Rosato

i.

          When I was younger, my parents would fight alot. They would never get physical, they didn't believe in that. I'd often here outbursts in Italian, doors slamming, stomping around and sometimes even glass breaking. My mom would burst into tears and my dad would comfort her, they'd always reassure me that that was just love. Sometimes lovers fight.

          I didn't really question it, at least  not until I got into high school. My parents split houses, they started taking turns with my events and I started doubling up on holidays. I had always reassured myself it was because of their jobs, my mom with her wedding plamning and my father with his corporal office.

          It wasn't until my high school graduation that I finally got back to reality. My parents had been so much happier away from each other and by then they had finalized the divorce.

          I shouldn't have been as shocked as I was, maybe I was just blinded by the tutors and extra studying, the violin and piano lessons, our financial status, maybe I assumed they were together because they were always apart, or maybe I just pretended to be a family because that was all I wanted...

          It was all a childish fantasy anyway.

          For eighteen years I ignored the truth. What was worse was now, after finally revealing the truth they want to get me away from it.

          There wasn't much room to complain or argue when your bags were already packed and complete with a plane ticket to Italy. I didn't know much about my uncle or that side of the family, and suddenly I was being flown to live with him for two years.

          It wasn't that I didn't know enough Italian to live or I didn't think my uncle was trustworthy. I just couldn't get the idea out of my head that something was wrong. For the past few months I had been working my butt off to secure a spot in a good school. Millionaire status aside, I wanted to something to my name other than a few Benjamins. I could speak Italian and English, French and Spanish were getting there. I participated in whatever community charities I had time for, I was an active junior and senior school president, made straight A's, etcetera etcetera. I wasn't perfect, but I tried to be there for everyone. Of course in the end you learn that when you do so much for everyone at a time you never have time to make real friends. In .my case I never got time  to find the real me. My life had always been labeled. Millionaire heiress, straight A student, blah blah blah. When my parents split, the titles didn't matter. I was all alone. Everyone knew my name but no one knew me.

          I stared out the window of the plane, for a moment at the clouds and then to my chestnut irises that stared back through my reflection. It was time to figure out who I was and what I wanted. I would be in Italy for two years and no one would know me. Not a single title would follow me, I didn't have to dress rich or eat rich every day. I didn't have to meet with people and stick to a schedule, it was my first step to becoming my own person.

          The plane ride from New York liberated me. As I crossed seas I dropped my worries. I dropped the need to take care of everyone. I made a blank slate. At that moment I no longer had to think about the divorce. I didn't have to stress over grades or entrance exams, it wasn't interview after interview and I certainly didn't need to worry myself over money. Right then and there, I was free.