Homecoming (Sequel)

IV. Bipolar Rollercoaster

Last update of 2015, with half an hour to spare. After three months of slack, finally I again can upload. (I will put in italics later)

A small side note: since I haven't fully rewritten By My Side yet, some things about this chapter and the next may be a bit strange, but all is meant and will be explained. As for the mention of "bipolar", a term I don't throw about carelessly when it is not appropriate to the situation, that will be explained in By My Side. But, for reading purposes, I will give you a short summary. Demetria  will still end up in the hospital after the incident with daddy dearest, however, there she will be diagnosed with Bipolar  Type II disorder (I did my research, don't worry). It serves as a foundation for her underlying problems.

Hope you enjoy!

Xo Dionne

_________________________

Domenico didnʼt want to let go of his new uncle, or ʻZio Tweʼ, and cuddled into his sculpted chest as if it were a bed of clouds. All the way through the tour I gave Tré over the homestead grounds, he was captured by an excitedly-babbling toddler who, speaking in his own little language, didnʼt really make sense to anyone but himself and occasionally me.
"Di, what does ʻpecoraʼ mean? I donʼt understand what the hell heʼs saying to me..." Tré amusedly frowned at me while the toddler giggled up at him, with his favorite blue dummy dangerously balancing in between his little milk teeth. The sight was heart-warming: Tré was a product of Rodeo, and unknowingly, he let my son experience a little piece of it. It was something that tied Mimmo not only to Rodeo, my previous home, but also to his father. Even if Domenico was too young to understand...
"Pecora means ʻsheepʼ," I clarified, brushing a tuff of hair from my sonʼs bubbly face. "He wants to see the little lammies weʼve got. Heʼs propa buzzinʼ ʻbout them, like..."
"Yeah?" Tré smiled softly.
"He sees them as human beinʼs he can cuddle with, not as animals that are scared oʼ an excited toddler that wants to crush them in an embrace...Itʼs canny sweet."
We abided to Domenicoʼs wishes and crossed through the garage, ending back up in the driveway – the sheep pen formed the very end. Domenico struggled against Tréʼs muscly grip at the sound of yammering sheep, to the point where Tré had no choice but to set him down on the ground. But before he could waddle off and fail at opening the gate, I lowered to his level. Those precious bug-eyes stared back at me with that childish curiosity and life.
"Promise me youʼll be a good boy and not hurt the sheep?"
"Si, mamma," he nodded, his words muffled by the dummy. Before I could drown in the sight of his sweet dimples, I opened the snap lock on the gate. The sheep, foreseeing the stranger-danger when Domenico raced inside, kicked into a sprint at the sight of the toddler. All Domenico could do, was giggle loudly.
I turned to the Californian with a questioning-eye. "Do ya mind keepinʼ an eye on him while I freshen up?"
He nodded happily and even dared to go in the pen with the bubbly child. I trusted Tré to be responsible enough to watch his best friendʼs son and not let own childish nature get the better of him. While they scared the life out of those poor sheep, I went to the homestead. I left my Stetson in the washing room before walking into the cozy kitchen, where the ingredients for tonightʼs lasagna were already stacked on the counter. Mam wasnʼt there, but I figured I would see her after I took a shower. She wouldnʼt appreciate the smell of sweat and cow mixing with her melange of Italian cuisine.
A feeling of extreme relief filled me as the mud was washed off my skin by the hot jets pouring out of a pauper shower head. I again felt like a real human, a woman even, instead of the grimy truckers that were regulars in the Owl Creek Pub. But even though the musterʼs grime was taken away, the look Uncle Niall had given me before, was something I could not shake. He was distrusting of Tréʼs motives, and just by the look on their faces, I knew both country boys were as well. Seeing the buff Californian after two years, it filled me with a kind of glee that was rare in these times. But I too was confused. What had triggered him to set his filthy Converse on my great grandfatherʼs land? He had fleetingly expressed that he just stopped by to pay me a visit, though, that wasnʼt quite believable. Seeing as he shouldnʼt even have known where I was. And if Tré knew...who else knew? That question kept on bubbling in my mind while I changed into some airy shorts and a tee. Over time, I had gotten used to the cold chill flowing through my veins that came with being chased down like a fluffy bunny. But with Tré having a piece of key knowledge, I did not deem myself as safe as I had hours before.
I didnʼt even bother putting on makeup before I trotted down the stairs. The bronze that glowed on my face covered the majority of blemishes I had and my freckles had multiplied due to the blazing sun. The need to cover up the insomnia and drug-use that had worn down my skin was non-existent. I had learned to appreciate my face without the raccoon-eyes and concealer. Besides, when living a farm life, makeup was only terribly inconvenient. Downstairs, the hallway was overrun by an overpowering smell of Mediterranean herbs and tomatoes. Mam had installed herself behind the kitchen counter, an apron tied around her waist, and her hands were busily mutilating sticks of harmless celery.
"Ciao, duci," she smiled, as her words formed in a beautiful mix of Germanic and Roman. "Glad ya at least had the decency to gan up the dancers and freshen yerself up. Those lads came droppinʼ all their mud on thʼfloor, grabbed a pint, complained about beinʼ clamming and off they went."
"Iʼm not a heathen, Mam."
"Nee, youʼre a beautiful lass. Bella donna," she grinned. But it soon faltered when I stood on the toes of my boots to reach for a glass, and it was replaced by a small, motherly gasp. "Madonna Santa, cosʼè quello?"
Her hands, reminding me that cold skin was a hereditary trait in the Crosby side of the family tree, touched my back, where my blouse had ruffled up. Whereas my back had immediately started to hurt after impact with the ground, as a result of hours in the saddle, my muscles had frozen, making it ache ten times more.
"I fell off Napoleon...He bucked and I wasnʼt prepared foʼ it..." I heaved as she lightly pressed down into my skin. Even when she grazed over it, I had to bite my tongue.
"Itʼs canny bruised, pet," she noted. "Half yer lower back is blue..."
When I struggled to look down over my shoulder, I sighed in agreement. "Exactly what I needed...now I cannae do the simplest chores..."
"Maybies the spirits are tellinʼ ya somethinʼ..." She trailed while her hands roused through the overhead cupboard, and pulled out a small bottle.
"That I should had me pash, I know," I grumbled as she spread out the familiar gel substance over the bruised skin. "But I cannae sit on me arse when there is a canny load oʼ work to dee ʻround here."
"Itʼs called delegatinʼ...thatʼs why we hauled in those two lads, innit?" She mused. "Besides, I think some down-time would help ya...Yaʼve been workinʼ loads..."
"A full day with Mimmo does sound propa mint..."
"Did ya leave him with Tré?" She asked, lowering my blouse. "I figured he would be superglued to yer side foʼ a few days."
I pulled out a chair for myself. "On the contrary: he didnʼt wannu leave Tréʼs side."
"He seems like a nice lad."
"He is," I assured. "A bit oʼ a wanker sometimes, but nice all the same."
"You divvinʼ speak too much oʼ him...The little yaʼve spoken about Rodeo, heʼs always hardly a speckle in yer stories." She chose her words carefully, the syllables landing out in the open softly and slowly, apprehensive of the reaction they would provoke. It wasnʼt often she brought up that aspect of my fragmented past, but when she did, she always had a reason for it. I wondered what it was this time.
"I mean...It must not all have been bad..."
"No...In fact, a lot oʼ it was actually pretty canny." Involuntarily, a weak smile twitched at my lips. But it soon faltered as the salty tears attempted to prick my eyes.
"Then why donʼt ya speak oʼ it?" She had laid down her knife and faced me, monitoring me with her gentle doe-eyes. Eyes that had seen more pain than I had.
"You know why," I whispered. "Non posso parlarne. Di che cosa mi ricorda tanto di lui."
"Talkinʼ heals the soul, bairn. Even oʼ what hurts one the most. Whereas secrets only burden. But who am I to talk?" Her expression softened as a husky chuckle rolled over her lips. "As it was us who gave ya the way oʼ keepinʼ secrets. But itʼs easier to hide behind a lie, than to see life foʼ what it really is. I see the secrets you bear, though I divvinʼ know them all. Me greatest wish is too dissolve them, to see ya smile ʻgain."
My mind was void of words, and I felt she knew. Mam had a knack for reading people, as did the rest of my family. She sat down next to me, smiling gently as her hand wrapped around mine. The golden band that once meant a union in holy matrimony still circled around her finger, cold at the touch, but hot with memories.
"I have two girls, ya see? One once a bubbly bairn in the streets oʼ Murriali, ʻla ragazza più bella che avessero mai vistoʼ, with curls oʼ golden brown and eyes as blue as the ocean as she sold shells to the foreign folk," she smiled. But her gaze turned grave soon after. "And the other? A young-woman, scarred by others, by the life she was thrown into. Scarred by the wrong-doinʼs oʼ her parents. Torn ʻtween cultures, homes, a restless soul stuck in a cage while livinʼ a life oʼ fear. I thought he would bring back at least somethinʼ oʼ that sweet child I once had...bring back some oʼ the good life you must have had in the spring of yer love..."
I frowned at her as her words spun in my mind, but she nodded before I could voice out my thoughts. "Yes," she spoke softly. "I knew he was ganninʼ come here. He called ahead this morninʼ, sayinʼ he was in the toon and askinʼ if it would be alreet foʼ him to come owa..."
Swirls of guilt filled the honey in her eyes, the small stars I too owned dimming as she met my gaze. But I did not care for her guilt, for as my body started to burn, I knew I was too angry to feel anything of the sorts.
"Madonna Santa," I whispered hotly. "Cosʼ hai fatto? Avete qualche idea di come questo sia stupido? Due anni di segretezza, vivere come un eremita, perché cazzo ho fatto a passare attraverso che tutto questo tempo in cui, con una semplice telefonata, ti sei scopato il tutto?"
My hands started to shake, my body burning brightly in the heat of this afternoon as my tongue rambled fastly. Feelings of this intense nature I had not had in a long time, and thus, I could not handle them. Mam grasped my hand tighter in hers.
"I know youʼre angry, duci," she spoke. "But remember what Dr. Hart said last time ya visited...You cannae keep hidinʼ yerself away forever."
"I canʼt believe this..." I ripped my hand out from underneath hers, and accompanied by the strong thump of my boots on the tiles, I grasped my hat from the laundry room and marched out. Mam did not come after me, she knew better than to aggravate me further.
I did not go far. My boots halted when they reached a distance as close as that to the veranda, just a walk to the other end of the house. But I did not need a long walk to release this anger I felt. This small distance would suffice, for the view it granted me was one I loved more than others I had seen. In front of my eyes, a field of grass, still green, surrounded by an arsenal of gum trees, softly waving in the soft summer breeze as its leaves dimmed the bright sun light before it shone against the old homestead. I sat down on the top of the steps, perching my trusted Stetson upon my hair. Mam was not wrong in telling me I was a liar. These pale blonde locks too were a lie I hid behind. They hid the memory of a head once topped with waves almost a Satanic black. A head which I had seen my darkest hours with, as well as my fairest. All too be disguised by a strong dye-job and herbal shampoo. I was tired of these lies, but my heart as well as my head knew I could not stop them just yet, no matter how much I wanted to.
"Amo mamma."
Just like that, the wisps of anger were vaporized at the sound of my sonʼs songful voice, the intense feelings cut off by the head and leveled. Domenico was clutching onto Tréʼs hand, smiling up to the strong lad with a grin that I was sure would one day hold two rows of endearingly crooked teeth.
"I love your mommy too, buddy," Tré nodded, matching Mimmoʼs excited tone. They almost seemed like equals in this instance. "But who canʼt love your mommy? Sheʼs perfect."
"Bewtiful," Mimmo cooed.
Tréʼs eyes flickered over to my slouching figure, and he amusedly winked at me before halting the little boy in his excited step. "Why donʼt you go pick a flower for your mommy? I think sheʼll like that very much."
Domenico nodded swiftly, immediately racing through the green field to begin his search. He was always happy to accept simple tasks, for he viewed them as life-changing. Tré sat down next to me, wiping some mud from his jeans that he mustʼve gained from chasing Mimmo through the sheep pen – I wouldʼve expected nothing less from him.
"I can see so much of BJ in that kid, itʼs unreal," he laughed, his eyes showing nothing but glee. "Itʼs not even because he is almost a clone, just his personality...itʼs that same happy smart-assery the grown-up version throws my way."
"I know reet?" I managed to smile. In fact, I was happy my son resembled his father more than me. For the majority of Luciano-traits was not something I wished to bestow upon him.
"We were just mucking about in the sheep thing, the boy running after those poor animals maniacally. When he finally managed to hug a beast, he started laughing just like Beej. Though high-pitched, it was eerily identical," he laughed. "Kind of expect him to drop a 'yʼknowʼ any second..."
Out of his pocket, he grabbed a beat-up Marlboro packet, used devotedly, and a lighter with adult decoration that could rival Aliceʼs national treasures. He offered me one, but I refused politely. I hadnʼt touched a cigarette in two years – I had only come in contact with the smoke the truckers vaporized in the pub on the odd occasion I found myself leaving the ranch.
"Kicked the habit?" He smirked. "Ah well...Guess itʼs better you do anyway. Having a kid and all. As for me, I donʼt think my kind of lifestyle suits being straight-edge."
"Sex, drugs, Rock 'N Roll," I retorted dryly.
"Drugs and rock, yes. Sex, not so much these days," he mused as he lit a smoke. "Have only the comfort of me own hand."
"Thanks foʼ the intel, mate."
He laughed huskily, letting a wave of smoke escape from his lips. I had always found it fascinating to watch others smoke, even though I refrained from it myself. Maybe that was all the more a reason why I did.
"You okay? You seem a bit off..."
"Wey-aye." I nodded gently. The tiff with Mam wasnʼt something he needed to know. "Itʼs just been a long few days."
"I would think so...Chasing a bunch of cows through the state...Rather you than me..." he trailed. "But...when I see what you see every day...such a vast amount of land, untouched by civilization, and yet so beautiful...I can imagine what gets you get up every morning."
"What do you think?"
"Freedom," he spoke clearly. "Run around, let your soul be restless here, where you have space to free. To be who you are without fear."
"Wey-aye, that sounds like us, alreet..." I breathed.
"I know your soul more than one would first assume, Volcano." He slightly smirked. "Youʼre a wild one. A free spirit. You go where the wind tells you to. It made it easy for me to find you."
"Come mai?" Even though Mam had thus invited him in, still the question remained.
"Even though your heart is restless, you still have roots. You need them more than you realize, and I presume after what I donʼt know happened, the first thing youʼd do, was go back home. If not here, than Sicily..."
"You wouldʼve gone to Sicily to find us?" It was a stupid question, I knew before I even asked what the answer was. Of course he would.
He nodded. "The plans were already made to go. I didnʼt know where the hell to start looking, but I wouldʼve gone if I hadnʼt found you here."
"Do they know youʼre here?"
"No," he said, and I found myself feeling extremely relieved. "They think I went to Germany to visit my fam. If Iʼd told them I was gonʼ look for your ass, I wouldnʼt be out here on my own..."
"And I was stupid enough to think that, when I left, I could vanish like a ghost, me name becominʼ nothinʼ but a soft whisper in oneʼs ear. Only to be forgotten," I chuckled sadly.
"To forget you, especially for the ones who loved you as much as he did, that is an impossible task..." He sent me a small, but healing smile. "You carved your name into our souls, one that can never be erased, even if that would be so much easier."
His eyes found Domenico, his smile growing as he saw the boy pick a flower, and then throw it away again for it lacked beauty. "That boy...he knows nothing of pain, no sadness, no fear...one would wish we all could be like that. Our slates clean, still so innocent."
"His innocence is me greatest treasure," I spoke, my hand circling around the necklaces that decorated my collarbones in old habit. "When I see him, it almost makes me think that there is only good in the world. Foʼ no world littered with vile could be chosen to have such innocence brought upon it. When I see him, I almost believe that danger doesnʼt exist anymore..."
"I know you said in your letter that you left because you had to, because something bad would happen if you stayed...What was it? Why couldnʼt you tell us?" I could hear that the question had been on his mind ever since he stepped foot upon the property, maybe even longer...
"They only wanted me." I closed my eyes, feeling that same fear I had two years ago creep back in. "I could live with meself beinʼ hunted down like a bunny to the foxes...but I dee not wish that fate upon the ones I love..."
"And if you told us the why-ohʼs and the where-toʼs, we too wouldʼve been wearing bullʼs eyes on our backs..." He reasoned further. "Bullʼs eyes probably unable to be erased by the Detroit popoʼs..."
My lips quirked slightly at Tréʼs knack for always humoring, even when the situation did not call for it. "Trust me, mate. I wouldʼve run owa to the police, if I hadnʼt known that fightinʼ great white sharks with goldfishes would be utterly useless."
"If you couldʼve, you wouldʼve stayed right?"
"Yeah." If, being the key thing that made my heart feel so heavy. There was no ʻifʼ.
Finally, after minutes of frantically searching, Domenico seemed to have completed his mission. Under the motherly rays of the sun, she guided him to me, his hand filled with a little bouquet of fresh daisies – his grin, so familiar, bringing its own light to my hidden sorrow.
"Mamma, fiore." He presented the flowers to me, copying what he had seen the savannah animals do in front of Pride Rock as he bowed to me. "Mamma, angela, regina."
I took the daisies from his hand, and thus, he climbed upon my waiting lap, curling against my chest as though he were still a newborn baby. His head of black curls tickled my skin as he sucked on his dummy, lashes fluttering as slumber threatened to overthrow him.
"Grazie mille, dolce principe, mi piacciono così."
"Does he only speak Italian?" Tré inquired curiously, looking at the tired child in my arms.
"No, he too conjures up a word oʼ English sometimes," I noted, brushing through his silky curls. "But it is only fair to see some of yerself in yer bairn, and as he got the looks and ways oʼ his dad, it seems he has a fondness foʼ my heritage."
The peaceful state my son had succumbed to did not last long, for soon enough, the first hiccups of distress came ascending his throat and voiced to everything our Mother had created. The trees, the papery butterflies, all must know that he was not content. I was used to his wails of protest, as had turned into an every day practice; though, at such times, I resented that he too had gotten his fatherʼs strong lungs.
"Someoneʼs been playinʼ too hard," I humored. Tré, who seemed to be slightly baffled at the amount of noise that came out of such a little ball of curls, uncomfortably stood up with me, hands in his front pockets, and didnʼt seem to know whether to do something or not.
Mam was still in the kitchen, I could hear her hum old Sicilian fishermenʼs songs from the laundry room, and when she in turn heard the wailing of her grandchild come closer, she poked her head round the corner. Tré quickly put out his cigarette before Mam saw, but by the amused glint in her eye, I knew she knew of Tréʼs habits – but she did not fuss. Instead, she gestured us into the kitchen, where she, an experienced nanny, had an arsenal of baby gear ready and waiting on the kitchen table, amongst all the ingredients for tonightʼs dinner. One of them being a plush tiger, that the loud siren in my arm had dubbed as ʻSimbaʼ – even though it failed being a proud lion –, that she wiggled in front of his sweet nose to evoke some of his giddy-natured giggles, but they failed to bubble up.
"Nee, heʼs not feelinʼ it reet now, inʼt he?" Mam chuckled. "Now, now, chap, thereʼs nee need to bubble."
"Iʼll get him up the dancers – a nice nap will problies sort him out." Before I left for the stairs, I gave Mam the daisies. I was not the one for publicly apologizing, and neither was she. Maybe it was the Sicilian she had been showered with and was running through my blood, or just because we both were irritatingly stubborn. But, in her beautiful eyes, I could see she appreciated this hidden peace offering. I could not be mad at Mam, for, in retrospect, she only ʻsinnedʼ against me to help me out of this frozen state.
Simba was shoved into Tréʼs humongous claws and the sight itself was rater comical – a muscly fellow like him with such a petty toy, of which the dramatically-big anime eyes were staring up at him in a horror-movie-manner. In the nursery, next to my own bedroom, he was quick to relieve himself of the stuffed animal and shot it through an imaginary hoop into Domenicoʼs crib. He stood around, watching me with his inquisitive gaze as I tried to coax a little content in the toddler by laying him down on the baby table. Tré did not try to help, he was almost like a mesmerized statue as he watched my hands change the boyʼs diaper. Domenico only halted his wailing when the scent of baby lotion filled the room, looking up at me in surprise, before he resumed in the same volume. His head had turned red with his distress, as it was surrounded by stuffed animals on the table, and tears soaked his dimpled cheeks.
"Va bene, tesoro, non necessità di tale dolore," I cooed, holding him up against my chest. He too found comfort in a heartbeat, as though it were a sweet lullaby. "Mamma farà andare via. Mamma ti ama."
At the whispers of my voice, his wails turned to hiccups, his hiccups turning to silence as he further listened to my heart and the songful cadence of the language we both loved. His lips tightened around the nip of the dummy, his eyes again sinking shut slowly. I continued to speak Sicilian to him as I covered the boy with a thin blanket in his crib, only when he was fully off into his dreams, I stopped and let Simba watch over him in his slumber.
"I bet if you record that Italian shit, you would make millions due to helping people sleep," he humored, reaching down to brush Mimmoʼs curls once as a wish goodnight. "Itʼs beautiful...As though you two have your own language that no one else understands."
"I always thought people could only have one soulmate in their lifetime, but it is nowt oʼ the sorts. Children too are part oʼ a motherʼs soul."
"A fatherʼs too." His lips quirked softly. "Everywhere he goes, he knows his soul is forever split, given to his seedling to nurture it, to protect his child when heʼs not present. A piece of his soul will always live on in the child, so that it knows father is there, always."
He was trying to be hypothetic, but I could tell only Billie Joe was pushing around in his mind as he spoke. He nudged my arm gently, but in a playful manner. "You know, I never imagined you being someone who was good with kids."
"Itʼs different wiʼyer own children. Once Mam laid him into me arms, I was sold forever."
"Not for me...Not my kinda style," he chuckled, following me out of the nursery.
Youʼll see, I thought with the grandest of amusement. He would be a great dad in the future, I was sure of it. He had so many caring qualities hidden underneath that thick layer of childish cockiness, if the right woman was added, their baby would be the luckiest on earth. But I wasnʼt going to tell him that, it was something he would learn on his own when the time came.