Unforeseen

1919 - Atlantic City, New Jersey

I found myself making more changes once I got back to America, instead of Chicago, I settled inAtlantic City. Instead of a small house, I rented a tiny apartment located above a family-ownedrestaurant. The apartment was split into three small rooms. One was set up for a kitchen, one for a bathroom, and the last, being the biggest in size was the equivalent of the kitchen and bathroom combined. And it was considered a bedroom and a living room.

Upon first entering the apartment you were standing in the kitchen. There was a small hallway that veered off to the right, leading down to the bathroom – which was on your left – followed by the bedroom and living room combination. There was a small bed slid up against the wall on the one side of the room, and a tiny round table with two chairs shoved up against the other. I had only two windows in the apartment which both displayedbalconies.

The first, located in the opposing end of thekitchen, opened to reveal a less than spacious terrace in which you had to crawl out of the window to access. If I looked directly down, I could see the hustle of the street and the strolling of the sidewalk huggers. While the view in front of me stood more buildings that lined the block in an endless fashion.I could also see the opposite side of the street if I hung my head out.

The second, however, which was located at the opposite end of the apartment, in my bedroom,faced an entirely different direction showing me abooming park several streets up. And to my satisfaction, I did not find myself having to crawl through a window to use its balcony. But the best part of the whole place was the top level. Down the hall outside my apartment was a set of stairs leading up onto the roof of the building. The previous owners had graciously left a couple of old lounging chairs up there. Apparently, they used to sit and watch the stars at night; I found it was breathtaking to watch the sunset.

Along with all that, I also began a new job, instead of working at a flower shop, I worked for the restaurant under my apartment. When I first arrived back, I wandered the streets stopping at many places inquiring about jobs and shelters. Until the owners of "Greco's Garganelli" decided to hire me as they were in desperate need of a waitress.

The Greco's owned the apartment above the restaurant, and although it had been vacant for some time, they seemed hesitant about letting a nonfamily member live there. Upon hearing that I was homeless they decided to make an agreement with me, I could rent the apartment off of them if I worked at the restaurant. I graciously accepted the offer; I assumed that agreeing to this arrangement meant they could keep an eye on me until I gained their trust. These contributing factors were both simple and convenient.

I was expected in the restaurant at noon, for when they opened, and I worked until the last customer left and the doors were locked up tight. Usually, though I stayed after hours to help with clean up, the Greco's mother's husband had moved on to the afterlife many years ago so she passed the time by helping out at the restaurant in any way she could.

They called her "Nannina" which is an endearing term meaning "little grandmother." At night I would find her scrubbing the dishes, and although I wasn't getting paid to, I enjoyed helping her with them. We would speak in Italian; she would tell me stories of her youth and her life both here and back home. She was a very sweet lady. I however tried not to discuss my past events of when I was a teen although her stubbornness would try to persuade me otherwise. 

One night, after a long day of fussy customers and many dishes I collected my things to head homewhen I was abruptly stopped by the owner's wife, Giorgia, who handed me a rather large box that clanged as it was changing hands.

"What's this?" I asked, very much surprised to be receiving something from someone. 

"Not to worry dear, just some things we thought might come in handy," Giorgia said looking off to her right. 

Following her gaze to see what caught her attention I saw Nannina standing at the back of the restaurant leaning against the door to the kitchen.She had the biggest smile on her face.

"Oh...okay, well...thank you very much." I couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive as I stammered with my words before leaving.

 Reaching my apartment, I immediately wanted to tear into the curiously sounding box, but before I had the chance, I was reunited with the foul smell coming from my apron. At last, I could bear it no longer. It was the mixed stench of spilled wine, pasta, and baby upchuck. I rushed out of my apartment and past the rooftop staircase. Shoved back in the corner behind the stairs were the washer and dryer. It was at this current moment I was thankful for it being hidden away back there; it was embarrassing to be associated with an odor such as this. Quickly tossing the apron inside I attempted to drown it in a more than normal dose of detergent. Thank goodness for Giorgia keeping the laundry area stocked with all the necessary items.

After beginning the wash cycle, I slowly made my way back into the apartment. If it wasn't for me leaving the mysterious box in the middle of the floor, I might've forgotten about it completely. Taking a campfire style seat next to the gift on the black and white tile, I slowly began to open it. I found inside a set of pots and pans, dishware, silverware, and some cooking utensils.

They shined so brightly it was as if they were brand new. I was immediately overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gifts. I needed these so badly. I had only one dish, one bowl, a cup, and a spoon in my tiny cupboard. But how did they know? How did they know I needed them? 

~

One day some weeks ago I thought I was losing my mind because when I came home from work one of my kitchen cabinets stood slightly open, and I would've never left it like that. My mind began to race against the rapid beating of my heart to see who would lay victor over the other. I had searched my apartment that day holding dearly to an old baseball bat one of the boys down the street gave me for protection. Looking in every nook and cranny I found no one and eventually decided to give up and tell myself to relax. I had probably just left it open rushing out the door for work. That explanation seemed to calm my nerves a good bit. That was then, this is now and I know one hundred percent, as I did back then, that I had not left my cabinet door open. Someone had been in my apartment.

Should I be flattered or concerned that they had entered my home without my permission even though they did technically own it? Should I feel a sense of relief that they cared enough to go the extra mile and check up on me or should I be afraid? Cold sweats began to flood my body as a wave of anxiety came over me. With the uneasiness I wondered if I should still even accept the gifts.