Marie had decided to stay in Manhattan once her freshman year ended at City College. Felicia refused to give her extra money for the summer, so Marie secured employment at Brentano’s Books on Fifth Avenue across from the Lincoln Center. The manager took a liking to Marie and educated her about the workings of a bookstore. Still, living in New York City required more income than a bookstore salary.
On a weekend visit to Nelsonville, Angela overheard Felicia telling Marie that she would not contribute to her maintenance for her summer in Manhattan because she could easily come home and live for free until her classes started again in the fall. On Sunday, Angela slipped an envelope into Marie’s pocket.
“What is this?” asked Marie. She reached into her pocket.
“Don’t take it out. I know you need money,” said Angela. “It is a little something for you to start your summer. Living in New York City is not cheap.”
“Thank you, Aunt Angela. “This really helps.”
“I helped your Uncle Joe when he left home, and I have never regretted the money I invested. Some people invest in houses, I invest in people.”
“I’m not exactly a sure thing,” said Marie.
“I only ask that you go for what you want and not be influenced by others.”
“I can do that,” said Marie.
Marie put her arms around her aunt, and Angela whispered something in her ear. Marie heard her mother’s purposeful step in the hallway. She turned to find Felicia standing behind her, arms folded.
“What are you going to do today?” asked Felicia.
“I’m not sure. I thought I would go to the dude ranch and ride a bit. I can’t afford to ride in Central Park.”
“I should say not,” said Felicia. “I must run some errands; care to join me?’
To Marie, the prospect of spending alone time with her mother was about as attractive as sitting in a lion’s den. She took a deep breath and chose to see if she could tame the lion.
“I can always ride in the afternoon.”
“Okay, I will see you two later,” said Angela. “Bring back some ricotta, and I will make a ricotta cheesecake.”
Marie looked back at Angela in time to see her aunt blow her a kiss. Everyone should have a woman like Angela in their lives, thought Marie. When she was a child, she thought everyone had a person like Angela in their household—someone who told stories, anticipated needs and expressed concern—but as she connected with students at college, she found a different reality: uncommunicative fathers, neglectful mothers, and fractured families. Some students did not have one dependable person in their lives. It was then that Marie realized her upbringing was unique. As a child, she had received ideas from her great aunt, just by observing, that were outside traditional teaching socially and spiritually.
Angela and Sadie sat on the porch for the afternoon and talked about the state of the world and all the changes that they had seen over the years—the good and the not so good. Some of the changes they did not understand but accepted anyway. It was in vogue for the youth to challenge authority in the 1960s and early 1970s, but Sicilians had challenged the ruling class and church doctrine for centuries. The difference was that Sicilians consistently lost, but the young Americans had the possibility of winning. Angela was glad she had lived to see the transformation of American society so that her nieces and nephews could become more of themselves.
“Women are going into law and medicine now,” said Sadie. “When we were young, there were no women doctors or lawyers. Women do not have to marry to have stability.”
“I guess not,” said Angela. “My choices were limited, but my nieces will have more choices. Some of my clients say that women are applying and pushing to open doors at Yale—Harvard, too. I hope I live to see it.”
“You are as healthy as a horse,” said Sadie. “I’ll be gone before you.”
Angela had not thought about her own death, but it seemed that she was outliving many of her family and friends. Death had been her constant companion her entire life, but it never took her. Maybe she had outsmarted death after the earthquake. Most people perished during that disaster, but even after the earth settled, Messina’s citizens either died from wounds sustained from falling buildings or they simply vanished. Children who were seen after the earth erupted disappeared and were never seen again. Angela had also heard that children were rounded up and sold into slavery.
After Franco’s death, Angela was becoming more transparent in her practice of unconventional spirituality and search for connection with the unseen world. She angered priests and conservative friends, but persisted, even calling church practices into question.
“Mrs. Bellini,” said the priest on the day of her husband’s funeral, “can you contribute more to your husband’s service today? It would go to supporting the church and the priests.” He took a drag on his cigarette.
“Do you help the poor?” asked Angela.
“We pray for the poor, if that is what you mean.”
“I mean, how much of the money you collect goes to the poor? That is God’s work.”
“God helps those who help themselves.”
“If that is your belief, I am sure you will take that advice.”
The priest never received the extra money, and Angela settled on praying at home at her altar of the Blessed Mother. She no longer had any use for the Catholic Church, but she still attended mass. There was something in the ritual that still drew her. The silence and meditative quality of praying with others seemed to deepen her connection with the unseen. She could hear them better because of the collective silence.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Are you taking your water pill? Your ankles are so swollen,” said Angela.
“Sometimes I take them,” Sadie said as she rolled down her stocking. “I am having more trouble walking because my legs swell up. The doctor keeps telling me to stop drinking, but I love my wine. I want to enjoy my life.”
“You should take care of yourself, no matter what.”
“You have been a good friend, Angela. You have been good to me when others in our community thought less of me.”
“Everyone’s life is important, no matter what others say—even you. Besides, you can take a joke. That’s why people marched for Civil Rights, because everyone’s life matters.”
Many in the Italian-American community held a quiet disdain for Sadie. Her disheveled appearance and blunt speech offended them. Angela understood her friend as an individual with a perspective to share, while most in the community considered her a joke. The wives did not like that she could sit and drink wine with their husbands and debate politics, while they remained silent.
“I have led the life I wanted,” said Sadie.
Felicia and Marie came up the side stairs with groceries.
“I just mean, it is a time of exploring for me,” said Marie, placing the groceries on the table.
“Explore on your own time,” said Felicia. “How do you expect to make a living with a history degree?”
“So, where did you two love birds go?” asked Sadie.
“Shopping,” said Marie. She opened the back door and slammed it behind her.
“She’s being difficult, as usual,” said Felicia. She began putting groceries away.
The phone rang.
“Oh, that must be my boyfriend,” Sadie teased.
“I will get it,” said Angela.
“Hello, Captain Bonifice,” Angela said. “How are you?”
“Yes, you can come by… Why don’t you and your wife come for dinner? I would like to repay your kindness. We missed her the last time. Would next Friday evening suit you? I will invite the Gallucis. I am sure you remember them from our dinners years ago.”
“Wonderful, we will see you at seven.”
“Who was that?” asked Sadie.
“We are having dinner next Friday with the Bonifices and Gallucis. He’s thinking of running for political office and would like to talk to us about it.”
“A fly on the wall. I want to be a fly on the wall.”
“Sadie, you will have to sit this dinner out. I want to thank him again for helping Robert, but I’m curious about why he wants to talk to us,” said Angela.
“You know a lot of people,” said Sadie. “Besides, he helped you with Robert, so he wants you to help him. You know how it works; he wants you to spread the word. Arrivederci.”
Given Angela’s affluent clientele, she had the ear of well-connected women who had influence over their husbands. It would make sense that he would ask for Angela’s support. She walked over to the hall window and watched as Sadie descended the stairs, taking one step at a time, shoulders hunched, tightly holding the railing. Angela thought about time and how it had sneaked past her like a thief in darkness. Her unseen friends told her there was no linear time where they resided. One day they would both die, she and Sadie, but she believed that if one person remembers and appreciates you for your time on earth, then no one dies.
That night, Sadie went to bed and died peacefully in her sleep.
“I found her this morning,” said Sadie’s daughter. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you.”
“Not at all. I am so sorry,” said Angela. “She was a good friend and made everyone’s life happier.”
“The funeral home should be here soon.”
“If you need to go and make arrangements with the church, I will stay with your mother.”
“Thank you, Angela. My mother really loved you.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Angela opened the door to where Sadie lay. The sheet was drawn over her head, and her tattered clothes were neatly folded on a chair. An unopened bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and wine glass sat on her night table. Death must have come early in the evening, because ordinarily Sadie would have enjoyed her wine. Angela gently lifted the sheet off Sadie’s face, opened the bottle of wine and poured some in the glass. Sadie’s face was serene. The stress of life had drained away, and now she was ready to enter the unseen realm.
“Alla tua!” Angela lifted the glass, drank it down, and kissed her friend’s forehead. “Safe travels, and be guided by the angels.”
Angela looked around to take a souvenir to remind her of their friendship. She settled on the bottle of wine, walked toward the door, and turned to look at Sadie for the last time. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she realized she would no longer enjoy her visits, phone conversations or laughter. Life just got a little quieter and lonelier.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
On Friday, Angela and Felicia finished setting the table for dinner.
“It is sad to think that Sadie won’t sit at the table anymore,” said Felicia.
“She will be here tonight. I am serving the wine that was on her bedside table.”
The doorbell rang, and Angela opened the door for Gianni and Ramina Galluci. Both large people, they announced their presence with their inflated chests. Ramina wore a fur coat and shiny dangly earrings. Her face was generously powdered, and she wore pink lipstick. Hair perfectly coiffed, her voice was so high it was like nails dragged across a blackboard.
“Ramina, Gianni come in.” Angela kissed the couple on both cheeks.
“We are looking forward to visiting with Captain Bonifice,” said Ramina as she took off her coat. “Sadie’s funeral was genuinely nice. You must miss her.”
“Every day,” said Angela. “But God took her, so she is at rest.”
During Sadie’s lifetime, the Gallucis had never invited her to join them for dinner. But that was not what tonight was about. Angela had invited the Gallucis because they shared many of Captain Bonifice’s political views. It would put him at ease so he could present his intensions.
Felicia received the Bonifices as they arrived and showed them into the dining room as Angela directed them to their places at the dining room table. She had presided over countless dinners during her years at Morning Glory Avenue. Some were mundane, others revealed hidden patterns of darkness, and some had an atmosphere saturated with joy. Angela could usually sense how an evening would go, but tonight was a clouded mystery. She could not see beyond the moment.
“You both know Ramina and Gianni,” said Angela.
“It is good to see you both,” said Arthur. He took off his suit jacket and vigorously shook their hands.
“How are you doing, Captain?” asked Gianni. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Soon to be major,” said Lucy, holding her husband’s arm.
“I have to admit I have an ulterior motive for coming tonight,” said the captain. “Before we talk about that, I am looking forward to Angela’s cooking.”
“Arthur, I have heard you are running for New York State Assembly Representative,” Felicia said. “I am surprised; the military has been your career.”
“My husband needs the support of the community, and since your husband worked with Arthur, we thought you might have an interest.” Lucy Bonifice’s grandparents had been textile workers from Piedmont in Italy and were considered laborers. Northern laborers who immigrated to America held a lower status than southerners who immigrated as craftspeople, like Angela and Franco. Lucy had worked hard to overcome the stigma, and she taught their American-born children to climb the social ladder.
“I didn’t know you could run for office if you were in the military,” said Felicia.
“I am in the Reserves,” said Arthur. “If you are active duty, you are prohibited.”
“You are lucky,” said Ramina. “You will have a higher rank, and then you might run for Senate.”
Angela remained silent and recalled what Nunzio had once told her: “The military will be running politics in the future.”
“Do you think it is wise to mix politics with the military?” asked Felicia. “One is to defend, and the other to make laws that serve the people.”
Angela had learned what the military was about through Nunzio. She knew there were many men who lost their souls and lives to defending freedom but had not attained freedom for themselves; it had been stolen by their unquestioning commitment to government.
“What do you think of the protests against the Vietnam War?” asked Gianni.
“I think they need to be stopped,” said the captain. “They disrupt society.”
“Maybe the people are expressing their views against a government that wants war for its own purposes,” Angela said.
“That is a liberal point of view,” said Arthur. “My platform will focus on protecting America from the Communists. That is why we are fighting in Asia.”
The same feelings she had during World War II swelled up inside her like a tsunami. She remembered Sarah Einbinder’s reminder that Henry Ford was getting rich through selling vehicles to the Nazis. She was sure someone was getting rich through the Vietnam War.
“And since this is America, I can express any view I like. Isn’t that true?” Angela could hear Sadie laughing and applauding her. Was he really going to ask for her support?
“Absolutely, Angela, we all have different opinions, but I’m sure we can all agree that we don’t want to live under Communist rule. The boys who are brave enough to fight will prevent that from happening.”
“Courage comes in many forms,” said Angela. “The ones who protest have courage to go against the system. Even those who refuse to fight.” She wanted to make sure he remembered that he pulled strings to bring Robert home.
“Tell us about your campaign,” said Ramina.
As Angela and Felicia brought out the main course, Arthur continued to explain how he would support less government and cut unnecessary welfare programs.
“Too much money is wasted,” said Gianni with a mouth full of pasta.
“I have my convictions, and I do not stray from them,” Arthur stated.
“Here, here,” said Gianni. “We need more men in government like you.”
“Thank you for your support.”
To Angela, the word “conviction” suggested a court case and that the verdict was issued with a trial. There was no room for discussion or exchange of ideas. Angela saw that a tactful approach was needed for the evening.
“Felicia, what do you think,” said Arthur. “Nunzio would have agreed with me.”
“I don’t know who he would have agreed with. The world has changed.”
“He defended his country well,” said Arthur.
“Well, Arthur,” said Angela, “we have to look at all the policies presented by all the candidates. It is our duty as Americans to do that. I am sure you agree. After all, that is why your parents immigrated to this country.” Angela used his first name because it put her on a level playing field, and she knew it endeared her to him.
“Yes, of course.”
“Then we are agreed,” Angela raised her glass to him.
“You have my and my wife’s vote, Captain Bonifice,” said Gianni.
Ramina looked at her husband and said nothing.
“What do you think of draft dodgers?” Ramina asked.
“I am opposed to them. I think they should be punished. My generation fought willingly, and we were triumphant,” said Arthur.
“Congratulations on your rise to the rank of major,” said Angela.
“They are considering me. It’s not definite.”
Angela brought out the dessert and more wine. She kept filling the captain’s glass throughout the dinner, as she encouraged him to talk about his policies, women’s equality, and civil rights.
“So, ladies, I would like to ask for your support. Angela, I know that you are acquainted with many women whose husbands support the Republican ticket. Would you be averse to letting them know that I am running for state representative and vouch for my character? I can have my assistant deliver some flyers.”
“I do not mix politics with doing business. I cannot suggest a candidate to my clients.” Angela knew Captain Bonifice had gotten deferments for the sons of her wealthy clients and they would already be happy to give him their vote.
“Would you be able to leave my flyers on a table for your clients? You do not have to endorse me. As an Italian-American community, we help each other even if we disagree.” He lifted his eyebrows.
Angela paused.
“Yes, but I am sure your campaign will be successful without my help,” said Angela. “My clients come here to relax and focus on clothing. I do not think it would sit well with them if I appeared to attempt to sway their vote.” The owing of favors was traditional in Sicilian culture and American politics. Angela did not call on a favor when she persuaded Arthur Bonifice to help Robert; she called on his complicit involvement in taking money for political favors. Her clients had to pay to get their sons and nephews exempt from serving in Vietnam. If they knew that Angela held that over the captain’s head to bring Robert home free of charge, they would not respond well.
“What is your position on women’s rights?” asked Angela.
“I don’t think women need a position,” said Arthur. “They raise children and can have a little job when the children have grown.”
Women’s rights were becoming a concern in America, and her clients would want to know his position. If her clients asked, she could clearly convey his position.
“I will remind my clients that you are running for office. That should be sufficient to remind them to vote for who they want.”
“You have always been an astute woman,” said the captain. “Felicia, how about you? Does your office vote Republican? Maybe I could come in and speak to the employees. Can you mention it to your boss?”
“I don’t really know how people vote. We are extremely busy this time of year.” Felicia had no intention of getting involved in someone’s political run.
“I have heard the FBI came looking for Robert,” said the captain’s wife. “He was trying to avoid the draft.”
“Yes, they did,” said Angela. “My niece, Marie, talked to them. It was a mistake. Wasn’t it, Captain?”
Captain Bonifice hesitated and looked into the eyes of the other guests and hostesses. There was only one answer that was sustainable.
“Yes, it was a mistake.”
“It’s nice that he is home,” Ramina said. “He was given medical leave anyway. Right, Angela? Where are the children tonight?”
“They are not children anymore,” said Felicia. “I have two in college, Robert is designing tiles, and Andrea is in her high school senior year. She has decided to study retail merchandising.”
“You have done an exemplary job,” said the captain.
Lucy Bonifice announced that it was time to go, and the Gallucis and Bonifices said their goodbyes. Angela and Felicia walked their guests to the door.
“Do you think he will ever come back?” asked Felicia.
“I did not think so the last time he was here, but he returned. One day he will ask a favor from the wrong person.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marie started her day at Brentano’s in a one-piece orange pantsuit with short sleeves. It was one of the first garments she had purchased off racks in Manhattan. She enjoyed the hunt when she shopped for clothes; mining the racks for that perfect dress, selecting the color that would complement her skin, and trying on ready-made garments. Females worldwide were participating in the same ritual and they were connected through this ritual. Marie had a job, a shared apartment on West End Avenue and possibly a bright future in academics. She also had distance from her family. Her dream of living in New York City came true, so now she would make her own way to her future.
Marie was on a ladder shelving books when a young man in a T-shirt and jeans sauntered into the store. He came down the aisle where she was working and began checking out the titles. He pulled a book off the shelf and perused its pages, occasionally looking up at Marie as she stocked the top shelf.
“Where are the law books?” asked the young man.
“We don’t have many. You should go to a law school bookstore.”
“I’m a law student at Columbia. I was walking in the area, so I thought I’d check out your stock.”
“They’re hidden in a corner. I’ll take you.”
Marie climbed down the ladder.
“I’m Marie.” Once she briefly touched his hand, he felt familiar even though she had never met him. There was an intimacy that she could not place.
“Josh.”
“The law books are over here. What kind of law will you practice?”
“I’m thinking about environmental protection.”
“I’m sure we’ll be needing environmental lawyers in the future.”
They walked down the aisle and turned left.
“See, slim pickings,” Marie said. She liked how his black hair flopped over his eyes and his smile slanted to one side, giving him a disheveled look.
“Let me know if you need any more help.” Marie turned to walk away.
“Thanks. What do you do when you’re not here?”
Marie turned back, focused on Josh, and paused for a moment. She was not sure how much she should reveal to a stranger.
“I’m a student at City College, a sophomore.”
“I’m third-year law. I graduate in May. Do you live on the West Side?”
He seemed younger than a third-year law student.
“Yes, on West End Avenue.”
“Would you like to have a drink at the West End Bar sometime? I live near Columbia, so we’re practically neighbors.”
The West End Bar was a hangout for the intelligentsia of the West Side. She figured a public place for a first meeting would be fine.
“That would be nice.”
This would be Marie’s first official date. High school boys had never interested her; she preferred someone with more experience and a bit more polish. Her aunt suggested she find someone who was “dainty.” Marie translated that to mean cultural and educated. Josh was scruffy by design, but he obviously had goals in life.
“Great. We can get together tonight if you are available.”
“I can meet you at seven,” said Marie. “I do not eat meat, but I hear they have massive burgers.”
Marie felt she spent much of her energy appeasing her mother and living up to her aunt’s expectations. Angela had put a lot of energy into her over the years and she did not want to disappoint her, so she committed herself to her studies and work. Now she would enter the world of dating.
Since she had moved to New York, the only men that seemed interested in her were usually twenty years her senior. She did not understand why boys her own age never asked her out. With Josh, she had an opportunity to engage with someone her own age.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The West End Bar was packed with students, professors, and residents of the Upper West Side. A cloud of smoke rose over the bar as customers took drags from cigarettes between sips from scotch glasses. As Marie looked for Josh above the muffled sounds of conversation, she noticed that one couple was deep into a heated discussion. The woman stormed off, leaving her dinner partner yelling for her to return.
“Lively, isn’t it?”
Marie turned around and saw Josh smiling. He wore an oversized sweater and jeans and look comfortably stylish.
“Yeah, not sure if we can get a table.”
“There’s a table in the corner,” said Josh.
“This is luck.”
Marie ordered a salad, and Josh ordered a cheeseburger.
“What is your major?” asked Josh.
“History, and do not ask me what I’m going to do with it.”
“Wasn’t going to. Parental concerns?”
“My mom. She is not happy with my choice. Your parents must be happy you’re in law school.”
“It suits me. I have clerked for some important judges, and yes, they are happy with my choices. What about your father?”
Marie felt a flush creep across her cheeks. She did not have the prospects that Josh had, and not having a father made her feel vulnerable. Josh’s life was laid out in front of him, and from his confident demeanor, he was sure to be a success.
“My father died when I was six. I did not really know him. Your path is clear. I have a long way to go.”
“I’m sorry; that must have been hard. I am amazed you did so well. I am sure you will find your way.”
The truth was, it did not feel hard to Marie. She had had little connection with her father, and no one talked about him after his death; he was there one day and then he was gone. It seemed to Marie that no one wanted to keep his memory alive. She had heard friends talk about their deceased grandparents with longing. They told vivid stories about memories or trips to Disneyland. Her friends drew from these memories to keep their grandparents present in their lives. Once Nunzio was gone, it seemed it was best to keep him gone.
Josh and Marie talked about their hopes and goals for the future. Josh lived a few blocks away in an apartment owned by Columbia University. Marie lived on
West 99th Street and West End Avenue with a roommate.
“Do you like your job? It must be difficult working and carrying a full course load. I don’t think I could do it.”
“You do what you have to do,’” said Marie.
“You’re strong. I like that.”
“I was raised by strong women.”
Marie saw her mother and aunt as strong, but not herself. When she was younger, she had allowed people to take advantage of her. She often wondered why she felt compelled to say yes to people even when it went against what she wanted. This had been a pattern she had struggled with since she was first aware of it at age five. She realized it diverted attention away from her to comply.
After a few hours, Josh kissed Marie as they stood outside the restaurant.
“Busy this weekend?” asked Josh.
“I’m going to Nelsonville to visit my family, but I’ll be back late Sunday morning.”
They parted company after making plans to see each other on Sunday evening.
Marie stood in the center of Grand Central Station and looked up at the constellations painted on the ceiling. It felt appropriate to her that a building that housed travel had the guide to the heavens spread across its ceiling like a city map. Whenever Marie traveled, she tapped into a feeling of wanderlust, whether that involved journeying through the narrow streets of Greenwich Village or train travel. Wandering though train stations and New York streets connected her to the possibilities in her life, and this was magnified by the celestial mural above her. The expansive feeling was difficult to articulate, but it was there inside her. She felt that the mural reflected her inner landscape.
The fall semester had had started, and she wanted to visit her family before she was inundated with writing papers and working at the bookstore. She was leaning more toward a creative career, but she was not sure what that meant or how she would express it. She found her lack of focus unsettling but was more concerned about her mother’s wrath.
“I will drop you at home, then I’ll be back to make dinner,” said Felicia as she pulled away from the Nelsonville train station.
“Great, I will spend time with Aunt Angela.”
“If she offers you money, don’t take it. She has done enough. How is your job going?”
“I’m learning a lot.”
“What about school? Did you pick a major yet?”
“Almost. I think by the end of this semester I should know exactly what I want to do.”
“So, you haven’t chosen history as your major?”
“There is no need to declare one just yet.”
“That is good news. Why not major in nursing? If you do well enough you could get a master’s degree in nursing.”
“I’ll think about it.”
It was best to tell her mother what she wanted to hear. As Felicia pulled into the driveway, Marie saw Angela standing on the porch.
“I have been waiting for you,” said Angela. She put her arms around Marie, but it felt different. It was not a grasp that drew Marie into her like when she was a child. There seemed to be more detachment; a hug that had matured into a delicate embrace.
“I have missed you so much,” said Angela. “We did not see you much over the summer.”
“I am busy at the bookstore.”
“I hope you have been enjoying yourself. Uncle Joe said you will be meeting with him once he returns from London.”
“Yes, we’ll have brunch.”
“Dress up nicely. No jeans. What else have you been doing in New York?”
Ever the fashionista, thought Marie. She imagined that if Angela were her age, she would be attending the Fashion Institute of Technology.
“I did have a date.”
“Tell me about him.”
Angela took Marie by the arm and escorted her to the kitchen.
“Who is this boy?” Angela poured the espresso into vintage demitasse cups. The hand-painted cups had been in the family for as long as she could remember: two Renaissance ladies playing with a small child in a pastoral scene.
“There is nothing much to tell. We just met. He is a law student at Columbia.”
“A law student? You must tell your mother. She will be pleased.”
“We have only had one date. No need to do that. She’ll imagine that we’ll get married.”
“When will you see him again?”
“On Sunday evening.”
“That will be our secret,” said Angela. “I have a doctor’s appointment across the street now. Make yourself a sandwich if you get hungry. I won’t be long.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, it’s just for my arthritis. He gives me medicine for it.”
The house felt smaller than Marie remembered. It had only been a couple of months since her last visit, but the walls seemed to be closer together and the furniture a bit cramped, but nothing externally had changed. The furniture was in the same place and the wall color had not changed. Marie did feel different since she had moved to New York. She was living in a much smaller space, but she had the entire city to explore. Nelsonville itself seemed congested, as did her ancestral home.
On the dining room buffet, she saw the picture of her father in his Marine uniform on his wedding day twenty-seven years earlier. Nothing moved from its spot in this home on Morning Glory Avenue. To Marie, it was starting to feel and look like a time warp. It was 1971, but the early 20th century was still solidly present—not quite museum-like, but on its way. She wondered if one could make past decades and centuries come alive through objects and photos. History appealed to her, but dwelling in the past did not. It was time to look toward the future.
“I’m back,” said Angela as she took off her jacket. “The doctor gave me some cream for my hands. I want to keep sewing, and it helps.”
“Have you ever thought of retiring?”
“No. This is what I do and who I am. You do not stop being who you are. Everyone needs work.”
“I suppose,” said Marie. “You know who you are.”
“No, I am just myself.”
Marie thought that maybe if she were herself, she would realize what she was supposed to be doing with her life.
“You are so lucky you found your talent when you were young and made a business out of it. How did you know that dressmaking was your talent? Did you ever want to do something else?”
“I sewed at the convent and used that skill when I came to this country. When I started sewing for the nuns at St. Mary’s School, I saw that I was more skilled than the other women who sewed linens. That is when I realized that I could make money if I had the right customers. The other women treated me poorly because they felt I was showing them up, and the nuns would expect them to be at my skill level. It was a great lesson for me.”
“What was the lesson?”
“Don’t be with people who expect you to be less than you are.”
“I think about my future,” said Marie. “It should be more certain, but it’s not.”
“That’s all right. It will come to you. You must take a chance. I did not have the benefit of thinking I could do anything else. Do not be in a hurry to choose, and do not tell your mother I said that. Maybe you could write my story.”
“That is funny, because after working at the bookstore I thought I could become a writer.”
“I think maybe you could. Listen to the voice inside. I have listened to my voices and they have not failed me, but it does not mean it will be easy.”
The frustration Marie felt could not be solved by picking a major but needed to be remedied from the inside.
“I’ll start dinner. Your mother will be home in an hour. I left new dress patterns on my bed. Some of them may interest you.”
Marie went into the hallway and was about to separate the French doors to Angela’s room when she glanced at the full-length mirror. She touched the mirror’s gold frame and stepped up on the platform. Because of Angela’s warnings, she was once again afraid to stare directly into the mirror’s vast space—as if it would swallow her up. The way to quell the fear is a matter of control, thought Marie, and detachment would aid in exploring the mirror’s landscape. Like Alice and the looking glass, Marie was born to delve into other times and spaces on planet earth.
“I thought you might like this material with one of the patterns,” said Angela from behind her.
She stopped and gazed at Marie standing in front of the mirror. Angela did not scold or warn Marie about the mirror’s dangers. Angela had protected Marie from unseen forces when she was a child, but now Marie was a woman and ready to fulfill her destiny.
“I thought I would take a look,” said Marie. “I know you don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“No, you are old enough now. I will not stop you. Everyone has a different experience in the mirror.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s just something I know,” Angela said. “But it is a private experience.”
The front door opened and admitted Felicia.
“I bought some extra wine for dinner.”
“That’s good, we needed extra,” said Angela. “Go look at the patterns, Marie. Let me know what you choose.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
That night, Marie tossed to one side hoping that the change in position would trick her mind into letting go of the month’s events and concerns. After an hour of staring at the wall, she walked downstairs and stood in front of her aunt’s mirror. The only sound in the house was the creek in the floorboards. The hall clock tolled two a.m. She remembered counting the toll every hour when she was a child. It was the heralding of the passing of linear time, night progressing into day and day into night. Predictable and comfortable.
Marie softened her eyes and gazed into the mirror, allowing her awareness to move deeply into its vast space. Images came and went: some familiar, others undecipherable. Everything came to an abrupt halt when an image of a woman emerged from out of nowhere. She knew it was her grandmother, Speranza. She had never met her grandmother, but Angela talked about her in spirit. She did not know much about her paternal side of the family due to the circumstances surrounding Speranza’s death. In the mirror, Speranza reached out with her hand, almost touching Marie’s face. A peacefulness entered Marie’s body, and her mind was clear.
Marie abruptly felt herself being outside the mirror. It was as if she was dreaming standing up, but the experience felt more real than a simple dream, as if she just transferred her awareness into the reality of the mirror. The dimension in the mirror was without linear time. Marie found that she could speed things up or slow them down. She touched her cheek and felt the residue of Speranza’s energy, which felt warm. Speranza had stood in front of the same mirror when Angela made her clothes. Maybe the only world inside the looking glass was connected to Angela’s sewing. It was easy for Marie to slide between the worlds, but she would not talk about her experiences, except to Angela. She went back upstairs and settled into bed, this time falling into a heavy sleep without dreaming.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Sunday evening, Marie was getting ready to meet Josh for their date. She put on bell-bottom jeans, a yellow blouse, and pink lipstick and walked to the West End Bar. She found Josh sitting at a small table in the back. The aroma of cigarette smoke permeated the air.
“How was your visit?”
“Better than expected.”
“Really? No criticism?”
Marie settled into her chair.
“No, and when the train pulled away, my mom looked sad. That’s the first time I’ve seen that.”
“Maybe she’s sad every time you leave.”
“Maybe. She has been alone since my dad died, so maybe she does miss me.”
As Marie listened to Josh talk about his law school classes and exams, she thought about her conversation with her aunt. She would have to stop looking outside herself for answers and listen more to the voice inside her.
“I’ll go up to the bar and get us drinks. White wine ok?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
Marie saw how differently she had been raised from Josh and many of her friends. Maybe it was time to celebrate it instead of pretending that she was raised like a typical American kid. She remembered the days following her father’s death. The day after his death, Angela had taken Marie and Andrea to stay with her friend Catherine Calabrese, a beautiful older woman with delicate features and shiny grey hair pulled back in a bun. Angela had helped Catherine and her husband when they emigrated from Sicily many years ago, giving them furniture and a rental to get them started in America, and now it was time for her to return the favor. For three days, Angela dropped Marie and her sister off at Catherine’s in the morning and picked them up in the evening. Back on Morning Glory Avenue, she brought them up the back stairway to avoid the throngs of family and friends that congregated in the dining room and the main hallway. Angela fed the girls, read them a story, and put them to bed.
Marie had not seen her mother until the reception after the funeral. She met many family members for the first time as they hugged her said how sorry they were, and that her father was a good man. It was difficult for Marie to mourn a man she felt she never knew. Angela shielded her and Andrea from other people’s grief. Angela had decided that Marie and Andrea had their own relationships with Nunzio, which was not what she or what Felicia had experienced. She left it up to the young girls to decide how they would remember their father, for better or for worse.
“You just need a marketable skill if you are undecided about a career,” said Josh. He placed the wine glasses down, serving Marie first.
“I guess. I’m learning a lot at the bookstore.”
“I can see why your mother feels the way she does. She wants to make sure you’ll be all right.”
“That’s comforting.”
“No, I mean, you should do what you want, but she probably worries about your future, like all parents.”
It was not turning out to be the romantic evening Marie had anticipated, but there was something appealing about Josh’s ease and self-confidence and his obvious interest in her. Besides, she felt the connection would ultimately be beneficial for her.
“I think we can talk about something else,” said Marie, sipping her wine. “How do you like New York? Have you visited any of the sites?”
“The only site I’ve seen is the New York Public Library. I went there with my mom as a freshman. She can be pretty pushy.”
Josh wore a black oversized sweater and a playful grin. His hair swept to one side, and his soft brown eyes jarred her memory.
“I was there that day,” said Marie. “I saw you and your mom at the library. I stood next to you. I spoke to you.”
Josh scratched his head.
“Really? Was that you? You were such a little girl. You’re not the same person.”
“No, I’m not. I was in high school. This is so strange.”
“It’s a coincidence,” said Josh sipping his wine.
“Or destiny.”
“There’s no such thing. We are all just bumping into each other and there’s no order to it.”
“Connections are not random,” Marie said.
“Agree to disagree. Do you like opera?”
“My aunt and uncle played Caruso records when I was growing up.”
“This usually does not turn women on, but I have some Mozart operas at my apartment. We could go to my place and listen.”
Josh touched Marie’s hand and smiled. Marie found Josh attractive and was happy that he was only a few years older. Maybe her luck was changing. Now was her opportunity to engage more deeply in a relationship and let go of the fear of making a mistake. They walked out of the West End Bar hand in hand.
Josh unlocked the door of his apartment and stood back. Marie hesitated, then stepped into a dark hallway.
“The hall light is out, just walk into the living room.”
“Where is the bathroom?”
“To your left.”
As Marie turned on the light, a family of cockroaches scattered, running into the wall through the dingy broken white tiles. Small black and white tiles from a distant time paved the floor. Luckily, the toilet worked.
“Where are you?” asked Marie.
“In the living room.”
The living room had an old chair and a TV with an antenna squatting on a crate.
“This is what Columbia gives law students. I’ll be glad to get out of this dump at the end of the year.”
This was a far cry from her apartment on West End Avenue. Marie and her roommate had a clean two-bedroom, first-floor apartment with a doorman and a laundry in the basement. It occurred to Marie that Manhattan housed many different levels of urban life. Some people lived in Park Avenue penthouses, others in squalid circumstances, and others who temporarily lived in run-down places but had the assurance of a much better future.
“Do you want a glass of wine?”
“No, thanks. One is enough for me.”
“Let us go into the bedroom. It will be more comfortable. You know, to get away from the cockroaches. They don’t seem to be in my bedroom.”
Josh put on a Mozart aria, and they relaxed on the bed. He conducted the aria as if an orchestra were in front of him.
“It looks like you have conducted this before,” said Marie.
“I love to feel the music. You know, in my bones.”
Josh put his arm around Marie. “You are extremely cute and sexy. Men must tell you that all the time.”
“Not really, but it’s nice to hear.”
Josh leaned in and kissed Marie. She returned the kiss in full measure and sat on Josh’s lap. They undressed and slid under the covers. Josh was an involved lover, and they spent the night embracing each other and making love. At first light, Marie got dressed.
“Where are you going?” asked Josh as he rubbed his eyes.
“I have to get home and shower. I have class today, and then I have to go to work.”
“Do you ever relax? I do not have a lecture until this afternoon. Why don’t you hang out this morning?”
Even though Marie had skipped classes in high school, she was determined to succeed in college. High school had bored her, but she really felt she needed college in order to succeed.
Josh opened the sheets and motioned for her to come back to bed.
“I have a class at nine.”
“Leave your number.”
Marie leaned in, kissed Josh, then left. She walked home with the feeling that she had been too abrupt in how she left Josh. The truth was, she did not know how to sleep in. If she had missed class, she would have felt guilty all day. Still, she left Josh her number and was anxious to see him again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Marie was getting ready to leave Brentano’s for the day. A light snow was falling on Fifth Avenue, and tourists carrying packages filled the street. Salvation Army volunteers rang bells and asked for donations for the poor. She was waiting for Josh to pick her up for a stroll down Fifth Avenue.
“Marie, here is a small Christmas bonus,” said the manager, handing her an envelope.
“Thanks, Jim. I appreciate it.”
“Enjoy your holiday.”
Josh investigated Brentano’s display window and waved from the street. He wore a scarf wrapped around his neck and a wool cap pulled over his ears. Marie grabbed her coat.
“I like your scarf.” Marie kissed Josh, he put his arm around her, and they began enjoying the experience of Fifth Avenue during the holiday season. They stood with the crowds in front of Saks Fifth Avenue and took in the lights. Purples, greens, and reds emanated from the window, and mannequins in Victorian dress made of lush red and gold smiled back at the people who gazed at them.
“It’s such a long season,” said Josh. “I feel like Christmas goes on forever. We Jews have a better way of dealing with the holidays; we ignore them.”
“I think that’s a great idea. But the lights are fun, especially since we’re going into the dark season.”
Next stop was Rockefeller Center and the mammoth tree towering over the ice-skating rink. Marie watched as the skaters went around the rink—experienced skaters, parents holding on to children, and lovers holding hands and steadying themselves against each other.
“I like the variety of skaters,” said Marie. “It’s like the whole world is here in this skating rink.”
“Let’s go into St. Patrick’s Cathedral to get warm,” said Josh, rubbing his hands together.
They walked slowly into the atrium, past the informational brochures and holy water fonts, and into the cathedral. The main altar was filled with poinsettias and wreaths. Visitors lit candles for lost loved ones or to have their prayers answered. The prayerful moved down the side aisles of the massive neo-gothic structure, looking up at the stained-glass windows that depicted stories from the Bible. Many poor immigrants had contributed money to the construction of the cathedral for the glory of Catholic New York in the nineteenth century. Marie wondered what the church did to thank them.
“Do you ever come here?” asked Josh.
“I am not a churchgoer. Organized religion is not my thing, but I do enjoy the art. I attended Catholic school until the eighth grade, but I found the doctrine and indoctrination stifling, to put it politely. This is the 1970s, and it’s time to be our own authority.”