Sweetlings

I can't believe it's been almost two months since I last posted something here. It happens to me always, I close my eyes and when I open them again half a lifetime has already passed. I wonder if someone missed me while I was gone but realize they would have contacted me if they did.

I'm in Rome, I've been here for a couple of weeks with my dad. He acts as if nothing has happened between us, like I wasn't away from him for almost a year without calling. In a way it's a good thing, I can pretend too and be that little innocent girl I was for so long.

He's promised to take me to Milano soon, I remember lazy lunches at the Rinascente in the middle of the hot summer and how he would buy me pretty things just because he loved me.

Desperado

Darlings. I know I've been silent for a long time now, but I've been reading your comments and as always they make me smile. I wish I could say that something has happened while I was gone but I only needed some time and space for myself. I sometimes need to get away from everything and everyone and pretend like nobody knows me or who I am. I can walk around any city feeling like a stranger to everybody and it's very liberating.

The last couple of weeks I've missed New York, and Avy. Never Los Angeles, never my mom, always my dad. He's always been good to me even though he doesn't understand me anymore, maybe I need to give him a chance to get to know me again. I think I'll be going back soon, back to America, I need to see people that know and love me. I'm tired of being away from everything and everyone, feeling like a total stranger.

Daddy's gone

The only thing that hurts here is missing my family. They might not always deserve it but they are my blood and all my childhood memories. It's Christmas now and everything comes back so easily. I remember the night my father said he was going out, on the 24th, and I thought he'd be back in an hour or two.

He wasn't, he was gone for a week and didn't say a word about where he had been. I was little enough to forget about it but old enough to wonder if something was wrong. I guess I've known it for a long time but it's hard to admit that things aren't as perfect as you thought they were. Innocence was always made to die.

Babbo Natale

I've never been good with change, I like to keep things the way they are even when I'm not really happy. Not that I'm an unhappy person, I'm just a little bit dark and I think I've always been.

The biggest change in my life, of course, was moving away from Italy. America meant nothing to me then, I didn't know what was waiting on the other side of that ocean. And I remember my last Italian Christmas like it was yesterday. How everyone was there, my whole family, my parents, my cousin.

They were fantastic times, nothing has ever come close to it since. Maybe it's like that for everyone, that a childhood always glows like diamonds as we get older, but that's the way I truly remember it. And I'm afraid that I'll never feel like that again, even though I may be happier in another way.

Dad got me a silver necklace, I still wear it sometimes. It reminds me of how beautiful everything seemed and how I thought it would never change.

Growing up, growing old

The word "winter" doesn't mean much in Los Angeles, it's 85 degrees out and I'm hiding behind the blinds in my room. Mom is out by the pool as always, it doesn't matter to her that she already looks like a gingerbread woman. I prefer milk for my own skin.

Dad called yesterday, I picked up and he sounded glad to hear my voice. I almost started crying, I miss him and mostly I miss the bond we shared when I was little. He always cared about me and I know he still does but lately we've grown apart. It's the worst feeling in the world and I don't know what to do about it. There's nothing I can do I guess, it's all a part of growing up, as awful as that seems.

On speaking terms

You want to see my drawings, and I'd love the show them to you but I need to ask her first. I don't have the courage to even speak to her yet, but I will, some day.

Communication seems so easy from a distance, you imagine the things you want to say and then when you stand there in front of them you can only remember a fraction of it. Why is that? Some people seem born with the ability to speak, like our president. Does that make them better than the rest of us? I used to think so but now I'm not so sure.

Dad has been gone for a while, in Europe they tell me. Mom lounges around the house in her robe like a movie star but we both know all she ever did in life was marry a rich man. For a long time it was what I wanted too, and I'm happy that things sometimes change.

Square one

I came home yesterday, to Los Angeles. I rang the door bell, my mother let me in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "He isn't here" she said, referring to my father, before I even asked. I had been away for months and at dinner a couple of hours later it was as if nothing had happened. No one asked me where I had been, what I had done, how I was. Mom talked about herself and Salvatore sat in silence for an hour.

I would have felt guilty, but she talked to me, not just past me like she usually does. I guess it means she cares somehow, maybe even that she missed me, but she didn't have the courage to ask any questions.

And speaking of courage, I'm tired of hiding behind a letter. I did it to protect my family but I'm not sure what from. My name isn't just S, it's Stephanie. Hello everyone.

Do you still fear me?

I know that my dad made a very brave decision when he left most of his family behind and moved to America. I also get the feeling that he probably had to, because that's how things work here. Kay said it best in The Godfather: it never ends. That's why it hurt me when I realized that even his friends resented him for leaving, they saw it as giving up.

And maybe he did, but if he hadn't, who knows what would have happened. I feel it sometimes when I meet people from the past, they look at me in a certain way, as if I'm him even though I was just a few years old when we left. I have so much to prove, and not only to myself, but the worst part is I can never expect them to understand.

To call or not to call

I'm going slightly crazy here. For days now I've been walking around with that little piece of paper in my pocket, not knowing if to call the number or not. I want to, I really do, but it's not the right thing because of sweet Henry. He doesn't deserve it, not that he's always been good to me but he's never meant to hurt me either. Oh, I wish there was an easy way out of this but if I just let it go I won't be able to stop thinking about it.

On a lighter note, daddy apparently met with some high executive at Versace in Europe because he came home with a bed cover and a nightgown from their sold out H&M collections. I know he's trying to buy his way into my life, but it's working so well I don't even want to care. At least he's making an effort, right?