black worn shoes, which had more holes in the soles than Swiss cheese! I crept below stairs not wake the rest of the house hold, and quickly turned on the oven to start getting warmth in the kitchen, and filled a bucket of ice cold water to start to scrub the Rossi’s floors. Their family was large; they had 4 boys, and 2 girls. To keep them afloat the Rossi family brought in foster kids like me. The extra income that they received to feed the kids and clothe them always went to their own children, and the foster kids would receive their hand me downs, which were never all that nice, and always were worn so thin you could scarcely call them rags.

I hummed quietly while I worked, currently there was only one other foster kid in the Rossi house, Michael, and though while able; because he was a boy he got to sleep until 6am instead of 4am like myself, who had to scrub the floors in the kitchen, clean the bath rooms, make sure the trash from the previous evening was taken care of, and then start breakfast so it was ready for the family when they woke up. Michael had to work with Mr. Rossi to bring in some extra cash, that was his contribution, and why he got to sleep later in the morning. If all her chores weren’t done, I didn’t get to have any breakfast, even though she usually only got what little left over’s there were from the other kids anyway, which never amounted to much.  I never complained though, although I was cold, and my body ached, and all I wanted was to be loved, I never let a soul know the pain I was in, except maybe for my kid brother Rick, and you Mary, I’ll never hide from you.

                                                                                                Jan 12 , 1960 

 I often reminded myself, that all my brothers and sisters are in the same boat. Rose being the selfish woman she is, decided to make all of us brats wards of the state, so she could finally live her life as she liked to remind them. My mother had married my father when she was 18 because she had no one in the world, her parents had died of influenza when she was just 4 years old, and both her and her brother were also made wards of the wonderful state of Massachusetts. Unlike a foster home where I am, Rose had been sent to a convent that had an all girls school attached. Hoping to recruit more children of God, they let Rose live at the convent and attend classes, but like the nuns she had to be up each morning at 3:30am, she had to pray 5 times a day, unless at school had to take a vow of silence, and had her chores to do on top of home work. Once she turned 18, she had to decide to take her vows and become a novice or start to live her life else where in the world. Rose had met one of the father’s of the other students at school. His wife had died in a few years past she knew, and he had 2 small children besides his daughter who graduated with Rose. Gathering all the courage she could, she approached him one day and offered her services as a nanny for the children, as long as room and board was included. Mr. Slogan found Rose beautiful and quickly agreed to the arrangement. Her long black hair was thick and enticing, her big blue eyes were like cornflowers, and needless to say soon after she started her position as the new nanny, she found herself with child, with Colleen’s oldest brother Nicholas. Instead of welcoming a bastard child into the house or sending Rose to the streets, Mr. Slogan married Rose, and quickly gave her 3 more kids to bear for him, on top of raising his two children from his previous marriage. During the sixth month of her fifth pregnancy, Mr. Slogan died of heart failure. I never met my father, but Nicholas always told me nice stories of our father, he would come home smelling of wood and spice, with candy in his pockets for the children and kisses for his wife. Rose never wanted the kisses though, she never wanted to bear the man’s children, never wanted to be a housewife. She had wanted to travel, to sing and act in New York. So once he was dead, her five kids were off to foster homes, and Mr. Slogan’s oldest children were off to live with their uncle who had custody of them. When I was younger, I used to think the story between my parents was some what romantic, here was a young girl, left all alone and just needed someone to help her, and she fell wildly in love with her employer and started a family, it wasn’t until I was about 10 and she sat me down and told me how horrible it all was that I realized that of course my dream was just that a dream, she never loved my father, or me, or any of my brothers or sisters! So much for my romantic fantasies. Someday Mary, I’m going to fall in love, and I’m going to be honest and loyal to my husband and never treat him I’m sure the way Rose treated my poor father. All he ever wanted was to love her I’m sure!

            I put what was very evidently my mother’s childhood diary down and just stared at it. I knew some of the stories she was telling in her book, she had told them to me as I started to grow older so I could understand. I just can’t believe she had written a diary and never mentioned it to me. I knew I had to show this to my sisters and brother, but part of me wanted to be so selfish and just steal it away, tuck it in my purse and keep it for myself. As I lifted the book up a slip of paper fell out of the back of the book.  I unfolded the paper, which was yellowed and cracked with age. Inside the folded paper was a key hanging on a red string and written was Newport Post Office Safety Deposit Box 125. I immediately slipped the key into my pocket, put the book into my purse and decided to head out to the living room to talk to my sisters.  “Hey guys, Listen I’m going to take a ride for a little while, get out of here for a bit.”  My mother’s oldest daughter Cathy looked at me strangely. “What? I’m just going to for a drive” But Mia, we need to start going through mom’s stuff...”  I turned and looked at all my other sister’s. Their eyes were red rimmed, their noses sniffling, I knew they were hurting and in need, I knew I needed to be there for them, but I wanted to go and do this for me, and for my mom. Once I discovered what was in this safety deposit box I could share it with all of them. “Look I’ll be back within an hour, why don’t you guys try to relax, have some lunch, give me a little time, then we’ll start ok?”  Cathy nodded at me, and walked back into mom’s room to lie down, my other sister’s started scattering around the house to look at different articles they might want to bring home for them or their kids.

            I quickly ran out the door and jumped into my car, racing for the post office before they closed. Huffing and puffing inside, I was lucky enough to be able to approach a clerk right away. “ Hi, my name is Mia, my mother recently passed away, and I found this key, and a note, I was wondering if you could release the contents to me” The post master looked at me for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. “I’m sorry miss, but I really shouldn’t without proof of a death certificate”  A sigh went through me, I happened to collect that from the town this morning. “I can provide that, please I just need a few moments with the box” After being ushered into a private quite room, I sat with the heavy black box in front of me for quite a few minutes, just starting at it. Butterflies raced around in my stomach, anxious and curious at the same time, I knew I had to open the box.  I inserted the key, hoping to find oodles of money, knowing I would probably find nothing. The first thing I noticed was a typed paper, lying on top of what looked to be a couple more journals, and a jewelry box. I opened the letter

            Dear Mia,

My youngest daughter, who is so much more like me than she’ll ever admit, somehow in my heart, I know you found this before any of your sisters. Your imagination has always gotten away from you, there are nothing in these books, besides my writings, of my life, my happiness and misery, but of all my girls, I think you would find most comfort in reading them. They skip around years, I wasn’t devoted to writing all the time, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy it all the same, my daughter who was always so curious with questions! You would sit and ask me to tell you all my stories, from when I was a girl, about my mother, about the foster homes, You out of all my daughter’s being the closest to my friend, even knew about my sweet little boy.. Who I’ve wondered about up until my last breath. After reading my stories Mia, if you can, if you have the resources and you’re strong enough, please find Patrick. You’ll hear his story, what I know of it, in these journals, please.. Find your bother, and let him know I always loved him. I love you, be the strong girl I know you are, and take care.

Love,

Mom

My hands were shaking as I laid the paper down on the table. She wants me to do WHAT! For years, she told me to leave the subject alone, that she never hid from him, it was up to HIM to find her, but how does she even know that he knows she exists I would say? It’s in God’s hands, that’s what her answer always was, and now that she’s gone she’s leaving it to me? Wonder and anger, passion and fear welled up in me in a whirl wind of emotion. How could she ask this of me? Why now when it was what I always wanted us to experience together?  I looked back in the black box and removed the 3 other journals that remained. The jewelry box creaked as it pulled it out. Inside was a small gold ID bracelet with the name Patrick engraved on it, a picture of my mother at 16 holding her first son, and a sealed envelope with his name written on the front. “Figures, it just figures she does this to me now!”  tears welled in my eyes, I missed my mother so much, how could I not do this for her?

            I pulled out the pink journal, figuring if I could read a little bit more, maybe what anger had built up inside of me, would subside with memories of my mother.

           

                                                                                                            January 30, 1960

This morning at 5:30am Mrs. Rossi emerged from up stairs, lit a cigarette, and sneered at me.   “Why isn’t the damn breakfast on the stove yet”. “I’m just getting to it now Mrs. Rossi, I promise it will be done by six when the rest of the children come down stairs.”  I quickly threw some butter in a frying pan and started to fry eggs and toast. The milk had just arrived on the stoop, I put a bottle on the table for the children to share and put the rest in the ice box. I knew now I had to rush to get the kids fed, so everyone was out the door and off to school by 6:45. Mrs. Rossi’s oldest son John came into the kitchen and quickly snuck behind me, pinching my behind. I squealed, shot a look at Mrs. Rossi who was glaring at me, and told him to get away.  John was always sneaking around me, touching me when he could, watching me undress at night through the holes in the door of my room. Honestly Mary, at 17 he isn’t the best looking guy, average in height he had dark hair and eyes, his skin had a slight olive complexion, which was always oily and he always smells funny to me.  The few times he has tried to kiss me, I’ve barely managed to get away! I’ve been kissed by boys, it isn’t as if I don’t like it, I just don’t know what repulsed me more, his smell or the feel of his clumsy hands trying to grope me.  Our conversation went something like this Mary, just so you know the trouble I have to put up with these days!  “C’mon Colleen you know you like it” John whispered, “just meet me after school today, we’ll go for a walk in the woods, it will be fun”  I quickly tried to think of an excuse. Although Mrs. Rossi doesn’t like me, and doesn’t like the attention John pays to me, she wouldn’t want me to feel she could snub her son either, and I knew Mrs.Rossi was listening in just the other room. “John that’s very sweet of you to invite me, but I made special arrangements to meet with Rose today, right after school I have to get on the bus. I’m sorry I just can’t”   wasn’t that a good save Mary? The sad thing is, I really have to go see Rose today! After that little spat I quickly turned around to finish scrambling the eggs. With fresh food on the table, the kids quickly came down the stairs to devour their breakfast, before I could finish the dishes, I realized there was no breakfast really left for me except for a piece of dry toast, and a sip of milk. I quickly took what I could, while the children collected their books. They all had to start to walk to school soon or be late, which would mean detention after school for at least an hour. Knowing the morning would be cold and bitter outside; I quickly dashed up to my room and grabbed a knit cap tucked beneath my pillow. I was able to grab it out of the donation box last Sunday at church, and knew if Mrs. Rossi saw she would take it and give it to one of the boys, who according to her could never afford to be sick. Well, let me tell you, if she wants a clean house and breakfast each morning I really can’t afford to be sick either!  Running out the front door and down the street I finally caught up with the other kids, stuck the hat on my defiantly, waiting for one of the Rossi kids to mention the hat. No one said a word, because no one wanted burnt toast and eggs tomorrow!