Prologue - Salvatore

prologue - salvatore

december 2002

The crooning notes of “A Holly Jolly Christmas” echo in the halls. Stefania’s turned the volume all the way up without caring what the neighbors might say. She gulps down another mouthful from her wine glass and sways along to the jolly music.

The Christmas lights and decorations make her happy.

She’s in unusually high spirits this time of year.

Never mind that she spills wine on the floor or that she stumbles into one of the Christmas trees lined up in the entrance hall and smashes a bauble. It shatters on the floor and she simply staggers away like it never happened. A staff member rushes in seconds later to clean up the mess.

I grit my teeth and stare at the page of math equations I have for homework. Even with headphones on, I can still hear the racket. I can still see Stefania as she stumbles into the kitchen and then starts toward me.

I should’ve been done already. The page shouldn’t be half blank. The assignment’s due tomorrow and it’s already nine o’clock.

But it’s a little hard to concentrate when I’m in a zoo instead of a normal household.

“Hey!” she shrieks. “Salvi! There you are! Come… hic… celebrate with me, sweetheart!”

My scowl deepens, and I shift on the kitchen stool to face away from her.

She doesn’t take the hint. She simply wanders around the kitchen island ’til she’s on the other side and there’s nowhere else to turn.

“C’monnn,” she slurs. Her face is flushed bright red, clashing horribly with her lipstick. She leans closer, thrusting the wine glass toward me. “Have a little sip, Salvi. You’ll like it.”

“Stop it!” I snap. “I’m trying to do my homework.”

“Try it. Just a drop.”

“Ma, I’m twelve .”

“So… hic… what? My mother gave me a little sip here and there when I was your age. Try… try it!”

As she shoves the wine glass in my face to force me to have a taste, I push back and dodge her. The result is a messy back-and-forth where she’s leaning toward me and I’m fighting to escape her. My hand bumps into the wine glass and her grip’s loose enough that it slips right out of her grasp.

The glass shards scatter while the wine splashes onto our clothes.

“Ma!” I shout, my temper raising my voice. “See what you’ve done? You’ve ruined my homework!”

“So… so what?” she snorts, rolling her eyes. “It’s just a sheet of paper, my god. You’re… hic… such a… a sourpuss. Just like your father.”

She staggers away, headed for the pantry where she can wrestle another wine bottle open and drink herself belligerent.

I shake my head, my skin hot from anger and irritation. Crumpling up the sheet of homework, I toss it in the trash and start collecting my things.

It’ll be a zero on the assignment, but it doesn’t even matter anymore.

It’s not like anybody cares. Why should I?

“TURN THAT SHIT OFF!” comes a roar from down the hall.

Lucius has finally emerged from his office. He made it clear earlier he was going to be taking a very important phone call and expected nobody to disturb him.

My pulse picks up speed.

I quickly hoist my backpack over my shoulder and go out the other doorway that leads into the den. I can make my way upstairs once he’s gone into the kitchen and the coast is clear.

“You stupid lush!” his voice echoes. “Look at you. Don’t you get tired of being so disgusting and sloppy?”

“Luc... Lucius…” slurs Stefania. “I’m… celebrating… don’t you want to… hic… join me?”

There’s a big crash and Lucius swears.

“FUCKING HELL! Florina! Get your ass in here and clean up after this bitch!”

I’ve made it from the den to the front hall, darting toward the sprawling staircase and starting my way up.

Some people would be concerned about their mother drinking to the point she can’t see straight. But it’s just another evening at the Mancino residence. Just another holiday season that’s no different than any of the others.

It won’t be long before she passes out somewhere. Last Christmas morning we found her snoring in the rose bushes outside.

She’s no concern of mine when I’m no concern of hers.

Stefania’s my mother by birth only. Otherwise, we’re practically strangers.

I’m only a couple steps up the stairs when the mood in the air darkens. I sense it before I see him. Before I glance down and realize he’s stopped at the foot of the stairs.

He’s wandered out into the hall, knowing I was around somewhere.

“And where the hell do you think you’re going, scarafaggio ?” he rumbles. “You think you can just run off like the sorry sack of shit you are? Get your ass down here and turn off that music!”

It’s still blasting through the house. Stefania turned it on and then left it on full volume.

Tension lances through me, making every move of mine stiff and unnatural.

Lucius watches me take slow steps down the stairs with unmistakable loathing clenched on his pudgy face. He’s a bull liable to charge at any second the closer I get.

When I’m reaching the bottom stair and he can easily snatch me up, it’s like the air’s sucked out of the room. It’s like there’s no room for anything else to exist but his loathing. His pure hatred for me.

I pass him in one piece, still on edge even as I make it to the stereo to turn off the music. My fingers curl around the volume dial and I turn it all the way down ’til Burl Ives’s festive baritone can’t be heard anymore.

I’m turning around to make it back to the stairs when a fist collides with my face. I’m knocked off my feet and sent crashing into the Christmas tree in the corner. Pain radiates through different parts of me. My nose burns and my eyes water. Baubles crack and slice into my arms and the back of my neck. Pine needles do the same as I collapse backwards into the large tree and then struggle wrestling my way out of it.

My breaths sputter out of me at a frantic pace, heart pounding.

Lucius stands like normal, watching me struggle. My blood’s smeared on his knuckles but otherwise you’d never know he just got done decking his son in the nose.

“Don’t give me that look, you little fucker,” he grunts. “You want to act up, then you get what you get. You think I don’t sense your attitude? That you hate my fucking guts? Guess what, scarafaggio ? I hate your fucking guts too. Get out of my sight! Now… before I give you a black eye next!”

I’m tripping over myself to rush out of the room. Get far away from him.

I reach the bottom of the staircase again and then zip up, skipping several steps at a time.

It’s not until I’m slamming shut the door to my bedroom that I stop to draw a breath and try to process what’s happened.

The damn song still rings in my ears. I can still feel the pricks of the baubles and see the twinkling Christmas lights.

Tomorrow morning I’ll have to go back downstairs and pretend it never happened. And if I don’t pretend well enough, then there’ll be more hell to pay.

I wipe more blood from my nose and collapse on my bed.

Just another Christmas in the Mancino household…