July fifteenth, nineteen fifty-five
Cleo called me on the telephone this morning.
She had asked if I'd come over to her house tomorrow. I told her yes, but I would need a ride. She lives on the other side of this particular part of town, and I can't walk for very long, as my legs are weak.
She told me she would have her chauffeur come pick me up. At least, now I don't have to try and convince my mom or Monica for a ride.
July sixteenth, nineteen fifty-five
Somebody Cleo's family hired came over to my house. "Are you Ms. Julia Phelps?" he asked. I nodded. I do know my name in English, but I primarily speak Italian. He motioned for me to get in the vehicle, so I did. While he drove, I read a comic book about a man with super-speed. It came out the year I was born, so it is not new, but I found it at the library here in Salem. After a while, he stopped the auto. I got out and knocked on the door. One of the workers that Cleo's family employs answered, and chauffeured me in. I walked in Cleo's room, and said "hello". She looked over, and said "Julia?" She smiled a little smirk. "So, how are you doing, Julia?" Cleo asked me. "I'm doing well, thank you." I replied. Cleo is the only one who even bothered to learn Italian outside of my family.
