It had been about two weeks, and I felt like I had been on that ship for years. I had never really been claustrophobic, but between the mid July heat and the 2,000 hot bodies, I had never felt so sick. Mother was still nervous about life in America. I kept reminding her that it would be good for us, and that it was what Father would have wanted. After his death, we knew life for a single mother of two in Sicily would be tough. I was nervous myself, but there is no way I would have ever let her know. Stefano, my little brother was more excited than anyone else on the entire ship. He couldn’t stop talking about school and how impressed the teachers would be with his English. My brother and I both learned to speak English when we were young, but Mother never learned.
We arrived on Ellis Island on July 26th in 1908. We endured four long hours of examinations until we were finally able to gather into a red taxicab. As I scooted in next to my brother I saw a young man running toward the cab as fast as he could with a small suitcase in hand. I giggled to myself, he looked ridiculous. He stopped in front of the passenger door and paused. He looked right at me such a way I couldn’t quite comprehend. He lifted his hat and said,
“Ciao. I missed the last taxicab. May I join you?” I nodded approvingly. He smiled a big proud smile. He sat down next to me, put his suitcase on his lap, and extended his hand. “Marco Cusamano, Sicily!” He announced loudly. I shook his hand.
“Angila Greco, Sicily. This is my mother, Maria, and my brother, Stefano,” I said shyly. His hair was dark, almost black like mine. His large brown eyes looked into mine with joy and excitement. I nervously turned my head forward and silently stared out the windshield for the rest of the short trip to the lower East side of Manhattan.
The cab stopped in front of a large apartment complex on Madison Street. I looked up at the building. It was so different from buildings at home. I was used to beautiful rustic buildings that all looked completely different. Here every building was the same boring design.
“This is my stop,” Marco started, “I guess I’ll see you agai-”
“This is our stop too,” I interrupted, “We are staying in 12B. Where are you staying?”
“10B, I guess it looks as if we will be seeing a lot of each other.” He smiled and stepped out of the car. I started to get out when he extended his hand for support. I shyly took it, trying not to look into his dark eyes, but failing. He had to be about 19 or so. I was only 17. He had a strong build and many other beautiful features. Yes, he was a very handsome, but there something else about him I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Mother walked ahead us, holding a map of the building. I carried my small violet suitcase and Mothers blue bag. As we walked down the corridor, Marco stopped at 10B, and for some reason, I did too.
“It was nice meeting you Miss Angila.” He started fumbling around with his keys until the door swung open. He threw his suitcase into the room and turned around to face me. He was about 6 feet tall, which is tall for an Italian man. I was a mere 5’2”. He took my hand and kissed it gently. Butterflies danced crazily in my stomach.
“May I see you tonight?” He asked. I yanked my hand away,
“We’ll see.” Then I walked to the next door down to help my mother, smiling to myself.
The apartment was small, only two bedrooms, a small living space, a bathroom, and kitchen. It was perfect. Stefano and I shared a room with two small beds and a single dresser between them. I carried Mother’s bag to her room, and went to my room to unpack.
Stefano looked up at me and blatantly stated,
“You like him don’t you?” I looked at him in shock.
