“I’m good.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I looked around for something I could do. “You live far?” I asked.
“Across the street,” she said.
“Oh, wow. Is great. Then we see each other a lot,” I said.
Dina shook her head. “Probably not. Between work and all the things I have to do, I’m not around so much.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, maybe the evening.”
“I didn’t think you were going to stay around here that long, are you? I mean, aren’t you going to California pretty soon?”
“I go where Brandon say.” I was letting him plan this visit.
“Uh huh.”
She took the tray of cookies and went back into the living room. I decided she didn’t like me very much. But I was sure I didn’t do anything wrong. I followed and tried not to let her get me down.
For dinner Brandon took me out to what he said was an Italian Restaurant. The menu had some Italian foods listed on it, but the cooks must have been from Bosnia. They definitely weren’t Italian. The pasta was overcooked, the tomato sauce bitter. The caprese salad had been made with refrigerated tomatoes that had lost their taste and with shredded mozzarella that belonged in a pizza, not in a caprese. I could have eaten a package that tasted the same. Not packaged caprese, but the package itself.
I honestly didn’t mind, though. It was so nice that he would try to make me feel comfortable by taking me to what he thought was an Italian restaurant. Brandon wouldn’t let me pay for anything.
I asked him about Dina. “I don’t know why she don’t like me.”
“Forget about her,” he said. “She’s jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“You’re getting all the attention, Luisa. She’s used to being the young woman around. It doesn’t help that you’re so beautiful.”
I felt my face blush. “I’m not so beautiful.”
“You’re right. Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe you. You’re beyond beautiful. You’re…bellissima!”
“You always so good to me,” I said.
He took hold of my hands. “You’re the woman of my dreams.”
“You are too,” I said.
He smiled. “I always wanted to be the woman of your dreams.”
. . . . .
That night, we argued about who was going to sleep where. The rule in Brandon’s grandparents’ house was that you couldn’t sleep together if you weren’t married. Brandon wanted me to take the bedroom upstairs that belonged to Uncle Bobby, who wasn’t there, and Brandon would sleep on the sofa in the living room. I insisted I sleep on the sofa. I didn’t want to take his room away, and I felt uneasy sleeping upstairs with his grandparents.
In the end, I got the sofa. I really didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa, but I just wished it wasn’t so far away from Brandon’s room. It would have been better if he were downstairs. Just having him nearby, I would have felt safer. I was a little nervous. It Italy, we often heard about how much crime there was in America. And even though this house seemed quiet and safe—in fact everything I had seen in Hudson seemed that way—I was in a new place that I didn’t fully understand yet and that left me feeling nervous.
It was also a lot colder than I thought it would be, especially at night. Brandon saw how cold I was and gave me an extra blanket before he went upstairs. As I tucked myself under it, I wondered if maybe it did actually snow in Massachusetts during the summer.
Exhausted from the trip and from all the activity since I landed, I fell asleep quickly and slept soundly. That is, until the middle of the night. I awoke to the sensation of someone touching my chest. I was about to scream when I saw a cat sitting on top of me, staring at me. I stared back, thinking it was going to run away. It didn’t move.
“Buona sera,” I said.
The cat meowed.
“Capisci Italiano?”
The cat meowed again then started to purr. I reached over and petted it. It purred louder and came even closer. Maybe it did understand Italian.
It stayed on me all night. Eventually I drifted off to sleep again. Brandon was there when I woke up, holding a cup of coffee for me. The cat was still there.
“I can’t believe she slept here with you,” he said.
“Why not?”
“She never liked any girlfriend I brought home. She always tried to scratch them.”
“Oh, so you brought a lot of girls home?” I said.
“I wouldn’t say a lot. Twelve hundred or so.”
I swung at him playfully. We both laughed.
“No, not many. But you’re the first girl she liked. I guess that means you’re the one for me.”
“You let the cat decide?”
“I already decided a long time ago. I’m just waiting for you to come to the same decision.”
. . . . .
That day I met more of Brandon’s family and saw more of the village he came from. There really wasn’t much to see or do, but I was satisfied just to see where he came from.
For dinner he took me again to the Italian restaurant. I tried the melanzana but it was too dry and had some strange seasonings in it. It tasted like they used cheap oil too. Cheap oil upsets the stomach. I couldn’t finish my plate.
“You don’t like it?” Brandon said. “You can order something else.”
“No, is okay. I’m just not so hungry.”
“You hate it, don’t you?”
“No. Is nice you want to take to Italian food. But is just not the same…”
“You hate it, don’t you?” he said again.
I laughed. “I said, no. Is okay.”
“I’ll find a better place for tomorrow.”
“No, you don’t have to. I’m in a new place. The food isn’t like Italy. Is like here. I have to adjust is all.”
“I’m still going to find a better place.”
“Why are you so kind to me?” I asked.
His concern for my happiness always surprised me. I was sure that one day it would suddenly stop. From my personal experiences, men were not this kind and unselfish. They didn’t think of the woman first. Brandon was different. His first priority seemed to make me happy.
In many ways he was different from the men I’d known all of my life. I realized as I sat with him in that American restaurant with bad Italian food that he was probably the man I was meant to be with. He was everything I had always dreamed of, in every way. Superficially he was tall and muscular with blond hair and blue eyes. If I had drawn my dream man, he would have looked exactly like Brandon. And deep inside, he had such a generous, caring heart. He really wanted to make me happy. And he didn’t lie and cheat on me and disappear when it was convenient. He also was not in Naples, and I had been desperate to leave there. I used to pray for someone like Brandon. God must have heard my prayers and sent me this American Marine.
I had endured so much suffering over the last few years. Finally something good had come to me. I was so glad I had agreed to come here to meet his family and see if I liked America.
. . . . .
The next day, Brandon’s Uncle Bobby came to Brandon’s grandparents’ house. Brandon wasn’t too happy to see him. I saw disgust in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I asked Brandon.
Brandon sighed. “He drinks sometimes.”
“He looks okay.” He looked like a person who had been through a difficult life, with a rugged face and bent up body, but I didn’t think he was drunk.
“For now,” Brandon said. “But he’s going to want his roo
m back.”
Brandon was right. Uncle Bobby was happy to see Brandon, slapping him on the back and repeating, “You look good, Brandon, the Marines did you good,” and friendly toward me, but he did put his things into his bedroom. Shane came over and told us to come stay at his place.
“You have room?” Brandon asked. “It’s okay with Dina?”
“Of course.” As he, Brandon and I walked across the street with my suitcase and Brandon’s duffle bag, Shane said, “And in my house, I don’t have any rule about not sleeping in the same room if you’re not married.”
The first evening went okay. Shane was welcoming to us, trying to make us feel comfortable. Dina didn’t say much to me, though. I didn’t know what to do so she would get over any jealousy, if that’s what she felt. I just tried to be nice to her.
After we all went to bed, the night became wonderful. I was so happy to sleep in the same room and same bed with Brandon. We made love that first night, as quietly as possible because we didn’t want Shane and Dina to hear. But it was difficult not to make noise. Brandon knew exactly where and how to touch me, how to make me feel. He gave me orgasm after orgasm. I bit my lip to keep from shrieking with pleasure but some noise came out anyway. He moaned, too, as he came. We both laughed afterward, wondering if his Shane and Dina had heard and what they were thinking.
The next morning at breakfast, they didn’t say much to us and almost never looked us in the face. I was sure they knew. Brandon told me not to worry. They went to work. Brandon borrowed his grandmother’s car and drove me to Boston to see the sights there. We had a great time together. Everywhere we went, he made sure I had whatever I wanted and he never let me pay for a thing. I was his princess, and I loved it.
When we returned to Hudson in the evening, Shane’s house was strangely quiet. We found him sitting alone in the living room with few lights on.
“Where’s Dina?” Brandon asked.
“She went upstairs.”
It wasn’t that late, I thought.
“Did you guys eat dinner yet?” Brandon asked.
Shane shook his head. “She’s kind of pissed at me.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Ah, nothing.” Shane glanced at the stairs and then whispered, “You know how she gets.”
Brandon just nodded. He looked at me. I could see that he felt embarrassed having me in the middle of this situation.
“Maybe we should just go bed,” he told Shane.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got talk to you about that, Brandon,” Shane said.
“What’s up?”
Shane looked at me then quickly turned away. He had a hard time looking at Brandon, too, as he said, “It’s not a good idea for you guys to stay tonight.”
Brandon stared at his brother. I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or something else. He remained silent. Shane continued.
“I mean if it was up to me, I’d…”
“Forget it, man,” Brandon said.
“No, but you know how it is,” Shane said, gesturing toward the upstairs.
“Forget it.” Brandon took my hand. “Come on, Luisa.”
“I’m sorry, Brandon.”
“I know.”
“Just for tonight.”
“Yeah.”
Brandon took me outside into the night air. Insects and frogs made weird noises from the darkness behind the houses. I looked into Brandon’s eyes and realized that what I had seen was humiliation and shame.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” I told him.
“I’m sorry, Luisa. I’m so sorry. This isn’t fair to you.”
“Brandon, I don’t care where I go, long as I’m with you.”
. . . . .
In the driveway of Brandon’s grandparents was a green Ford van. Brandon explained that this was where his grandparents sent Uncle Bobby when he showed up drunk, instead of letting him into the house.
He pulled open the door. Inside it smelled of mildew and sweat. An old mattress covered the floor. There was also an empty bottle of some kind of alcohol and a dirty tee-shirt. Brandon told me to wait while he picked up the trash and put the sheets his grandmother had given him onto the mattress. Having the doors open for a few minutes helped to air it out a bit. It was cold, but at least the stench was tolerable. Brandon kept apologizing. I really didn’t mind. As long as I was in his arms, I was okay.
As night settled heavily over the van and the sound of frogs and bugs closed in around us, we again made passionate love and I again felt in my heart that I had found the man of my dreams. I did not want to ever let him go.
CHAPTER 9
When it was time for Brandon to go back to the base in California, I was ready to leave Hudson and see more of the United States. Brandon was stationed at Twenty-nine Palms, a Marine base in the middle of the desert, two and a half hours from Los Angeles. I could not stay on the base with him, but I had a friend, Maria, from Italy who had moved to Los Angeles.
Maria’s boyfriend was an American Marine still stationed in Italy. She was alone and she offered to let me stay with her. It was perfect for me because I was still learning English and could converse with her in Italian, so I didn’t feel completely away from everything I knew. I had company for when Brandon was on the base and I was with Maria. Plus she was looking for someone to help take care of her son, Corey, who had Cystic Fibrosis, so it worked out well for her too.
She didn’t have an extra bedroom, but the laundry room was large enough to fit a mattress on the floor, so that became my room. I didn’t mind. I didn’t need a lot of room. I lived out of my suitcases and only used the room to sleep and to study my English-Italian dictionary.
Brandon borrowed a car and drove down the first weekend. He took me to see Hollywood and Venice Beach. I was amazed at everything. He also took me to have my first Mexican food, which was fun even though it didn’t sit well with my stomach. He reserved a room at a hotel in Marina Del Ray, and it was so good to be with him again. We made love with no fear of any family coming in or any commanding officer finding out and implementing a punishment. It was magical.
Watching him drive away Sunday night was the hard part. It meant another week without him. I hated being apart from him, but I understood that he was doing the best he could. I had to make the best of it. Until he returned on the next weekend, I was on my own.
Days were spent with Corey, who I took care of when Maria went to work. This took up much of my time. But I loved it. He had such passion for life and was a joy to be around. Cystic Fibrosis was only one element of who he was. It was a chronic disease that he had. It was not him. Managing it, however, was not easy.
Maria told me that it was important to be disciplined with his schedule. He had to eat a lot of high protein, high fat foods, usually more than he wanted. And he had to eat often. His enzymes, which he swallowed with all of his meals, had to be taken like clockwork. So too for his medications, his breathing treatments and his chest therapy. All of these were essential in keeping his breathing as close to normal as possible.
Sometimes, when his lungs became congested and he struggled so much to breathe that his skin color became frighteningly pale, I would have so spend hours pounding on his back to break up the mucus membranes so that he could breathe.
California weather was beautiful, a sunny warmth that seemed to be eternal, each day the same. I took him for walks often. He couldn’t go far, but he relished being outside and soaking up a few California rays. He also loved to play and he had a talent for drawing and art. We spent hours on the floor, Corey making pictures, each one he showed me with the pride of a Renaissance artist. A
side from drawing books and crayons, Maria bought him all kinds of toys, and unlike most kids who took their toys for granted, played with them only once and then discarded them, Corey never lost interest.
He found fascination in most of what he did, and that always impressed me. With all that he was going through, he seemed to try to take a bite out of life every day. Whenever I started to miss Brandon or miss my family back home in Naples, or lament the difficulties I had endured over the years, I would take one look at Corey and immediately get over myself.
I spent a lot of time studying my English-Italian dictionary. Being with Brandon, my English was getting better, but I wanted to be able to say everything, to tell him everything and to understand everything he said to me, so I spent hours each day looking in my dictionary, memorizing words. I also learned by watching TV with Corey. The children’s shows were easier for me to understand. My goal was to be really good in English by the time my visa expired and I had to return to Italy.
Maria’s boyfriend George came home on a one week leave during the summer. While he was home, he and Maria had an intense relationship. They acted like they were madly in love with each other. A few nights I could hear them making love in the bedroom. I immediately thought of Brandon and wished he could have been there with me. I would pull the covers over my head and try not to think about what was going on in the other room.
They would also argue with the same intensity. Sometimes, when the yelling got loud, I would go into Corey’s room and make sure he wasn’t hearing the fight. Sometimes he did hear and got scared. I would hold him and sing Italian songs to calm him.
In the mornings Maria and I were used to speaking to each other in Italian over breakfast. My English was getting better, but I was much more comfortable in Italian. When George was home, he got annoyed by that. He hadn’t learned enough Italian to follow what we were saying.
“You know, that’s rude,” he said one day when he entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.
Until Forever Page 7