Point Place, Wiscounsin
May 17, 1976
6:23 A.M
Ivanovi's House
They had no idea what the time was, all the stress and anxiety they had to go through to immigrate to a better place, to give their little girls the best of life. Ivanovi, a family of four. Mother, father, older daughter at the age of twenty-one and a six years younger kid. Elena Petrova, Krasimir Ivanov, Janeta Ivanova, and lastly Branimira Ivanova. The group of four had moved from the old-fashioned, close-minded, communistic Bulgaria to the capitalistic land of opportunities and freedom. America.
Back in Bulgaria a big part of just basically living was a crime, god forbid the communists catch you listen to 'English' music. Now that God was mentioned, religion was strictly forbidden. Getting beaten up 'cause of a simple cross chain often happened. Teachers would hit the students if they even dared to make a sound of discomfort. Everything was too strict.
Despite the rules in the country, Branimira had a bunch of friends who would often pay tourists for the records they brought with themselves. A big part of Brandy's taste was punk rock with a touch of jazz and a bit of disco. From Sex Pistols to Gloria Gaynor, she loved every single moment she spent in the shack behind the block, the music coming out of the gramophone doing wonders to her ears. Together with the music a cigarette could often be accompanied with a vodka mixed with cola from Brandy's parents' stash.
One day everything took a sharp turn and Brandy went in jail for three months. She cried and wailed for her parents to come pick her up, but they couldn't. She got caught by one of the old witches who often sat on the bench in front of the block, talking about the newest gossip, slut-shaming every girl that came to mind. Hags, thought Brandy.
''What time is it?'' asked Krasimir, Brandimira's father, in Bulgarian.
''Seven in about half an hour.'' responded Elena, Brandy's mother, as she looked around their new and empty house, suitcases in her rough hands. ''Girls, why don't you go get a few hours of sleep until your father and I unpack.''
''Thanks, mom.'' both Branimira and Janeta moaned out as they gave each parent a hug and dragged themselves up the stairs. The house was small, two story one. Three bedrooms upstairs, a kitchen that was combined with the living room downstairs, and a bathroom opposite of it.
''So, we finally get to have a room for each of us, cheers to that!'' beamed Branimira, tiredness clearly showed on her face.
''Gonna miss you, brat! Night.'' Janeta parted ways and entered her room. The house was lacking furniture and because of that fact, everyone had to sleep on the floor with a blanket to cover them. Later the family was going to a second hand shop to buy the cheapest furniture possible. The communism had left them with little money. Damn, fuck communism!