Che sara, sara.

   

Che sara, sara.  (E) Michael Santangelo's heart is broken, so why is his mother so happy? #1703495 by Trian

                                                                       

Che sara,sara

         I never saw it coming. I still cannot believe how Simon left me for someone else. Was I dreaming when he said,  “Michael, I’m so sorry for what I’m about to say especially out here in front of where we first met, Pedro’s Bar. I have fallen in love with someone else, Michael. I’m sorry I had to tell you like this, but I’m in a hurry to catch a train."

"Are you serious? How can you do this to me and then just say, I'm so sorry? Did someone at Pedro’s bar spike your drink or what?” I said.

"Please don’t look at me like that, Michael. I will write you and explain everything. I have to go."
I touched my right cheek after he kissed it, and I watched him get inside a yellow Cab. That is how he said goodbye to me.
I look at my watch, it is almost 10.30 pm, and it has started to drizzle. A red and yellow Cab stopped.

“Hey Mr! Wanna a ride?" the driver said.

“No need for a Cab. I’ll walk thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself,” he said from the open passenger side window and drove off.

As I walked home, Simon’s words played in my mind like an old vinyl record with all the crackles and hisses, until I reached the front gate of my house. Lucky number 7 on First Avenue.
As I opened the front gate, the next-door neighbor’s cat jumped out from behind some shrubs. It scared the shit out of me so I kicked at it with my right foot as it ran past, only to connect with nothing but air. I lost my balance and fell on my – well the ground was wet. The wet patch on the backside of my white jeans is now a testament to my embarrassment. To make matters worse, it’s 11:00pm and the kitchen light is still on. I opened the back door, and as always took off my shoes before I entered the house.

"I have just finished mopping the floor. Take off your shoes before you come in here, I’m not going to say it again, Michele. Someone stepped in cat shit today. I don’t know if it was you, or your papa.”

“Maybe you stepped in it on your way to the garden, Ma. Ever think of that?”

"Michele, che e successo? What happened? Why you look so sad?”

“I’m sorry Ma, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going to bed.”

“You had another argument with Simon, e vero, is true, yes?”

“Yes Ma, it’s true. Are you happy now?”

“Why I should be happy? I like Simon. He is a good boy. But he is not for you Michele.”

“Ma, you don’t know what happened. I love Simon, ok. So just stay out of it.”

“If love you love him, why you have an argument then?”

“Because he has found someone else, that’s why!”

 

“Look Michele, you know your papa is very angry. If he comes home and sees you, upset over that boy he will smash the statue of the Madonna again. Is that what you want to happen? I do not have enough superglue left to fix her all up again."

“Is that painted plaster statue all you worry about, Ma?”

She was quick; I felt her right hand strike my cheek. The same cheek Simon had kissed just before he ran off.

“I’m sorry Michele, but if you are upset that is your problem. Don’t take it out on the Madonna. I tell you before, that boy is not for you. Why you no listen? He is not Italian; he is not even a Catholic.”

“Good night Ma, I’m going to bed before papa comes home. I don’t want to hear any argument that comes from his mouth.”

“Buona notte, good night. Michele, you don’t worry. I prayed to the Madonna to find a nice catholic Italian girl for you.”

“Ma, if you tell papa anything about Simon, there won’t be any statue for you to superglue.” I said as I walked up the twelve stairs that led into my bedroom.

“Lo sai che sei proprio un Asino?” She said back to me in her very best Italian. I think she called me a Donkey, or something similar to that.

The smile on the face of John Travolta greeted me as usual. I approached my large Grease poster, opened my bedroom door, and switched on the light. I had pinned up that poster when I was nine years old. Other kids had Yoda or Luke Skywaker posters. I had John Travolta.

I took off my clothes and threw them into the wash basket, looked at my bed and thought of sleep. Maybe a glass of warm milk might help me sleep. In just my red satin boxers, I went back down stairs, and as I walked into the kitchen, I heard my mother on the phone, which was unusual to say the least. She never calls anyone or answers any phone calls after 9:00pm.

“… Hello, Mrs. Harowitz, this is Veronica Santangelo.”

“Hello, Mrs.Santangelo, is there something wrong?”

“No, no. Daling, I' ma sorry to ring to you so late, but I had to tell you first.”

“What is it my dear, why are you whispering?”

“Edna, thanks to you, Simon, and my Michele are finito, finished. Your idea worked; giving Simon a job at your department store, and having Simon work with your son Ben, was a great idea."

“Oh, I already know that Veronica. Benjamin brought Simon over to my house this afternoon, and told me everything over a coffee. I almost laughed; Benjamin said fate that had brought them together. He then packed some clothes and said they were going to live in San Francisco.”

“Edna, I can talk no more. I will call you tomorrow ok?”

“Why, yes of course, good night Veronica.”

“Ma, what is going on?”

“Michele, do you mind. I was having a private conservation with Mrs. Harowitz. Do you feel ok? You want me to call the Dottore?”

“It’s conversation, and no, I don’t need a doctor. I need to know what is going on, Ma. I couldn’t make it out, but you mentioned something about Simon.”

“Figlio mio. My son, are you sure you are ok? Let me call the Dottore, please.”

“Ma! Stop playing. It’ too late for games, and I’m not in the mood either.”

“Okay, I tell you what it is I do. You know Mrs. Edna Harowitz, the old Jewish lady who lives next door?”

“Everyone knows Mrs. Harowitz, and her department store, Ma.”

“Well no one else but your mama knows she has a new cleaner. She is a pretty, Italian girl. She arrived last week with aero plane, from Italy. Her name is Lydia. I tell Edna, I also need help around the house. So, Edna sent Lydia over yesterday, and I also hired her. You are happy; you know woman’s things now?”

“So, you and old Mrs. Harowitz are now on a first name basis now?  Ma! Mrs. Harowitz has millions; she can afford a hundred cleaners. Where are you going to get the money to pay this Italian girl?”

“Mrs. Harowitz is not a happy woman, even with all her money. Michele, she wanted a nice Jewish boy for her son Benjamin. So I told Edna, I will pray to the Madonna for help. Madonna mia, I said. Please help Mrs. Harowitz son find true love soon. She granted my wish, Michele. Benjamin found a nice Jewish boy, so she is going to pay Lydia, because the Madonna helped her, with my prayers.”

“I know that ferret looking son of hers. It’s money, not miracles that attracts guys like flies to him.”

“It’s not the money, all this happened after I prayed to the Madonna, Michele.”

"Let me get this straight. You prayed to the Madonna for Benjamin ferret face and he found the love of his life. Then you prayed for a nice Italian Catholic girl, and then this Lydia turns up. Did I miss anything Ma?”

“Yes, I mean no. That is all what I tell you. Michele, wait. Where are you going, now?”

“I’m going to pray to that statue as well. Maybe she can send me a cute Italian guy instead.”

                                                                                 

The End