aria sottile || an original essay

Aria Sottile

Caro Ettore,

The American wind rustles my letter as I think about the journey to my new home, my new life; for it was just an impossible dream that I barely reached with the tips of my fingers. Folding the paper into my sack, I look around to see loved ones crying and hugging, for they haven't seen each other in months, years even, but here I am on a lonely ending to this whirl-winded fairytale.

12 February 1892, 15 days before

"Fratello!" I scream giggling, chasing my brother to the ship of opportunity, our sack with only a few valuables beating with a steady pace on my back, Italy's February snowflakes nipping my skin. "Come back!" I snatch the little sibling as he lets out a fit of laughter out into the crisp chilling air, a small cloud forming from his hot breath. I quickly poked his nose and boarded the ship quickly, my vaccinations still stinging and disinfectant ringing my nostrils. Taking a small step back, overwhelmed of first-impressions and not wanting to run into someone else, for we were packed tighter than a Fasci Siciliani strike. A stench stronger than before from a migliaio people, hardly any light to see where my little brother may go on the sea voyage; but I doubt he would leave me, judging on the way he is gripping me so tightly, his knuckles are blanc as the frozen crystals floating outside.

17 February 1892, 10 days before

My brother's vomit odor blended easily to the ship's as he got sea sick once more today and sleeping at the lowest deck isn't helping any, but his hazel eyes slowly open and shut as I sing him his favorite berceuse.

"Ten more sunrises fratello." I breath into his ear, combing through his chocolate locks as he sleepily mumbles a response. Curling next to him, I close my own eyes and dream of the American night sky, how it twinkles so beautifully and freely, how you can stare at the flawless masterpiece every night for hours on end; and I won't have to dream no more about them and can experience them in person. "Ten more." I whisper, being absorbed into a deep sleep.

26 February 1892, 1 day before

"Guardare! Guardare!" A fellow immigrant yelled, pointing to the grand figure of a crowned woman, tears of joy streaming down her face along with the roar of the crowd. I myself felt warm tears slowly moving down my face, as my brother squeezed my hand, for he was too little to understand people having lacrime di gioia. My mind couldn't believe I was finally here, in the home of the free, where dreams become reality.

Minutes turned into hours on the ship for the smaller traghetto, our only way to the island, the tick of an imaginary clock drives me pazzo. Once I heard another ovation come from the now smaller crowd, they shouted words akin to "Libertà!" and "Finalmente!", a gust of wind developed from the ones who ran to board. I felt my arm being tugged to the chaos by my fratello.

"Rifiuto fratello, pazienza." I said as he gave me a frown in return.

Guardianos greeted our traghetto as it docked at the island, shouting a language that I couldn't understand any of, making it way more confusing than I thought. Is this how all Americans speak? A nervous sweat broke on my forehead as all my worries came tumbling, for we can't go back to Italy! My pace of breath quickened as we walked across the gangplank, the guardianos handing me and my brother numbered badges and told us something, unable to understand them, I just nod along.

I gasped along with the other immigrants, for nothing was this grande back in our home country, I found myself getting neck cramps from looking up and around the hall. Brand-new shining railings guided the long line through the hall, the sounds of thousands of voices bounced off the vaulted ceilings, My fratello dragged me to the end of it, smiling like a pazzo uomo.

More men, now in a different uniform, were quickly going through the line tightly gripping a piece of blanc gesso. My brother hid behind me, for he was frightened of dottores, very afraid.

"Shh é bene." I whispered to him, petting his hair as a dottore walked up with slightly widened eyes, looking straight at the boy holding on for dear life and quickly making a 'x' surrounded with a circle on my shoulder and did the same on my fratello, before rushing to the next immigrant behind us. Dazed with confusion, I wiped the powered mark off of myself, forgetting to remove the mark from my brother, which was probably the worst thing I could of forgotten.

"Fiorella Gallo!" I heard my name shouted and I followed the voice owner, who then directed me to an alto tavolo, two men behind behind it. Looking to my right, my fratello was no where to be seen. My heart started to pound before I looked behind to the doors, where he was being rapito by two of the guardianos! I almost cried out to him, or to anyone before his small, young body, turned into the Italian snow I chased him in before we came, and was whisked away by the never-felt breeze, into aria sottile.

The rest of the process was a blur, for now here I am going down the last flight of scala, tears falling down my face for I have lost my own fratella, the only person that I will ever know in my new American, dream-chasing life.

27 February 1892, now

I took out my letter again, some of the tears soaking the paper, and wrote. I wrote a letter telling my cousin how much I hated this place, how much tears I have wasted and how I lost my fratello.

Mio cugino, mai arrivare a Ellis Isola, per lo essere non lo isola di sognare. Lo essere lo isola di pianto.

Volere bene, Fiorella