Passport to Him

TRAVELING TO MULTIPLE ORGASMS, HERE I CUM WITH MY PENIS PASSPORT

The garage was alwaysmy Da’s space: working on cars and various lawn equipment. All his tools are all packed up and everything is off the walls. The once packed to the ceiling garage is now a now dark, dim, and bare version of what it once was. The Florida heat shined down and became an oppressive mugginess that made me sweat through my tank top. I wiped the sweat off my brow before its saltiness could invade my eyes. I released a deep exhale of breath before something caught my eye. As I walk closer, an old cardboard box sat in front of me as “Mia” in bold letters came into clear view.

“Mia,” I whisper.

I looked around as if I was a child about to look at something I have been sworn to never look at again. In truth, that’s how I felt. Not once have I seen this box much less my mother’s name, in my father’s handwriting. I kneel down beside the box and wipe off the years of layers of dust coating the cardboard. As I open the box, I see a framed wedding photo of my parents. I hold the golden leafed photo frame in my hands and study my parent’s face carefully. Their young faces in their wedding attire, as they stood in front church pews. I have seen this photo so many times, but yet every time I see it, it’s like the first time. My mother looked angelic, elegant, glowing. Her hair the same chestnut brown color as mine. The same baby hairs that flew in the wind next to her temple. Her eyes a subtle moss green that matched mine. She was beautiful. I was always told that she had the beauty of an ethereal goddess, the brain of a professor, and the mouth of a sailor. I have also been told I am my mother’s daughter, and I am a hundred percent sure that we both were our mother’s daughter.

Underneath the photo frame was items I have never seen before. A purple chenille sweater I recognized from the photograph of my mother. It sat loosely on the bed next to her as she held me as a newborn in the hospital. I gather the soft fabric in my hands and bring it up to my nose. Her perfume is still faintly ingrained in the threads. Her perfume. It’s the closest I have ever felt to my mother. She was real. I let out a breathy giggle as contentment and warmth filled my heart. A glistening reflection from the sun hits against a small silver box inside the chest. I furrow my brows in confusion and hold it gingerly in my hands. The ornate pewter silver box was obviously an antique. I flip it over in my hands as I closely examine it’s claw feet and fleur-de-lis design on its metal sides. Running my fingers apprehensively against the silver roses on top of the lid, I release a deep nervous breath. I lift the lid gingerly with my fingers unsure of what lay inside. My eyes squinted in bewilderment. It was by all looks and certainty a leather-bound journal. It was old. Nothing more apparent than by its torn leather edge showing its rust-colored pages inside. I lift it carefully to see what lies underneath and am shocked to see a black and white photograph that I have never seen before. A young woman in a white summer dress and straw hat with roses adorned down the side of it. The dapper man next to her in a suit and tie posing with a sailboat in the background. I collapse to my knees in shock. There is no mistake. This couple is my grandparents. I run my finger along the letters written at the bottom: Sicily, 1966.

“Nonna, Nonno,” I whisper, before jumping at someone’s voice behind me.

“We are ready to go,” Carol says nonchalantly.

“Jesus fuck me,” I seethe, my body stiffening in surprise.

I throw the journal inside the box in my hands. Her brows furrow and her lips purse together in amusement.

“Oh yeah,” she sings sarcastically.

“You scared the shit out of me,” I say, standing up and putting the silver box back into the cardboard box behind me.

“Your father is all loaded in my car. You sure you are okay with me dropping him off?” she asks.

“Yeah, absolutely. I’ll settle him in,” I say, nodding in certainty.

I grab the purple sweater and begin packing it up as if it was untouched. I am a grown woman, yet I feel at any moment my father will come in and catch me in the act.

“For what’s it worth, I am sorry about you and Lucas. I know you two were together a long time,” she tells me.

“Yeah, just shows time isn’t everything. Vagina is,” I say sarcastically.

“Lucas will realize what he missed out on,” she states.

“If he does or doesn’t that’s on him. I had a lot of time to think on the road and any man okay with what he said to me, isn’t worth it no matter how long we were together,” I say, heaving the small box of my mother’s belongings into my hands.

“I’m glad. Listen, you get your dad settled after I drop him off with you and I’ll come back and make the last trip to storage,” she offers.

“Really?” I ask, in surprise.

“Of course,” she says.

“That would be great,” I say appreciatively.

Before I can pass her out of the garage, she stops me. I meet her concerned yet gentle gaze in my direction. My friend and I separated for years but that look she gave me I always recognized.

“Your father doesn’t know I went into the attic and got that box. I know how much it would mean to you,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” I breathe.

* * *

As I walk upto the two-story brick building, my father waiting for me on the sidewalk as he holds onto his walker with his trembling hands.

“Nice car, Amee,” he said sarcastically.

“Thanks, some old kook got it for me,” an amused chuckle escaping my mouth.

“Old kook, ha! You need a new one. Let me help you get a new car, Amee,” he says.

“Absolutely not,” I reply, steadying the side of his walker closest to me.

“I have to go get to the storage unit, but I will check on you guys later,” Carol tells us.

“Thank you,” my father and I say in unison.

She walks off in the direction of her Jeep in the parking lot and I focus my attention to the building in front of me. A nurse is helping an elderly lady walk with her cane around the garden beside us. I look over at my father, who seems unsure of himself.

“You can garden, da,” I suggest, pointing out at the hydrangeas, lavender, and roses in full bloom around us.

“Wouldn’t that make Nonna happy,” he states skeptically.