Chapter 24
Ainsley – eighteen / Renzo – thirty-one
Piccola Rompiscatole ,
Happy Birthday. Benvenuta nel mondo degli adulti. Welcome to adulthood.
A choice lies before you. Will you now choose between the life of a sinner or a saint?
Here is my honest opinion: You have gotten used to this life.
The same one that tossed yours upside down.
You enjoy what the life of a sinner brings, because you never were the little saint you believed yourself to be, no matter how much you tried to hide it.
There is a sinner in all of us. I believe Oscar Wilde said it best: “Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.” You cannot have one without the other.
With that thought, I hope you take care of the right-of-passage gift you will be receiving shortly.
It has been one of my favorites for years.
Now it’s yours. Take care of it and yourself.
Responsibility is never easy, but you will find the more you have, the brighter your self-worth will burn, the heavier the burden will weigh, and the harder the decisions will be.
Che i tuoi diciotto anni siano l'inizio di un'avventura straordinaria. May your eighteen years be the beginning of an extraordinary adventure. Don’t let anyone choose it for you. Not even me.
Sincerely,
Renzo Iannelli
TWINS
Ha. You and Vinny had the same thought.
I’ve officially started collecting my own armory.
And don’t worry, before you say anything, both are locked away.
There’s no risk that Boyan or Lou will get to them.
You don’t have to get on your high horse with the whole “I know better than you” spiel.
Both Tore and Vinny have always been very pushy about gun safety around all three of us.
It’s not like I’ll shoot myself in the foot.
Vinny has been taking me to the gun range for the last two years already, and I’m pretty adept at hitting a target.
Shocking, I know. I’m imagining the rise of your eyebrows right now as you process how the poor, naive young orphan you once knew isn’t all that fragile and ignorant anymore.
Tore is already talking about starting to take Lou to the gun range once she turns ten in October.
After everything we’ve been through with all the infestation attempts in the last two years, I didn’t even argue. Better safe than sorry.
To answer your question. I’m no saint. Never have been.
Never will be. I don’t really believe people that virtuous ever existed.
Am I a sinner? Most definitely. In my opinion, everyone is.
To what degree depends on how far each person is willing to go and for what reason.
Loved ones are my trigger. I’m willing to sin to the max if it protects them. I think you’re the same.
P.S. You know I looked up that new nickname. Rompiscatole. Not a huge fan. I’d been hoping it was an improvement on the last one. Barely. The upgrade from pest to nuisance isn’t quite as satisfying as you’d think.
Piccola Rompiscatole,
It is a good thing I don’t live to satisfy your need to have your ego stroked. You are a nuisance. One I cannot seem to shake, regardless of your few entertaining moments. But even I can admit, you are good company.
Recent news: I have received a letter from France. I am now an uncle. My sister gave birth to a wrinkly baby girl named Juliette. It is a shame there is no prosecco here to toast with and celebrate.
Take care of yourself. And congrats on graduating high school with top honors and getting accepted into UC Berkeley.
Tore told me. He is quite the ridiculously proud father/brother, whatever adoptive relationship you two have decided to settle on.
Practically our entire meeting was him gushing over you. A real waste of a visit.
Sincerely,
Renzo Iannelli
Dear Diary,
Aw, you don’t mean that. But thank you, and congrats yourself! I called Persetta on your behalf. Did you know she prefers to be called Tessa?
Tore, Vinny, and I also did a toast in your honor, the proud uncle, even though they tried to change my prosecco out for bubbly juice several times. I should have let them. Gotta tell you, I’m not the biggest fan of prosecco.
And it’s adoptive brother. Definitely brother. Father, yuck. Nope, can’t. Even the kids can’t.
By the way, I’m on the fast track for our bet. I got fifty-eight college credits transferred out of the one hundred twenty needed for a bachelor’s degree. If I maintain an average of sixteen credits per semester, I’ll make it in two years. Prepare to lose, sucker!!!
Talk soon. Keep it real.
BORED
Let’s play twenty questions, or a version of it at least.
I think we both know at this point that you’re not big on starting a conversation if not prompted.
Well, I’ve run out of topic starters this week.
We’ve been talking for three years now, and I still know so little about you.
If I’m ever going to forgive you, I should know more about my enemy.
So, let’s start asking each other questions.
Limit of five to seven each time, and you also have to answer your own questions. Here it goes:
When you get out, what’s the first thing you’ll do? First thing you’ll eat? Would you rather drink from a can or a cup? Eat with a fork or chopsticks? Scrub a toilet or a sink pipe? Be in love or be loved? Married or single for life?
For me, when I get out of my dorm later this morning, I’ll head to my environmental physiology class.
Not my favorite, but it beats my biochemistry class by a mile.
Thankfully, between dual enrollment courses and AP classes in high school, all my general education requirement credits and my biology degree lower-division requirements have been fulfilled.
First thing I’ll eat after class will probably be a bowl of ramen. There’s this great place in the business center across the street from the university. I’ll take you there one day. Their food is to die for.
I pick cup. I cut my lip once on the rim of a can. Ever since, I avoid them. In terms of food, depends on what I’m eating. I refuse to eat sushi with a fork, but I have a hard time using chopsticks with rice.
I choose the toilet. Even wearing gloves, the handle of a toilet scrubber means I don’t actually have to touch the toilet.
I want both. To be in love without being loved is depressing.
And last question, I don’t know. It’ll depend on whether I accomplish my previous answer.
Your turn.
Carissima Piccola Rompiscatole,
As usual, you are quite demanding, Ms. Burch. I’ll bite. After all, it cannot be any worse than being on the laundry rotation for the next three months.
The first thing I will do when I get out will depend on how old I am.
The easy answer would be to say I will drink and fuck until I forget my long stint in prison.
However, I think I might prefer to experience what it’s like to be alone again.
I want to curl my toes in a rug. I want to shower without surveillance. I want to sleep without a wake-up call.
First thing I’ll eat…anything made by someone with talent who washes their hands and uses cooking utensils. I don’t care what it is as long as it has intentional flavor and doesn’t look like slop or half chewed before I even touch it.
Can or cup. Don’t care.
Fork or chopsticks. Fork.
Scrub a toilet or a sink pipe. Sink pipe. I’ve seen too many horror stories involving toilets in the last three years.
Be in love or be loved. I doubt it’s in the cards for me either way.
Married or single for life. I’ll have to get married one day. Doesn’t mean I look forward to it.
My questions: Steel or stone? Metal or wood? Guns or roses? Horror stories or tragedies? Money or fame? Infamy or survival?
My choices are as follows: steel, metal, guns, horror, money, survival.
Thank you for the diversion.
Sincerely,
Renzo Iannelli
DEPRESSING
Need I say more?
Those were the simplest questions I’ve ever seen. Put a little more thought and effort into it…unless you’ve got something better to do?
My answers: Stone because it’s never too hot, never too cold.
Wood because I can easily find some myself.
Roses because only their thorns can hurt.
Rip those off, and you’re left with beauty and fragrance.
Tragedies because it’s the least worst of the two.
Money because you can’t live off fame. It always dies off, some way or the other.
And the only one we agree on: Survival because it’s pretty darn self-explanatory.
Your earliest childhood memory? Your favorite childhood pet? Worst teacher and why? Sunsets or sunrises? Supercars or sports?
My earliest childhood memory was a trip to the Muir Woods National Monument with my parents and brother.
Noah carried me on his shoulders, and when pointing out a running animal, I leaned too far forward.
We both tumbled onto the other side of the pathway barrier, me cocooned against his chest. Luckily, he didn’t get hurt, but I decided it was the perfect time to play hide-and-seek behind the trees while he was distracted.
My parents weren’t amused. It was the first time Noah scolded me, yet I can’t help but smile when I think about it.
Favorite pet: Brownie. He was a cocker spaniel that always stuck to me like glue.
Worst teacher: Mr. Jenkins, fifth-grade teacher. The guy always had it out for me.
Sunsets. I like the colors better.
Sports. They’re cheaper than a car, don’t need to be replaced after a few years, good for the body and mind, and have a wide variety.
Until next time.
P.S. Massimo’s been hanging around the house more. It might be a good idea for Tore to hold business elsewhere. Boyan and Lou don’t need that kind of machismo around. Spread the hint, please.
UNRAVEL
I’ve looked at this mystery every which way, and nothing seems to fit. Explain it to me, please.
It’s time to put our hundred-questions game to bed.
I’m sure we’re both tired of coming up with questions after the last few months of this.
There’s just one question left I need you to answer.
Nothing more. Nothing less. After that, it’s done.
I think it’s the one question that’ll help me understand you more than all the others.
Ready? Here it goes.
What happened to you for you to have spared me the day your beloved car went up in flames?
Don’t try to play this off or shut down on me. Please. I think we’ve become decent friends in the last few years. Definitely more than acquaintances. There’s a bond here between us, something that sticks. Don’t go denying it. I’ve chosen to forgive you, but I still want to understand you. Please.
Ainsley,
This story is not a pleasant one. It is not something I like to look back on.
It is not something I will ever forget or forgive myself for.
It is not a truth I have ever confessed to anyone before.
Maybe that is what makes it all the more appropriate to confess to you: another victim of circumstance.
You know Persetta and I don’t share a father. Before her, I had a brother. Giorgi was not a half-brother. He looked like Elio, down to his brown eyes and cleft chin, and I think he was the catalyst from conception to his death for everything that followed.
I was six when he was born, but what I remember of him is vague. I remember my mother’s depression before and after his birth. From what I discovered over the years, my brother was forced on her.
After he was born, she refused to hold him, refused to eat, and refused to come out of her room. She almost overdosed one night after another fight with my father.
Giorgi was a good baby. He barely ever cried. He smiled often, and I liked playing with him. Nannies came and went. I don’t remember any of them lasting long.
One day, no nanny showed up. One thing I remember vividly that day was the way diarrhea exploded out of Giorgi’s diaper and up his back and neck. Elio had been holding him and got it all over his hands.
I remember Elio yelling, Giorgi’s crying, and my disgust. Elio tried to pass me Giorgi.
He wanted me to clean him up. I refused.
I think I told him it was too gross and messy and that it was time for my snack.
I remember him stomping up the stairs and into the bathroom.
I remember the sound of water being pulled through the water pipes.
I don’t remember what snack was worth more than Giorgi’s life.
I don’t remember why I went upstairs after that.
But I remember finding Elio in his office on the phone.
Before that day, he was a father to me. We used to play catch. We laughed together. We used to watch some cartoons together, and he took me to basketball games and tennis matches. After that day, we never did any of those things again.
I remember him looking up at me from his desk, whatever he was saying on the phone dying on his lips. I remember how he stared and frowned. I remember the way his eyes suddenly widened. I remember the way he ran out of the room to the bathroom. I remember his yell.
By then, it was too late. Giorgi was gone. The death certificate has his death ruled as SIDS.
I don’t know how much guilt weighed Elio down, but I have carried mine for twenty-five years.
Giorgi should have lived. He deserved a chance to grow up, and my selfishness took that from him.
I swore to myself I would never be the reason another kid died again.
As I grew up under Elio’s physical abuse, I changed that to include no physical harm to a child.
That is the extent of it. Has this story given you the understanding you wanted? Do you absolve me of my crime with a few Hail Marys? Or has it made you realize I have always been the villain you thought I was?
Sincerely,
Renzo Iannelli
Renzo,
This doesn’t make you a villain. It wasn’t your fault. You have to forgive yourself. You were a kid. A victim of circumstance.
How has that worked for you, piccola rompiscatole? Have you forgiven yourself for Noah? Will you ever?
No, you’re right. I haven’t. I won’t. But I’ve accepted that Noah made those decisions. Not me. There was a better way, and his choice was his own. He was the adult. The responsibility to pick right from wrong was his. Not mine.
I’ve also let go of my anger. I don’t hate you anymore, and you definitely shouldn’t hate yourself for something that was out of your control.
Thank you for telling me.