7 - Retreats and Discoveries

Chapter Nineteen: Retreats and Discoveries

The summer retreat brought anxious faces, and loud squealing. If someone started giggling, the whole group lost composure.Stories about transgressions were whispered between classes:  the time when the chapel was hair sprayed; or when the seats were sprinkled with talcum powder and flowers were perfumed  with bug spray.

At the last retreat, seven girls were expelled after they were found in the choir section of the chapel with candles and roses,  in pajamas and sheets, flat on the floor, waiting for the morning service to start. Their plan was to surprise the sisters at morning services. Early giggles gave the hiding place away.  

During meal times, someone’s brazen courage would be encouraged even further. One year was the appearance of bobby pins mobiles in the biology lab, and an unexplained rock and roll music during chorus practice. No class had surpassed the donut deliveries during Friday’s fasting. Each class was trying to outdo the previous one.

Talking was discouraged except at meal times and if they weren't concocting something, they engaged the novitiates or the lay teachers assigned to supervise them in some random conversation meant to embarrass them somehow.

“Sister, do you ever leave the convent for vacation?”

“Sister, how is your retreat different from ours?”

“You already pray day every hour, day and night. Don’t you do anything else?”

The adults smiled and encouraged girls to search their hearts for answers. They offered a few explanations: “We study different issues that affect the world. We explore how we can make a difference as teachers, nurses, missionaries. The problems of the world do not go away because we left the world. In our prayers, we ask for guidance.”

Girls talked about parties, alliances, cliques.They fired their questions at each other the minute they were allowed to talk, without waiting for answers:

“What did you do after school closed?”

“We went back East.”

“Did you go to Hawaii?

“No, we went to Europe, instead”.

“What did you see?”

“Wait, wait. I met this dream boy at our summer place.”

“Who? Is he cute?”

“Where does he go to school?”

“What music does he like?”

“Did you hear Elvis “Are you lonesome tonight?”

“I heard it at Nicolette’s party?”

“I did not know Nicolette had a party.”

Halls buzzed with joyful whispers countered by the ‘shush’ chorus of nuns. When doors shut, silence prevailed in the halls until the next change of classes. Sometimes  questions came up for no reason at all, at inconvenient times.

“Miss, do you like Bob Dylan?”

“Who, who is he?”

When someone asked me a question, everyone shushed, listening for the answer. At times, I was flustered and confused and tried to avoid answering at all.

“Are Sisters really married to Jesus? How can they marry a spirit? What good is it to love someone if that someone can never hug you and squeeze you and make you forget the world? Miss, do you have a boyfriend? Do you go steady?"

I heard  standard answers come out of my mouth, the ones I had heard growing up in Catholic schools. I too was scared of anything that sounded mysterious and came under the title of sinful.

Among adult lay teachers we talked more openly. None of us knew much about reproduction and sex

“How come sex doesn't appear to be painful in the movies?” we asked.

“Don't tell me you saw an R rated movie?”

“What about love?”

“Love is spiritual."

“What about birth control? I heard there is a special pill.”

“That’s for protestants. Catholics practice the rhythm."

"What's that?"

"I have no idea. I guess will find out when we marry."

“How do you know when you meet your True Love?”

“You will know. It will be like the warmth of the sun."

“Holy s…, I must be in Love; I am all suntanned! "

All our mothers had avoided the subject of sex and reproduction with pat phrases,you will fall in love when the right boy shows up.

Girls were always asking the sisters if they fell in love before they entered the convent. Their answer was to pray to the Virgin Mary for guidance.We all wavered between wanting to be like them, and wanting to expose them as hypocrites. How could they possibly know what they never experienced?

Most of us felt sorry for sisters who joined a convent so far from their homes,  no friends, no pretty clothes, no chance of ever falling in love. We got the novitiates to share, to tell us how they knew.

“It was a calling”, one would say, and we interpreted to mean that her family pushed her.

“I knew it from the time I was a little girl”, some one was scared of the world.

“There has been a nun in our family forever”, her family had insisted.

“Sister, when did you know? Is there a time when you had no doubts?”

“Do you think of the children you could have had?”

We, students and lay teachers alike, knew and understood the bond of friendship, to support and defend each other’s name and reputation. School taught us all many things. But school didn't teach  what you wanted to learn, especially  at this age. 

Chapter Twenty: Rum and Coca Cola

When Michelle and Pilar picked me up at school on that Friday afternoon our options for the weekend were few as all of us were on  a strict budget. While the food at the convent was predictable and filling, we talked about going out to eat anyplace else. I was addicted to burgers and fries; the girls enjoyed Norms where breakfasts were served all day. Even that indulgence, like a steak with all the trimmings at Norms would set us back more than filling up the tank for the ride to school. We decided to stay home, eat our supper at the  convent and  walk around the block before settling in to do the required work we had to do, like correcting papers for me, or tackle art projects for the girls.

Before we got home, we stopped  at the local liquor store, just to ask  the friendly clerk about mixing drinks inexpensively.  We left with a bottle of rum, a six pack of coca cola and a plan to try this simple mixing we just learned about. Sister Emma met us as the door of the convent.

“Are you girls eating supper with us tonight?” 

“Yes, lots of papers to correct.” I said, passing the package to Pilar, motioning her to keep going.

“How is it going? Is Mary Neely doing all right?” Sister Emma and I taught the same freshman group.

“She is having difficulty,” I said, remembering a girl who hung around after school, often late being picked up, often waiting in my room at the end of the day since she could see the parking lot and her ride from there. I was going to talk to somebody about her, but had been way too busy.

“I’m concerned about her.” Sister said.

I began: “She starts telling me things, and then, suddenly stops talking, and is still for a while, as if in a trance. She could be depressed.”

Sister and I talked for a while. Good grief, I thought, an experienced teacher can’t tell me what’s wrong with Mary. Now she wants to talk to her parents. I had a sense of joy and contentment going on and Sister was yanking me back to depression and mental health issues.

“They love you, you know! I just thought you would know." Then, coming closer, she went on, " You look flushed; are you getting sick?” 

“I’m bushed!  I have so much to correct!”

“You have been a good influence on them.” Sister said.

Pilar approached with her sweet voice: “Can you still help us with the report? Sorry, Sister! We have a lot to do!”

When Pilar and I returned to my room, three others had joined the party and had begun to drink. Sitting on the floor, in a tiny room, with the radio on and the door locked, we danced, giggled, threw up, shared our whole life with each other.

“So, how did you end up in this place?” Tony, another girl boarder asked.

“My parents chose it for me.” Pilar answered.

“How about you Rosy?” Tony wanted to know.

“I’m returning home in June?” I stated with pride.

“Where, Tijuana?”

“Do I sound Mexican?” I was always confused with Mexicans and that irritated me to no end.

“Well, yeah, kind of.”

“I'm not an immigrant. I just came here to study.”

“What do you have against America? This is the best place to live!”

“Have you been to Italy?”

“No!”

“Have you been anywhere else?”

“Tijuana!”

“Well, America may be the best place you know!”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not. Just irritated. Italy is one of the most beautiful places in the world.”

“Then, if it was so beautiful, why did you come here?”

“Why? Because I had the opportunity to study English where English is spoken. You can understand that.”

“Sure.You must admit that we have more opportunities for people.”

“You’re right about that. We all come here and find more food, more jobs, more of everything.”

“There. I knew you’d come around. Girls, let’s talk about boys!”

The conversation slipped and sloshed from this to that. I had sipped rum and coke, and the room was turning on its axis. The girls were dancing and chatting for hours. I don’t remember when I fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, I woke with a big headache.

I wanted to die. 

Chapter Twentyone: Around the Bend and other detours....

On a Saturday afternoon, driving to the beach, we talked about being  on our own. We had moved to the convent just over a month, and each of us found something to complain about. 

Pilar had hinted that living  with her aunt in Mexico before transferring to Los Angeles had been a real struggle;  Michelle with her brother and his wife in the hills of Hollywood had to escape too much music and excitement. Tony was game for anything, she said, as long as it was away from her parents.

“Oh, what does that mean? You don't get along with them?” I said.

"Yeah. Things always look simple and easy. Living with relatives is so complicated." Pilar said. Tony said that she just wanted to be independent.

I couldn't tell about my uncle, but I thought of a childhood friend, Gianna, the first girl I knew who didn’t live at home with her mom and dad. Telling about her was as close as I came to confessing my guilt and dilemma.

When Gianna appeared in the middle of the year, in the third grade and the teacher sat her by me in the first row, and she told me that she lived in The Castle,  in a hidden complex that included elaborate gardens and underground chambers I couldn't believe her story.

“Are you an orphan?” I had asked her.

“No. I have a mother and father. Auntie and Uncle give me everything I want, my own room, lots of toys, all new clothes, everything. I'm treated like a princess."

I became envious of her good luck. When our teacher assigned a book to read, Gianna told me that she had a copy of the same book at home, more books than anybody, she bragged.

I wrangled an invitation to her house, convinced that she was exaggerating. When I told my mother that I was walking to The Castle to visit a new friend, she was skeptical. She had never seen anyone living there. It’s just a warehouse, a kind of museum, she had said. But, she didn’t dissuade me.

At the door, a young lady who introduced herself as the maid made me sit down, unlace my shoes and slip into flip flops. She pointed out that the main residence was on the second storey. Everything downstairs were service rooms. Gianna met me upstairs, also wearing funny slippers, and proceeded to show me her room and other parts of the house. The book room was the biggest room in the house. To touch some books, we needed to wear special gloves.

In the garden, flowers and trees had come from all parts of the world. An entire room, bigger than my house, was dedicated to plant propagation and plant care. A full time gardener lived on the premises, somewhere in the service area of the first floor which was not shown me.

Gianna’s chores and activities were written down on a chalk board in the kitchen, with notes for the maid, for the gardener, notes about notes, piano lessons, art lessons. Every activity was blocked in.

“When can you play outside with us?”

“ It’s not scheduled. Outside time is tennis with Auntie, and boccie with Uncle.”

“Do you ride a bicycle?”

“On Saturday, we have bicycle rides to the Pineta, and a picnic afterwards.”

“When do you play?”

She looked confused.

“When do you hang out with friends?”

“I can invite friends for an hour on Friday after school. Like today!”

"So, you have never met and played on the streets, different games with different people, riding  bikes everywhere, play pretend.”

“I have lots of studying to do, not just school work. My uncle is tutoring me for the Liceo Scientifico in Rome, my future studies. I’ll enter university and become a doctor. ”

“How do you know what future God has destined for you?”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s not how it works. I must obey my Aunt's and Uncle's decisions. Mother would not have it any other way."

Gianna never complained. I didn’t find out how much she missed her own mother and father until she entered a poem contest. She won. Her poem told her agony, her imprisonment, her sense of guilt for feeling so lonely and homesick.

What she wanted most of all, was to go back to her own family.

Michelle then asked me outright, “Rosey, what about you? You’re going back home because you’re homesick, right?”

“Yeah! I have not seen my family for over four years.”

Pilar joined in, “I felt the same way. I went back to Spain after the first year. Then, I got tired of the same old life. I had changed; they hadn’t. They wanted me to be the same little girl I was when I left. I couldn’t adapt. So, I packed my bags, and here I am. See? You don’t know how it will be when you get back home.”

“It’s time to return.” I said, warmed by the thought of returning to my loved ones.

“We all have to leave home someday!” Michelle smiled and I smiled back. We had stories to tell each other, all right. I was guessing the girls and I were going to be great friends. 

Chapter Twentytwo: On My Own!

The Apartment the girls and I discussed the possibility of getting our own place. If we split the expenses four ways, for seventy dollars a month, we’d have a two-bedrooms-two baths furnished apartment, a community pool, access to laundry, and coffee shops and grocery stores within walking distance.

The idea of having our own kitchen made me feel giddy. I could taste the pasta, the meats and pizza made to order. Nobody else showed the same enthusiasm.

Pilar was anxious to have a big living room where she could spread her art projects and take her time finishing them. Michelle talked about taking long swims after hours.Tony looked forward to coming and going on her own sweet time, she had said. Having that fourth person, we could get out of the convent and taste a bigger slice of America before I returned to Italy.

Michelle wanted to talk to her Mom. Either that, or she had to ask her brother for an advance since her room and board was paid directly to the convent. So, we packed ourselves in the Oldsmobile and drove the sixty miles to San Bernardino.

Her mother had questions about the kind of people we would be neighbors with, the contract. We told her that Tony and I, the only people employed, would be signing the contract; so, if Michelle didn’t like the arrangements, she had no obligation to remain there.It sounded so easy when I said that. But, if any one of us pulled away, we could no longer afford the place. And going back to the convent was out of the question.

Michelle’s father liked the idea immediately: “Mother”, he addressed his wife, “Elle will need to fend for herself. She is not going to be a nun. She needs to spread her wings and start flying.”

I could not have said it any better myself. What were we afraid of anyway? The more you put something off the worst it is. Like going to the dentist. By the time I made an appointment, he had to yank out two molars, leaving me unconscious for hours. Preventive care was not on my budget.

We talked and arranged things during our Christmas vacation.

We moved on New Year’s Day.

Michelle and Pilar took one room, and Tony and I the other. Within a week, Tony announced that she wasn’t participating in our meal planning because she wanted to leave her options open. No problem.

I took charge of planning and executing the grocery budget. They gave me an idea of what they wanted to eat and we went shopping on Saturdays. Tony tended to disappear during the weekend, visiting friends and family, and we soon got into a routine.

It sounded easy. Two pasta meals, one with, one without meat. Two chickens, one oven fried, one bbq’d. Two soups, one with the carcasses of chicken. One with the leftover vegetables of the week. And a roast, ham or brisket, big enough for the Sunday meal and for lunch sandwiches. We also included fruit or ice cream for dessert; milk and cereal for breakfasts, and peanut butter and jam for late night snacks. It was a twenty- dollars budget per week. If we wanted something extra, we had to purchase it ourselves. Cleaning and household products were carefully rationed as well.

I volunteered to cook and asked the rest of them to coordinate the clean up. Except for Tony, who had one excuse after the other why she shouldn’t have to do anything since she hardly spent any time there, the rest of us got along great.

On the first day, and for our first meal, I purchased a standing rib roast. Now, I had not experienced the pleasure of a standing prime rib roast. Michelle had suggested it. I asked the butcher to tell me how to cook such a big piece of meat. When he asked how many people were coming to dinner, he confused me. I told him, just the four girls. Oh? I thought you had invited some special guests! This will set you back $20 dollars. What? Twenty dollars for one piece of meat? Look, he said, this is prime. You will have to do nothing. Nothing. Salt and pepper, in a preheated oven, fifteen minutes per pound, half a pound per person. It cooks itself.

“Oh! Then what else?”

“You mean what else to cook with it?”

“Yes. What wine would you suggest?”

“Oh. Wine. Now that’s for another department. Go over to…”

By the time I left Gelson’s, with the roast, the baked potatoes, the asparagus , the wine, the torte, I had spent the entire month’s budget on one meal.

When the girls and I sat down to savor the meal, with a small glass of Chianti, we felt rich and special. The girls were impressed. They didn’t ask, nor did I tell them that this meal was not on our budget. I was happy to absorb that cost.

This was a new beginning in my American Life. 

Chapter Twenty three: In and out of the water

The sun was brilliant, temperatures in the 80’s, and  everyone who came to the open house/swimming party sported something new: Marla had a new bathing suit; Theresa was dropped off in a new Cadillac, and even Sister Mary Joseph had a new semi-habit she had designed herself for these non-convent events, arriving by taxi with a beautiful bouquet of expensive flowers. A dozen other people, acquaintances, school mates and people from  the complex, all looked new and exotic in and out of the water.

I hadn’t seen Theresa in months.

"And the Cadillac? I asked.

“My cousin Brahim, a UCLA PHD candidate, has moved in to help us after Uncle's passing. It's his car. Neat, ugh?”

“Oh? How long is he staying with you guys?”

“Until he’s finished, I guess.”

“When did your uncle...?”

“Last fall. I called your house and they told me you had left and had no idea where to...”

“I wanted to call you.”

“I thought you disappeared completely; went back to Italy. When you called about this party, I wanted so much to ignore you the way you ignored me. How could you just disappear?”

“I had a real tough time in the last couple of months. If it had not been for my obligation at Conaty, I would have.... If I knew how, that is.Yes, if I had know how to kill myself, I would have done it." By the time I finished those sentences, I was tearing, remembering the fights, the accusations, the feeling of being trapped and choking.

“I told you, you could have moved in with us. My aunt would have had no objections.”

“Yeah. I know.” I hugged her, and it felt great having her back with me. She had been my best friend for all those years.

“So, now, what’s the plan?” She said, calmly.

“I’m going back in June. I just paid my last installment to St. Anthony.”

“What is that?”

“The society that is arranging the trip. The ticket is a real bargain. What do you say you buy a ticket and join me for a few weeks? It'll be fun. You'll love my family."

“Not a chance. My aunt needs me now more than ever. Besides...”

“What?”

“I met someone at the funeral. My aunt and  his mother have been friends forever. Anyhow, the families had been estranged for years until the funeral.  Now, we are seeing them all the time; we are even going to Disneyland together.”

People kept coming in and out of the pool,  some would start dancing, most of them found their way to our table  where we were distributing freshly-baked pizza and cold cokes. Nobody bothered to say thanks or ask how the pizza was made.

“I’m glad you liked it.” I remarked to no one in particular.  People  rushed back to their companions before meeting my eyes. 

“Did you use a kit?” The voice belonged to a skinny tall boy sitting in a corner. I had not noticed him,  but he had been playing a harmonica a few feet away.

“A kit? I don't know about any kit? I used plain flour, water, oil, yeast and salt for the bread. The toppings are easy too.

“You ought to go in business! This is very good!" He remarked.

“You think so?”

“You ought to start charging. We could use this kind of pizza at our office party or  here, at our get-together.”

“Oh? ”

“We  have monthly pot-lucks,  people furnish snacks and beer.  It would be great to have this wonderful pizza."

"I shall think about it."I said, satisfied that somebody had finally thanked the cook. 

Even when it became cool and dark, people continued to pick up pizza.  When I ran out of ingredients, we went indoors and collapsed to watch a movie on television.   Later, I offered to drive Sister and Theresa back to their places, and started talking about the movie, one thing leading to another, how people went to bed without any guilt or thought of what they were doing. Sister interrupted.

“I hope you and your friends know about birth control.” She declared,casually.

I knew too little to formulate the simplest question. I was uncomfortable, but it didn’t stop her from continuing on the same vein.

“When we were newlyweds, the rhythm would not have worked for us. At the clinic, wives came in wanting to know what to do to avoid getting pregnant. They refused to discuss it with their priests or husbands. I had no qualms telling them about how to practice birth control.”

“Sister!”

“Sex is just another function of our bodies that gives us pleasure. That intimacy allows another life to be formed. Your doctor should be able to guide you. Ultimately, though, you have to make these decisions.”

I thought being a doctor had changed her a great deal. Her knowledge had rubbed her religion off a bit. And it didn’t seem that convent life was re-establishing a good balance, either.

“Sister, why students are so eager to use make-up and lipstick the  minute they leave school? I see them as they wait for their bus,  rolling up  their skirts, dabbing lipsticks on.”

 I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear Sister's explanation.

“In Mexico, at fifteen, a girl is ready to be presented to the world, to be free to flirt, to attract males. Most countries have some sort of coming out ceremony. If we want our women to wait, they need to understand the power of their bodies, to understand the many chemicals that impact their senses. It’s a comfort for parents to know that their children are kept in a protected environment as long as possible. Parents want to make all decisions when in fact, to grow independent and successful with decisions, we need to feel the consequences.”

When I dropped Theresa off and she invited me  in to meet her cousin, I told her I was way too tired. Maybe I should have visited a while.  I didn't want to offend her again.

We stayed in touch, talked often on the phone, about how lives were changing, how each of us had to absorb so many new things.

“We will always feel a little bit guilty. We were raised catholic! Anything we desire feels immoral.” Theresa  knew how to be reassuring.

I wondered if all Christians felt as we did. Maybe the rest of Christianity evolved, like the Protestants, the other religions, but our branch of Christianity seemed stuck. Stubborn. Uneasy with anything new.

One day, we might have a good laugh at all the guilt we covered ourselves with.

One day, we'll feel comfortable in and out of the water.

Chapter Twentyfour: Speaking Funny

Learning new words had to be learned consciously, as one learns to swim late in life, afraid to drown, breathing in a new medium, timing the opening and closing of the mouth to each breath. This new skin I was growing did not stretch fast enough to cover my needs. At times I needed artificial fins to aid my stiff body in these cold waters.

Speaking was so laborious that it impaired thinking. Words had  to be  selected in advance, adjusted, shaped like a piece of bubble gum before  being pushed out of the mouth to form that special  bubble.

I felt that I was the subject of a painting still in its infancy, still unformed and incoherent.  I wanted to be something big and important; I felt impatient, and no longer hopeful.

Every time I met new people, I had a panic attack, a strange feeling that I was inadequately prepared to be in their presence; I didn't belong there.

I was a fake.

At school, as I delivered a lesson, the specific vocabulary necessary for the interaction had to be precise, accurate, easy to pronounce, and easy to spell out. My life depended on the words I chose. I was preoccupied with words.

My life was framed by how I talked. Everything about me was defined this way.

“She can’t know anything; she can’t speak right. What accent is that?” I heard the chatter in halls, at malls, at stores, everywhere I went. People stared and changed subject whenever I entered a conversation. I was an expert in literature and syntax. I knew how to fix sentences and paragraphs. I knew the world’s greatest literature.

But I couldn’t fix how I talked, or how people perceived me.

Theresa and I spoke often about words, accent, construction of sentences. She arrived in the States at an earlier age than I and had more opportunities to interact with regular folks in the family business; appropriate slangs and special expressions came with the territory. She didn’t have to stand in front of a class of rowdy teens and demand attention “speaking funny”.

Her future did not depend on being understood.

I was the foreign teacher, the foreign girl at the apartment, the foreign student in graduate classes, trapped.

When I contacted the Italian Consulate to obtain information about teaching in Italy, they put me on hold for thirty minutes, during which, I watched an entire television show; and when the phone finally went dead before I could talk to anyone, I took it as a sign. My own government hanging up on me couldn’t be good.

Then, Aunt Adele, my mother’s sister, sounding tired and hurried, called from Fresno. I asked her if I could visit for the weekend.

She met me with her carload of kids at the Greyhound Station, late at night, everyone hungry and tired. I squeezed in the back seat, apologetic. JoAnn, the teen cousin, informed me that I could sleep in her bed since she was spending the night at a friend’s. We stopped at a burger joint and shared burgers and fries between conversations with everyone.

“Aunt Elena is moving back to California.” JoAnn said.

"Are you moving in with us?" Carla asked.

"Can you come to my baseball game?" Donny chimed in.

After answering the simple questions, I remembered the Aunt Elena JoAnn spoke about.

“I spent an afternoon with her. She asked me to give her a pedicure. Frankly, I thought it was a bit strange, an unusual request to make of someone she had never met.”

Aunt Adele filled in the details: "She used to live at Ted’s apartment. She is returning to California and you might want to live together, share expenses and all. Anyway, she is coming at the end of the month and needs an apartment rented and transportation from the airport."

“How could she ask this of me? She doesn’t know anything about me! Besides, I could have returned to Italy.

“I told her you were doing well, graduating after just four years!"

“I had a tough time.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. Look at you, you got a job, and a working visa.”

“I make four hundred a month and no medical. A couple of bad molars during Christmas vacation cost me my entire check. I’m broke again.”

“Well, another reason to live with a relative who can be there for you. Everyone has to make some adjustments. We’re having trouble too.”

“My car is giving me trouble and I can’t put more money into it. I can’t pick her up, nor find her an apartment. I’m practically broke.” What I wanted to say was, no way, no-how, this moving back with relatives was not going to happen. I like my new freedom.

Aunt Adele went on about Aunt Elena.“She was nice to us, me and Ted. "

JoAnn jumped in with her own question: "So, how is the school you teach in? Is it strict?"

“Yeah,  every thing you say can be held against you.” I said. My fifteen year old cousin had been quite a help to me the summers I visited. She and I became close. It was she who pointed out that I spoke funny. When I asked for help, she jumped right in, showing me how to break my speech pattern with a couple of slang expressions.

I declared that I was returning to Italy, and there was no way I could pick up Aunt Elena at the airport or arrange for her apartment. Aunt Adele had tears in her eyes when she spoke back:“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you anticipated. When I think about it, we should have offered you a place here.”

Yeah, I thought. You should have, but then when Uncle Ted  was stranded in Italy you blamed each other. Both of you can keep a whole lot of resentment, and I'm tired. This was my turn to get it all out in the open.  I waited until late in the evening before it came out:

“We should have come as a family. My Mom and Dad and brothers. What I have now is half a life.” I said, changing the subject, “My parents are still alive. They always thought their destiny was here, reunited with both you and Uncle Ted.”

“You wouldn’t understand. Did you think Ted and his wife were harsh with you? You have no idea the life we had in your house. Your father was terrible. Then, I came here, everyone thinking I was in heaven. Your family couldn’t understand my life with Uncle Jo. You’ll never know how hard my life was.”

“I guess everything is complicated.” I murmured. I was not learning  anything new. Uncle Ted had hurled complaints about how my father had treated him. I was sick of it.

“I can’t talk you out of this decision?” Aunt Adele asked.

“I want to feel at home. " I said firmly and gave her a hug on my way to JoAnn's room.I was not patient or hopeful anymore. I was angry and defeated.

Whatever was going to happen depended on me doing something.

(pictured above: my brother Luigi, living in Italy, the artist in the family)

Chapter Twentyfive: Domesticity

My car was having too many tantrums. Each time it broke down, I learned the name of the component that needed replacement or repair, battery, tires, brakes, carburetor. I did not own the car; it owned me. I couldn’t live with or without it. In Los Angeles, a car was as necessary as food, water or oxygen.

I had failed the driving test twice and was now waiting for my third and last try.

Michelle didn’t mind driving, but I minded. It was my car, and I couldn’t go out by myself without breaking the law. She was younger but acted like my big sister. I offered to sell her the car as I was leaving for good, and only my books would travel with me.

We became very careful shoppers as we moved through aisles slowly, comparing brands, adding and subtracting. It was a chore to stick to a pre-determined menu, but it was the only way to stay on budget. We became clever bargain hunters. One whole chicken became dinner on Sunday, tacos on Monday, soup on Tuesday.

We bought day old bread, and house brands. Soups, casseroles and pasta meals kept us full. We learned that leftovers made great lunches, and that eggs filled in anytime we ran out of meat. We ate eggs in omelets, frittatas, soufflés, rolled in tortillas, sandwiched in breads.

By the end of the first month we grew restless and annoyed by small things.

Our first big argument was about toilet paper. We were constantly running out of toilet paper. Well, it was about lots of things, but we only expressed our frustration about toilet paper.

We had two bathrooms, a full one with a bath and shower, and a half one, with a toilet and a sink. Vivian had already pulled out of the food budgeting, buying her own things, milk, cereal, ice cream. She stated firmly that she didn’t spend weekends at the apartment, and should pay less for paper goods. Pretty soon, the girls all began to keep tabs on who used what.

By the end of the second month Tony had moved out; I had the room to myself and had to absorb her portion of the rent. I worried about what else could go wrong. I was going to miss Tony, not just for her contribution to the finances of the place, but because she made friends easily, especially around the complex. It had been her idea to throw an open house party to meet neighbors.

She had a knack for making everyone feel welcome. Out of the blue, she’d start a conversation with someone at the pool,  and the next day new people would show up looking for her.

All the fun we were going to have when we lived on our own never materialized. We spent nights working on school projects; weekends shopping and cleaning. We took breaks by walking to the donut shop down the street, or playing ping pong on the patio.

The car was parked permanently, waiting for a windfall to get it fixed. We were back to taking the bus everywhere.  We were counting days till June,  when each of us could return to the known comforts of home life. I had learned all I could learn about the American way of life.