I never knew one man could hold so much hatred towards people, a man that had so much love for my mother, my sisters and I, I never knew he could hold it. My father hated gays, bisexuals, the colored, immigrants (which to me makes no sense because his parents are immigrants). My father called it the "business" but I knew what he meant, he was in the mob, he was one of the most important men. He wasn't the person to kill anybody, he would never get blood on his perfect suit, he had people do it for him.
Brooklyn, New York, 1953.
We lived in a nice house, one story, big backyard, nice pool, everything that a normal house would have, sometimes a pie freshly baked by my mother would sit on the windowsill (which was most of the time, all my mother ever does is bake.) Everything in life was as normal as you'd expect, until my dad let you in on his secret. Tonight my father was throwing a 4th of July party, there were kids running around the yard, adults sitting at the numerous picnic tables, my father and his friends shared stories around the grill, my mother and her sister were onside baking, there were a few boys my age but tonight I didn't feel like socializing, not after what I saw today, the blood stained shoes, the man half conscious, dying on the ground, the bat laying there. I shook my head as if that would help get rid of the gruesome pictures. My sister laid on a raft in the pool wearing her signature pink horn rimmed sunglasses and her pink bathing suit. I walked over to the pool and sat with my legs crossed.
"Heather?" She rolled her head towards me and lifted her sunglasses.
"How may I help you?" I shrugged.
"I don't know. There's no one to talk to." She sipped her lemonade through the red and white stripped straw.
"There's a bunch of boys you know, go talk to them and stop bothering me." My sister was a year younger than me and looked like my mother, blonde wavy hair, beautiful green eyes, and she was always wearing ruby red lipstick.
"Well, I don't like them." She sighed and slapped her hands down beside her.
"Bullshit, you talk to them all the time." I smiled and giggled when she said bullshit, her accent was thick like my mothers.
"I know." She sighed again, her feet were arms length away from me, I pulled her to the edge of the pool and looked at her.
"You make no sense, and why are you touching my feet?" She sipped her lemonade and stared at me, waiting for an answer.
"Because I want to talk to you." She sighed.
"Goodbye Michael." She flipped her sunglasses down, kicked off the side of the pool and floated into the middle. I sighed.
"Hey Michael!" My fathers voice boomed through the yard like thunder. I turned and looked at him.
"Come here a friend of mine wants to talk to you!" He was waving me over. I stood up and walked over to the grill, it smelled like gasoline, cigars and brandies over here, it was strong and sickening.
