the sausage and peppers.” When I say this, I realize I must smell like them too. This is horrible. Nothing that ever happens to me in real life is like I imagine it. If I’d known I would be meeting Renato for a Ferris wheel ride, I would have worn a simple linen chemise, just like Michelina de Franco, and borrowed some of Mama’s lavender cologne instead of smelling like Roseto’s favorite sandwich.
“Sausage and pepper sandwiches are my favorite.”
“It’s a good thing.” I smooth my pinafore over my skirt. The ride begins to whirl around. I get butterflies in my stomach, so I grip the safety bar.
“Are you afraid?” Renato wants to know.
“Well, I don’t have wings, so if something goes wrong …”
Renato puts his arm around me; my insides begin to shake, and I know it’s not the ride, but the joy of being so close to him. As we whirl around, I can see my sisters’ feet overhead as we spin. I’m so glad they can’t see Renato and me. This isn’t a very good example for the little ones. I’m with a boy and haven’t asked Papa’s permission. But I don’t care: this is for me, and I don’t think in my whole life I have ever been this happy. Suddenly the Ferris wheel lurches to a stop. We’re suspended high in the air, the rooftops on Garibaldi Avenue look like stars below us in the moonlight as the hill descends into darkness. I’m a little afraid of the height, but more sad that the ride is half over.
“Look, you can see my sister’s roof on Dewey Street from here.” I point.
“How’s your father?” Renato asks. “He was so gracious to me when I came out for the hog killing.”
“We’re lucky. He’s walking much better.” Thoughts of Papa remind me to take Renato’s hand from around my shoulder and place it on his lap. I really shouldn’t be so close to a man without permission.
“The farm life is very hard. I don’t know if I could do it.”
The way Renato says this sounds condescending, so I am glad I just took his arm away. There is a part of me that understands how he feels. I would never have chosen to be born into a family of farmers. I wish my papa were a barber or a brick mason or a grocer. But Papa loves the land and his animals and my mother and a life away from the noise of town. He was raised on a farm in Foggia, and the land is what he knows. How can I explain this to an educated man? So instead of trying, I caustically reassure him, “I’m sure you’ll never have to, so don’t worry about it.”
Renato feels the chill of my comment. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“But you did, though I don’t hold it against you. See, I’m not a farmer either. I never liked the quiet and the chores as much as Ishould have. I did them, I still do them, but as soon as I could read and saw what life was like for other people in other places, I began to judge what I came from. And you know, that’s not good. Because I can’t help what I am or where I come from.”
“You should never apologize for what you are.”
“I’m not.” I look out beyond the sparkling lights of Roseto and off into the inky black beyond the Blue Mountains. As much as I’m intimidated by Renato and his life experience, I’m equally inspired by it, so I always tell him what’s on my mind. I never feel like I have anything to lose. “I have a question for you.” I turn to face him.
The carney hollers up from the ground, “Folks, we’re stuck. Stay calm and don’t swing in the seats. We’ll get ’er cranked up shortly.”
I take the news from the carney below as an omen. I’m meant to spend a few extra moments with Renato. “Why do you disappear?”
“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.
“It seems like I see you, and then months go by before I see you again. Do I do something to offend you?”
“No. Not at all,” Renato says quickly.
“What is it then?”
“You’re too young for me, Nella.”
“I’m fifteen now.”
“I’m twenty-two. Now, you don’t
“Sausage and pepper sandwiches are my favorite.”
“It’s a good thing.” I smooth my pinafore over my skirt. The ride begins to whirl around. I get butterflies in my stomach, so I grip the safety bar.
“Are you afraid?” Renato wants to know.
“Well, I don’t have wings, so if something goes wrong …”
Renato puts his arm around me; my insides begin to shake, and I know it’s not the ride, but the joy of being so close to him. As we whirl around, I can see my sisters’ feet overhead as we spin. I’m so glad they can’t see Renato and me. This isn’t a very good example for the little ones. I’m with a boy and haven’t asked Papa’s permission. But I don’t care: this is for me, and I don’t think in my whole life I have ever been this happy. Suddenly the Ferris wheel lurches to a stop. We’re suspended high in the air, the rooftops on Garibaldi Avenue look like stars below us in the moonlight as the hill descends into darkness. I’m a little afraid of the height, but more sad that the ride is half over.
“Look, you can see my sister’s roof on Dewey Street from here.” I point.
“How’s your father?” Renato asks. “He was so gracious to me when I came out for the hog killing.”
“We’re lucky. He’s walking much better.” Thoughts of Papa remind me to take Renato’s hand from around my shoulder and place it on his lap. I really shouldn’t be so close to a man without permission.
“The farm life is very hard. I don’t know if I could do it.”
The way Renato says this sounds condescending, so I am glad I just took his arm away. There is a part of me that understands how he feels. I would never have chosen to be born into a family of farmers. I wish my papa were a barber or a brick mason or a grocer. But Papa loves the land and his animals and my mother and a life away from the noise of town. He was raised on a farm in Foggia, and the land is what he knows. How can I explain this to an educated man? So instead of trying, I caustically reassure him, “I’m sure you’ll never have to, so don’t worry about it.”
Renato feels the chill of my comment. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“But you did, though I don’t hold it against you. See, I’m not a farmer either. I never liked the quiet and the chores as much as Ishould have. I did them, I still do them, but as soon as I could read and saw what life was like for other people in other places, I began to judge what I came from. And you know, that’s not good. Because I can’t help what I am or where I come from.”
“You should never apologize for what you are.”
“I’m not.” I look out beyond the sparkling lights of Roseto and off into the inky black beyond the Blue Mountains. As much as I’m intimidated by Renato and his life experience, I’m equally inspired by it, so I always tell him what’s on my mind. I never feel like I have anything to lose. “I have a question for you.” I turn to face him.
The carney hollers up from the ground, “Folks, we’re stuck. Stay calm and don’t swing in the seats. We’ll get ’er cranked up shortly.”
I take the news from the carney below as an omen. I’m meant to spend a few extra moments with Renato. “Why do you disappear?”
“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.
“It seems like I see you, and then months go by before I see you again. Do I do something to offend you?”
“No. Not at all,” Renato says quickly.
“What is it then?”
“You’re too young for me, Nella.”
“I’m fifteen now.”
“I’m twenty-two. Now, you don’t
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