The Beginning (The Life 1)

At the smug look of triumph on Victoria’s face, I swear something died inside of me. I didn’t know I had anything left. The human longing to be accepted sure is strong. They’d both shown me over the years that I’d never belong, that they wanted to be rid of me, which makes no sense because they’d alienated everyone who had an interest in me.

Becky looked around my room, probably searching for something else to destroy before turning to her spawn. “Come on, Victoria, your dad bought you something for getting your grade up to a B in English.” Funny, I’ve been getting A+ in almost all my subjects for years, and no one ever gave me shit. Oops! I covered my mouth even though I hadn’t said the word out loud. One of the things I remember vividly about mom was her telling me when I asked after overhearing someone say it is that ladies do not say those types of words.

I looked around at the destruction on my room floor and was surprised to see that I wasn’t as hurt as I usually would’ve been. All I felt was a cold numbness. I’m growing indifferent, I guess, something I’d truly been hoping for, for what seems like forever.

I picked up the pieces of paper with a strong sense of melancholy and hurt, hurt that they'd destroyed the images of my mother. I had more, of course, but the disrespect made me feel powerless.

I dragged my tired self to bed not long after, blocking out the sounds of joy coming from downstairs. I have no interest in seeing what dad had gotten his favorite daughter. I'm sure she'd be only too happy to rub it in my face come morning.

GABRIEL

“Maybe we should ask Lance; he would know.”

“Ask Lance what?” I just came out of my room to find the two of them in the hallway whispering. Pop’s daughters didn’t even flinch when they turned to me, even though I was sure they’d just been caught up to some shit.

“Nothing, just this criminal justice game that he told us about.”

I gave them the squinty-eyed I don’t believe shit look, but they weren’t phased. “Don’t you know about it? It’s this thing where you help solve real crimes.”

“And you two are going to solve crimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying we’re stupid? DAD!” Nice cover; they both took off down the hall to complain to him; bring me up on some trumped up shit’s more like it.

I jogged down the stairs and headed for the kitchen where I found Ma at the stove, spatula in hand, while Sheila, the cook slash executive housekeeper, and queen of fucking everything she beheld, sat at the breakfast nook table with a cup of coffee. “Sheila, you didn’t, not again.” Ma turned to her with a gleam in her eye and a half-smile on her lips.

“I sure the hell did. I told him not to come in my house that time of night again. He’s lucky all he got was a frying pan upside his head.”

“And then what happened?”

“I can’t tell you; the boy is here. Morning Gabriel. You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.” I walked over to kiss ma’s cheek before doing the same with her.

I’m not quite sure how to describe Sheila. She’s employee, friend, family; all rolled into one. The story goes that she was a midwife slash doula who was in the room when the twins were born. Something went hinky, and she disagreed with a call the doctor made, and when he tried to silence her, she’d pushed him out of the way and brought the girls into the world kicking and screaming the natural way instead of the unnecessary C-section the doc wanted to go with.

According to Sheila, the guy didn’t know his head from his ass, but what really pissed her off is that he ignored Ma’s wants in the process. Turns out he was high on some shit and could’ve caused all three, ma and the twins, their lives had Sheila not been there. Pop, who was in the room at the time, hired her days later to be a doula for the girls, offered her more money than she’d have made at her job, and here we are—no need to explain what became of the doc.

She’s been with us since I was about two or three years old, made the move from New York with the family, and now run roughshod over two Russo houses, ours and the grandparents who think she can do no wrong. The twins love her; come to think of it, so do I, which means she’s not going anywhere.

All these years later, I’m still confused as to what she does here because she has a whole bevy of people working under her, which pop has given her carte blanche over. “Morning, son, what are you having for breakfast? Pancakes, waffles, French toast?”