Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
3...
Tony hadn't made much progress sorting through the boxes. He kept coming across mementos of a lifetime before. A faded photograph of three boys hamming it up for the camera, a shard of glass from the first window he'd ever broken with a baseball (Who says that guys aren't sentimental?), a dried and brittle carnation inside a neatly tied packet of letters... Each piece spoke to him about a part of his life he thought he'd left far behind him. He glanced down at the letters he was holding and laughed to see that his hands were trembling. Hold onto yourself Micelli, they're just a bunch of letters; they're not anything to be scared of. He laughed to himself again, big strong man, and here he was afraid that some bits of paper from the past would what, make him feel? His fingers worked the knot and slowly unfolded the first letter.
April 23, 19--
Hey Micelli,
You said to write, so I'm writing. I'm not sure why I'm doing this though, cause you're probably so wrapped up in baseball that you can barely remember me. It's not fair that just when we were starting to become a 'we' you had to pack up and leave. I get it though. One of the things I like best about you is how you're not afraid. Tony Micelli is chasing his dreams and one of these days he's going to grab on to them with both hands. Maybe I'll be around to see it.
Nothing is the same here without you. I probably shouldn't say it, your ego's big enough, but it's still true. I never expected that I'd miss the sight of you strutting down the hall or disrupting the class with one of your crazy stories. I still can't believe you were able to talk your dad and the principal into letting you leave school early. Okay, I know you're not off the hook. You still have to study and come back for exams. But... No more classes, no more books, no more teachers' dirty looks... I know you're loving it. Except for the missing you part, life is pretty good. They say that the last few months of your senior year are golden, and I'm finding out that 'they' are right. I guess I should get going though, English test to study for and all. Take care of yourself, and don't have too much fun without me.
Marie
It was the first letter she'd ever written to him and he could hear her soft Brooklyn tones in his head as he read it. Suddenly he was that kid again, jumping around the room in joy, his roommates looking at him like he was crazy, and all because she'd written to him. He leafed through the pile of letters, wondering what he'd written back, but was confused when all he found was more envelopes with her writing on it. What had happened to his letters? He could remember writing them, and he was pretty sure Marie would've kept them. Finally, at about the eighth letter in, he remembered why – she'd thrown them away and after that, he didn't write her anymore. "Nick..." he muttered, feeling the old resentment rise up inside.
July 2, 19--
Micelli,
I'm not mad. So, stop calling. Okay? M
July 3, 19--
Micelli. Still not mad. Marie
July 6, 19--
Okay, so I'm a little mad. I mean, you come home for graduation, and everything you've been telling me says that a big part of the reason you were sticking around for a couple of days is to see me. And you came by that first night and it was great, but then nothing? Well, except for that five-minute talk at grad before the guys dragged you off. Real nice Micelli. Way to make a girl feel important. But I guess I'm not, so let's not drag this out. Have a nice life Micelli,
Sincerely,
Marie Milano
July 9, 19--
Tony, I'm so sorry. I talked to Papa and he admitted that he'd kept you from seeing me. Big old grizzly bear. He is – not you, I swear. Don't hold it against him Tony, please. It's just that I'm his little girl and sometimes he gets a little... protective of me. He's been so good lately, and I just can't stay mad at him. He's been working, at a real honest job, and he swears he hasn't been near the track in weeks. All he wants is the best for me, and I think he's decided that no one's good enough. But he's wrong, 'cause I think you might be. I can't believe you came over with flowers and he told you I was out on a date. Oh yeah, a real nice date – Coffee and day-old cookies at Mrs. Fellinio's, talking 'bout her pretty kitties. Grr. Papa just make me so mad sometimes, I just wanna strangle him. But enough. He's sorry. I'm sorry – forgive me? Good, cause this whole not talking thing – not fun. Moving on.... Life, other things.
Oh Tony, just think of it, we're done school now! We're free to be who we choose. It's all so exciting, but I'm finding it a little sad too. Does that seem strange to you? That I would miss school now that it's over? I used to stare up at the clock and wait for it to hit 3:30 so we could escape, but in the past year or so, I've found that I dread the sound of the bell. Sometimes I wonder if this is the best of the best. I know there's lots to look forward to, like being grown up, getting married, and having kids, but whenever I go into the city I look at the girls working there and wonder what it would be like to have their lives. I know it's silly. I've got a real good life right here in Brooklyn. Of course, it would be better if you were here.
One more thing before I go. Could you maybe call instead of writing letters? Papa was reading them and that's why he didn't want you to see me. It's also how I figured all of this out, by catching him, but that's a different story. Take care you,
Marie
Aug 5, 19--
Hiya Sweets! (Okay, I thought I'd try out this nickname, but it doesn't work, so I'll just go back to calling you plain old Tony.)
Dear Plain old Tony,
Gotcha! See what you do to me? You make me crazy. It doesn't matter though, 'cause I'm so happy I could burst. I got a job! It's not much, just helping out in Rosie's dress shop a couple days a week, but it feels so good, to be doing something with my time. Not that I wasn't doing things before, but helping my mother and keeping the neighborhood grandmother's happy wasn't exactly thrilling. I know you think I shouldn't have to work, but that's just the thing Tony, I don't have to work. I want to. Of course, Papa threw a fit when he found out. At least he did at first. Then he got this strange glimmer in his eye and told me it was okay with him. I thought he'd lost it, but then Mama jumped in and told him that the money I made was going to be mine. The glimmer died, but at least he said that I could keep the job. Tony, it's so nice to have some money that's all my own. Funny that it should matter when I've never wanted for anything, but it still feels good.
So, tell me about the team. How are things going? Are the guys still giving you the gears about your accent? I still think it's strange for them to tease you when it's them that have the accent, but what can you do? Why'd you have to go so far away to play ball? I miss you! At least you've only got a couple more months, and then it's home for the winter. Do you think they'll call you up again for next year? You've got talent Micelli, they're all going to see it one of these days. Well, I need to go now; Mama's calling me for dinner. Call me again soon; I can't wait to hear your voice.
Plain old Marie
September 16, 19--
Hey Tone,
The summer is dying and I'm counting the days till you come back to me. I was walking down your street last night and a cool wind came rushing past me and I knew that fall was just hiding around the corner. You want to know the funny thing about it? Instead of feeling sad, like I usually do at the thought of another fall and winter, I felt happy. I was happy because it meant you were coming back to me. Is it still hot where you are? A friend told me that the heat hangs in waves at time of year. I hope you're drinking lots of water and not pushing yourself too hard. God, look at me, I've become a sap, and it's all because of you. I never had a diary, but this summer writing to you has been like having one. I keep pouring out my heart to you, and you never complain. Guess that's another reason why I like you.
Saw your father the other day. He looks like he's doing okay, a little tired maybe, but he said it was just a passing thing. He tells everyone he meets about his son, the baseball player. Parents can be so sweet and so odd, can't they? Have you told him about me? I wouldn't ask, it's just that he's never paid much attention to me until lately. Now it's like, 'Hello Marie. How are you Marie?' every time I see him. I'm not complaining though, he seems very nice.
Jeannette and Gina were telling me that...
His eyes skimmed over the last of the letter. She hadn't written him anymore after that, because well, he grinned, after that there really wasn't much reason to write to him when they were practically joined at the hip. He wondered if she ever knew how much her words had meant to him that summer. He'd been so lonely for friends and family, and her letters had seen him through. He wondered if she ever really knew... Retying the ribbon around the letters, his hand wavered in the air over two distinct piles. A part of him wanted to hold on to them and keep her stored up in these boxes. It made him feel like he was keeping her memory safe. Then he shook his head. Wasn't that the point of this? Letting go? The letters would go to Sam. She deserved to know her mother, and what better way than to read the words she wrote when she was young and falling in love.
To be continued...