Before We Begin
It starts with a boy and his father, as many stories do. The father loves his son. He just doesn’t know how, as many fathers don’t. He’s a selfish man, always has been, and therefore is not accustomed to sharing any possessions, whether they be concrete or abstract. Not good at sharing his wealth. Not good at sharing his feelings. Not much good at anything but swindling, and that is the only thing that has gotten him this far.
The boy watches through a haze of cigar smoke as his father “talks” with people. “Appena ho intenzione di parlare con loro. Smettere di preoccuparsi.” I’m just gonna talk with them. Quit worrying. How many times had he heard that? How many times had he seen those cold eyes, expressionless, bore into his? The boy was schooled, he knew what the word “talk” meant, but never before had he seen someone “talk” with so much yelling and so many gunshots. His father confused and frightened him in an awestruck sort of way. Even when he left the family, the boy couldn’t be angry. He cried and clenched his teeth and damned him, his very own father, damned, but there was still a part of him that adored his strength and wanted to be everything that he was. He watched his mother cry night and night and his family barely scrape by, watched his own face begin to hollow from hunger, and still, he admired his vicious, betraying father.
That part of the boy’s heart, however, grew smaller and smaller as he became older. Time sometimes does that, makes one less forgiving, as you watch the continued effects of the treacherous incident on your poor life. Or perhaps he just learned to ignore it. He pushed it way deep down so that he wouldn’t ever have to think about it. He hated his father. His very own father. His father was the reason he had to leave home, leave his family. Someone had to make money. Before, that was his father. And now, there was no money to be made in Italy. So the boy was leaving. He was truly still a boy, six years from becoming a man, but he was having to learn quickly. He would get on a boat to America, find a job, and send money back to his crying mother. For the rest of his life, whenever he thought of her, she would be crying. That was practically his only memory of her, his only image, her beautiful face marred by tears, calling him “piccola mia” and “cara mia”, holding him just a little too tight.
When the boy first arrived to America, he knew only one word. And he said this one word until it bore him results, as his mama told him to. “Stahmps?” Burly men tossing trading goods on the docks stopped and stared at the small, dark boy with puzzlement, scratching their heads under their caps. “Stahmps.” It came out as either a plea or a command. “One of the men kneeled down, looked him in the eyes. “Whaddya need, kid?” The boy was very afraid. Maybe not afraid, but so filled with excitement and opportunity and newness that he was shaking. “Stahmps.” “Jesus, how old is he, ten?” “Stamps? Is he sayin’ stamps?” Ah, a response! “Stahmps!” The boy smiled and nodded gratuitously, and the man couldn’t help but half smile in return. “Uh, well, if ya need stamps, there’s a post office down the road, just there, see?” The man crouched down and pointed way off past the dock and into a colossal congregation of buildings. The skyline of New York. They took up the horizon, staggering and manufactured and unapologetic. The boy’s breath caught, and he nodded, muttering a quick and obligatory “grazie” before darting off into the mass of bodies. What had the man said? “Pohst ahfice?” The boy tried out the new words, foreign and sharp, wrinkling his nose. “Pohst ahfice.” And this was the new plea, the new command.
This was how he navigated America, using words and phrases as singular stepping stones. They never much stuck around, but only stayed as long as they were presently needed. What started with “stamphs” and “pohst ahfice” then became “monih” and “fuhd, pliss”, out of neccecity. Luckily, his slight frame and sparkling eyes earned him just enough sympathy to survive on his own, but only barely, and only for a few weeks. I suppose you could say that, in a way, someone had a little too much sympathy. Or perhaps, misplaced. Enough to think that the poor child deserved to have a home, but not so much that they meant to adopt him. Enough, then, to deposit him at an orphanage. So that he could have a better shot at life and all. Even with his meager understanding of English, the boy could tell that something was wrong here. He didn’t need to go to a place for children with no parents! He had a family! And if he was here, he wouldn’t be able to help them! As the realization came upon him, he became more and more desperate to explain, but just couldn’t find the words to tell them. “Pliss…no, pliss...” He spoke quietly to the sympathetic eyes that had dropped him off at the large building, searching and searching for words, something, anything to make them understand, and finally cried out in his mother tongue. “No, no, la mia famiglia é in attesa!” Why couldn’t they understand that they were waiting for him, that they needed him? A hand came down on his shoulder, gently, and he turned around. It was a very tall woman, kindly aged, and she bent herself over to his level, smiling gently. “Don’t worry, you’ll be alright.”
And so the boy was thrust into an entirely new world. Nobody here had sympathy. Either they were having the same struggles as he was, or they simply didn’t have room. The tall woman had to care about all of the children, and so, she had no room for special exceptions. She was warm and kind, but not especially understanding nor willing to learn another language just for one child. There was a man, too, a flustered looking man who came and went, and he had no time for anyone at all. The boy had no one to speak to. No one who understood him. He prayed and prayed at night, often not realizing that he had started praying out loud until one of the other kids would shush him.
It was hard for him. Being surrounded by children, all speaking a different language. And he was somewhat of a spectacle, what with his sudden appearance and strange language, so they stared at him and talked about him. Tony, after putting up with it for some time, took to silencing this by hitting them in the mouth. The first time, his shocked victim ran crying to the tall woman, who gave Tony a warm but stern talking to. “I know things are hard, and I’m so sorry, but you have to behave.” Out of those words, Tony only really understood “sorry”, which he was tired of hearing. He let out a short sigh, avoiding her eyes and picking at the hem of his shirt. “Si, si, sorry.” The woman, unseen to him, softened quite deeply and sighed herself. “We need to find somebody to teach you English.” Tony had stopped listening and was busy moodily glaring at the boy he had hit, who seemed much too satisfied for Tony’s liking.
He hit two more kids before they learned to give him a wide berth, and to at least be a little more secretive when they talked about him. The innocent cruelty of children, that no one ever considered stopping their constant gossip, only discussed ways to continue it with more assurance for their own well-being and safety. The tall woman, who had told him to call her Miss Jill, which he pronounced more like “Mees Jeehl”, began actually making efforts to find a way to help him. She liked him quite a lot. And he liked her. If you had asked him, he would’ve wrinkled his nose in boyish disgust and spat some kind of childish Italian profanity about how she was a horrible cow, but he began to really like her. She cared. And no matter how mean he was and how many kids he threatened, she always understood. She brought up his struggles to the busy, scattered man, whose name turned out to be Harry, and he huffed something about the cost and the hard times and bustled away. Tony took on a daily routine of waking up, eating by himself as far away from the other kids as he could, and spending the rest of the day glowering at everyone who passed from a big armchair in the main room, his fortress of solitude.
The next time Tony hit a kid, they got in a full on fist fight. This was very familiar to Tony, considering his big and boisterous clan of siblings back home, but he had never been angry then. He was well-trained in fighting, but inexperienced with anger, and therefore incredibly ruthless. He was drug away with bruised knuckles and a bloody nose, while the other kid sustained two black eyes, a bloody nose, a lost tooth, and tellingly unscathed hands. Tony grinned and spat and taunted him even as he was being bodily lifted away by Harry, who for once actually got involved with something. He wriggled and fought, but Harry proved to be quite strong underneath all of that flightiness, and sat Tony down on a chair in a room that he hadn’t seen before. “Tony, this has to stop.” He talked to him for a long time. Tony met his eyes on and off, a little nervous considering he had never spoken to this man before, only seen him blow through like a sentient whirlwind. And Harry seemed to care. In his eyes was a genuine concern. Which made Tony even more nervous. He picked at the chair, glancing from his scuffed shoes to Harry, up and down, again and again. “Tony.” He looked up. For the first time, he noticed how young Harry looked. He had tell-tale lines of stress around his eyes and his mouth, but he was still quite young. “I’m sorry.” Just as Tony was about to roll his eyes, Harry continued. “We will help you.” Help. Tony knew that word. “…halp me?” Harry smiled and nodded. “Yes, Tony. We will help you.” It was a really nice smile. Tony looked at his shoes again, ears burning a little. “Grazie.” His mother popped into his head, scolding. What are you thanking your shoes for, Antonio? Go on! Tony looked up into Harry’s twinkling eyes. “Grazie, Harry.”
The next time Tony hit a kid, it was a girl. He was sitting in his usual armchair, watching with vague jealousy as the other kids tumbled over each other to get around the radio in the adjacent room, when he noticed her standing there. Staring at him, startlingly close. He stared back, a bit too surprised to be mean just yet. Her hands were slung boyishly in her pockets, and her head was cocked, shiny black hair chopped short and brushing her shoulders. “Hey,” she said shortly, her voice sharp. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?” She spoke too quickly for Tony to understand, and he didn’t know the words, and he got confused and embarrassed and so he hit her. Always assume the worst, that’s how Tony rolled. His mouth twisted up, his fists clenched, he stood up, and he just hit her. She reeled back, hands flying to her mouth, but didn’t lose her balance. Gingerly, she touched her front teeth, eyes still stuck to him with shock. Now that they were both standing, Tony noticed that though she was young, she was as tall as he was. And the next thing he knew, his jaw exploded with pain and his arms windmilled for balance and she had hit him back. Hard, too. “What’s tha' matta with you??” And she was on him! She pinned him to the ground, dealing him blows that weren’t as hard as she could’ve dealt, and plain shouting. “I come ova’ here tryin’ to be nice and be your friend even though you’re a freak and this is what I get what is wrong with you are you even a ‘uman??” When Jill had finally come to the rescue and pulled her off of him, she was still screaming, but slowed down to a wild pant. “He’s crazy I swear I just come over here to try an’ talk to him but he hit me!” “I know, Elyon, I know…” “Don’t call me that!” The girl shook Jill’s hands off of her and turned viciously to Tony. “You are some piece of work, kid, and I hate you!” She stopped, steaming for a moment, the words working around in her mouth until they finally burst out. “But I’m not gonna give up on you!!” And she stormed out of the room. Jill sighed deeply, real deeply, and Tony looked up at her, working his smarting jaw with his hand. She shook her head, chuckling dryly. “Tony, meet Ellie. She’s gonna teach you how to speak English.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
Ellie huffed with frustration, crossing her arms, face flushed. “Miss Jill?! I’m doin’ what you tol’ me to do, but he won’t talk!” The girl was slim, but she could summon quite a yell from those little lungs. Somewhere across the large house, Jill heard her, smiled, and pretended not to hear her. Ellie groaned, turning back to the satisfied glint of Tony’s eye. “Can you please just work with me here? Just say it! Thank. You.” Tony’s lips stayed firmly closed. He did not like this girl. This girl had hit him and embarrassed him in front of Jill and everybody. And besides, he already knew what thank you meant. This was all just pointless and stupid. “It’s not that hard, kid. Thank you. Thank you! Just thank you! Can you just say that, please??” Tony smirked, ever so slightly. “Grazie.” A pause. Wheels turning. Realization. Ellie’s mouth dropped open, working to find words and settling on a cry of desperation. “Miss Jill!!!”
Finally, Jill came into the room, trying not to smile as she looked upon the duo, cross-legged on the floor, glowering at each other. “Are you having some trouble?” “Some trouble? Some trouble? This kid is a nightmare!” Jill laughed, kneeling down next to Ellie. “No he isn’t, he’s just a little stubborn sometimes. Tony?” He looked up. “Can you say ‘thank you’?” “Tank you, Mees Jeehl.” Ellie let out another cry of disbelieving fury. “See he’ll respond to you but he won’t say a word to me what am I spose’ to do with that?? …aw Miss Jill, come on, it isn’t funny!” After collecting herself from a burst of laughter, Jill turned to Tony again. “Tony. You’ve gotta listen to Ellie, alright? I mean it.” Throughout his colorful criminal record and many lectures about not beating up other kids, Tony had come to understand that phrase as serious business. I mean it. He sighed, frowning at Jill. “Nope, don’t give me that, you have to. Be nice to her. She only wants to help you. Do what she says. I mean it.” With a ruffle of his hair, she left the room to go back to her laundry-folding. Ellie and Tony were left with only each other, yet again. “Hey. Tony.” He looked up begrudgingly. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be nicer if you just try your best. Okay?” She could only hope that her attempt at peace was understood. And as he picked through her words, the ones he knew, the ones he didn’t, the ones he could guess, he cracked a smile. “Tank you.”
“Ellie!” She stopped where she was and turned, smiling. “It still makes me really excited when you say my name.” “It make you…what?” “Excited! Umm…really happy, uh, I don’t know how to explain it…” Ellie stopped in the grass of the park, planting her hands on her hips and knitting her brows in deep thought. “You know the feeling when Miss Jill tells you she’s making somethin’ really good for dinner? Or when you wake up and look out the window and see that it’s gonna be a beautiful day and you get to play outside?” Mostly following, eyes narrowed with focus, Tony nodded. “That’s excited.” Pausing to consider this, Tony nodded again. “Ehc…” “Excited. Ex-ci-ted.” “…ehck-sy-ted.” “Yeah, pretty much! You still sound kinda dumb, but it’ll work.” Tony’s eyes narrowed again. “You say…I am dumb?” Ellie smiled brightly. “Yep!” “I am not!” And they took off, laughing and screaming as Tony started to catch up. About half a year had passed, and Jill had decided to let the kids run around in the lemony sunshine of early summer. There had been several adoptions recently, so the group was a semi-manageable mob, and she kept her protective eye over them as they scampered all over the little park. Harry was there too, sitting beside her, uncharacteristically still and placid. Tony was really picking up English quickly, although his lovely accent still marred most of his pronunciation. And he and Ellie were absolutely inseparable. They still fought and brawled and picked on each other, but in the most beautiful childhood way, reeking of innocent and passionate friendship. Though they were mostly seen getting places in a hurry, playing all kinds of games, wrestling, there had been a few times that Jill and Harry had caught them at a quiet moment, sitting very close together reading a book as Ellie pointed out words, laying out on the back porch looking at stars, sometimes even curled up asleep in Tony’s big armchair of solitude, suddenly not so lonely anymore.
“Do you wanna get married?” Tony looked at her, puzzlement filling his hazel eyes as he considered the question. They were sitting on a little grassy hill, picking at the weeds and watching clouds hurry by between the trees. “What?” “Get married! Do you know what that means?” “Mmm…no.” Ellie laughed, picking a dandelion from the warm earth. “It means…when two people decide to be together all the time for forever, and they have a big party and their whole family comes and they…well they get married!” “Ahhhh, matrimonio?” “Well yeah, I guess.” The wind picked up, gently stirring the leaves on the trees, the grass in the ground, and the hair on children’s heads. “So you are saying…you want to… ‘mahry’ me?” When their eyes met again, there was a look of pure terror. “Well…yeah! I mean, we’re way too young, but…hey, what’s that look for anyway??” She socked him in the shoulder, frowning. “Don’t make it seem like it would be the worst thing in the whole entire world!” Tony rubbed his shoulder, frowning back at her. A kid screamed an emotionally ambiguous scream from the other side of the park, and Jill stood up, squinting as she tried to discern whether it was the good kind or the bad kind. “It wouldn’t be bad.” Ellie muttered at the dandelion in her hand, tossing it aside. Her hair had started to grow out, and she tried to pull it over one shoulder, but it swished back to its place. “No, no, not bad.” Ellie looked up, mildly surprised. Tony was looking off at the other kids and the trees and things, and he smiled. “Not bad. May-be.” Looking at him, Ellie smiled and wrinkled her nose. “You still say that kind of weird.” “No. Say what?” “Maybe.” “No! I say may-be, same as you say!” “No, see, you make it too separate.” “I make it what?” “Oh forget it.” She shoved him with her shoulder, and he shoved back, both laughing. Jill, having ascertained that the scream was one of joy, sat back down next to Harry, nudging him and pointing over at the pair on the hill. Harry put his arm around her.