Letters to Leonora. {Comments welcome.}

[Loudest Silence]

Grey light seeps through the tinted windows of the car that mother and me sit in. It seems to suite this particular day. If today was a color then I propose that it would be grey, the dull dingy almost colorless color. The car hits a bump in the road and I lurch forward gripping the sides of the seat in front of me so tight that the color drains from my fingers. Grey. I sigh and press my lips together, releasing my grip on the chair and sitting back up, readjusting the short, black, beaded veil around my face.
"Sit up straight, Leonora." I hear my mother say, her tone all pinched and disapproving. "Respectable people sit up straight." I roll my eyes behind the veil and sit up straight, the cracking in my back seems to pop like a gunshot and echo through the small space. Mother winces. We sit in silence for a few moments before she speaks again, "Black looks terrible on you. It makes you look so washed out, like a dying flower." My eyes drift to the black skirt that covers my legs, I smooth out a small wrinkle and sigh, "You should've worn blue, dark blue would have been fine."
"Uncle Massimo said that he wanted a traditional funeral, black mourning clothes and all." I say, my voice sounds weak, like wine that had too much water added to it. I wish it wasn't. Mother roll her eyes as the car hits another bump in the road.
"Good god!" she shouts, I'm not exactly sure if it was directed towards me or this horrid road, but she turns to me, her lips pursed "I'm sure the old man wouldn’t have minded if you wore blue! He's dead anyway, its not like he's going to start using his Italian scolding on you." she tell me, her eyes dark behind her own black veil. I look back over at the window, raindrops have started falling, and I trace their path down the window with my finger. Mother swears and I hear clinking, I shift my gaze to her and see her take out her tube of lipstick and her compact mirror from her overly large leather purse. She uncaps the tube, the lipstick inside is so red that it reminds me of the roses in Aunt Vione's garden. Mother raised the stick to her lips and starts to smear on the color, watching herself in the compact mirror.
We hit a bump.
Mother swears again as lipstick is smeared across her face, close to her mouth. I cover my own mouth to keep from laughing, pressing my fingers against my lips so hard that it stings. Mother catches me and I turn away, laughter still bubbling up inside of me.

♦♦♦

It seems like ages that we sit in the car, the pitter-patter of rain against the doors and windows lulls me off to sleep. I awake at the sound of brakes screeching, my eyes snap open and I sit up straight, (mother would be proud). I swallow and look around, although I cannot see much through the tinted windows. Grey. All I see is grey. I sigh and wait until the door opens. I step out of the car, grabbing my small purse, witch jingles slightly from the few coins that I have in it. "Respectable people have purses that jingle, Leonora." mother always says. For once, I agree with her. I hear the click of mother’s heels on the pavement and look back at her over my shoulder. Wind whips her skirt tightly around her legs, as it does to mine too. She places a hand on top of her veil and rushed over to me, "damn!" she yells into the wind. I blink and wipe the water from my eyes, the wind stings.
"Mother, we're at a church, I don't think that taking the Lord's name in vain is a good idea right now." she sighs heavily. "Hurry up and march, girl or your hair will be a ghastly sight. I mouth the next words along with her as she speaks them, "Respectable people always look at their best." We rush towards the door, I almost trip on my long skirt, my heel keeps getting snagged in the back. I arrive first and am about to go inside, where I hope that warmth will greet me on this cold day, but mother hisses, "Wait! We must go in with grace and poise, we do not want these people to think that that we're complete bumpkins." I roll my eyes and stand up straight as my back will allow before walking gracefully though the door.
It was for naught.
Most everyone here looks laid back and easy going, like everyday people just dressed up really fancy. Like those dolls that children play with. I wet my lips and blink a few times. Most everyone sits in the wooden pews, some speaking in Italian and some speaking in English. Mother walks in and looks around, straightening her jacket like it will help restore order to this unorderly bunch. "Come now, Leonora.," she says close to my ear. Moisture from her lips manages to get in my ear and I cringe, waiting until she turns around to rub it off. I follow her down the center aisle and stand there as she takes a seat in the front, smoothing out her unwrinkled skirt. "Don't gape, child just sit."
"I don't like sitting in the front."
"Don't be a fool, respectable people sit in the front."
"But- but if we sit in the front then everyone can see us."
"Of course, child." I stand there frozen. I hate attention, but she narrows her eyes just the slightest bit and I slide on in next to her. I wonder how many people can see us. How many are watching us right now? I feel stiff. After about five minutes of sitting in silence while mother checks her teeth to make sure no lipstick has smeared on them she gets up. "I'll be right back. Show everyone how respectable you are dear." she walks away, giving the children a wide berth as she heads towards the bathrooms. So I sit there, my back aches and the funeral hasn't even started yet. I sigh through my nose and try to sit up straight.
I hate being respectable.

♦♦♦

I sit there for a while; mother seems to have been gone a long time. I start to wonder where she is when I hear my name, "Leonora!" I hear, the Italian accent is thick and hearing my name pronounced that way is strange, yet familiar. I twist around in my seat and see a young man standing three rows behind me, a large smile on his face. I study him, he has olive skin and a nose that hooks on the end just the slightest bit, his hair is dark and wavy, stopping a little above his ears. I return the smile and meet him eyes.
Damn.
His eyes are blue. So blue, bluer than the lake near Uncle Massimo's house, God rest his soul. And to make it better, his skin was dark so his eyes were piercing. Almost unbearable.
How did I know him?
Did I know him?
I had to know him.
I wanted to know him.
I blink my own, unimpressive eyes and try to focus again. The boy still wears the grin, which spreads to his eyes, making them light up like Christmas. I stand up and run my hands down my skirt as far as they can reach. My skirt is so long that it collects in a heap of fabric at my feet, completely hiding my heels. "Umm, hello." I say, taking a small step towards him. "Do I- have we met before?" I ask, stumbling over my words. Stumble tongue I think. His smile widens.
"Why of course? Don't you remember? We were very small then, maybe only five or six." He says, running his hand over the back of the wooden pew. "Uncle Massimo's house? The old boat?" I stare hard at him, my eyes meet his and then I remember. I clap my hands together,
"La! I do remember!" I say cheerfully, returning his charming smile. "We met there and then swam in the lake!" I say, my eyes lighting up at the same time as his.
"Yes, and we ate so many of Aunt Therese's cookies that we got sick!" he exclaims with a chuckle. I smile and rack my brain, trying to remember his name, I can't.
"Please don't be discouraged, but I can't seem to remember your name." I tell him, my voice slightly softer than before.
"Anthony." I nod, remembering now.
"How did you remember me?" I ask him, curious.
"Well how can anyone forget you and your charming mother?" he says. I stare at him. Charming? mother is anything but charming, I look at him again and notice the corners of his mouth twitch. A joke. Mother being charming was a joke. I smile and let out a soft laugh. I'm about to say something else when out of the corner of my eye, I spot mother, walking towards us at an alarmingly fast rate. I see Anthony follow my gaze and the corners of his mouth twitch again. I avert my gaze as mother approaches me,
"Come and sit down, now." she hisses before stalking off. I watch her respectable way of walking and sigh, turning to leave and go back to my very uncomfortable seat when I hear Anthony call my name again.
"Leonora!" I turn and smile at him. "Black is a good color on you." I nod and turn away hustling over to mother. She looks at me and frowns, I know why. I'm smiling like a complete ninny. unrespectable.

End of Chapter One.

[mr.kingrichard]

Wow, this is actually very amazing. I was hooked from the first paragraph. I'll be watching this closely.

[Loudest Silence]

Thank you very much c:

[Loudest Silence]

The funeral was lively. What an odd combination of words. But there really is no other way to describe it unless the word Italian seems to fit the occasion better. It started with utter silence as a man with thick black hair, oily skin, and very bushy eyebrows climbed the few steps to the pulpit. A hush fell over the crowd so suddenly that I almost cried. I'm not sure why, it just sounded sad. That it until the bushy-eye browed man slammed his meaty hand down upon Uncle Massimo's coffin. I jumped and I saw mother wince, she reached up and readjusted her veil. I myself had jumped a bit in my seat, the sound of his hand making contact with the coffin was quite loud.
"We are gathered here today..." he started, scanning the crowd, his eyes landed on a young boy of about eight. "vino" the bushy-eye browed man said in Italian, gesturing with his hand. I knew a little Italian and I happened to know what that word meant: "Wine." I murmured, following the young boys movements. Sure enough, he came back with a glass filled to the brim with red wine. The bushy-eye browed man took it and took a sip, smacking his lips together when he had finished. "We are gathered here today." he started again, "To celebrate the death of Massimo Lussini!" my eyes widened. Celebrate? Celebrate! I looked around the room, most everyone was clapping and smiling, I met Anthony's eyes and he smiled at me, clapping his hands together.
"Get on with it, Paolo!" I heard a women shout in her thick, Italian accent. The bushy-eye browed man, now known to everyone as Paolo tilted his wine glass in her direction, some spilled over the rim and dripped onto the carpet, but nobody seemed to mind.
Nobody except for mother, of course.
She sat there with her hand clenched in her lap, I could see red marks from where she had dug her nails into her skin too hard. I almost smiled at that, and at the same time I felt the smallest possible amount of sympathy towards her. But not much, just a smidgen. Paolo continued with his speech, some in Italian and some in English, "Massimo was a great man!" he shouted, his voice filling the room. "He loved to eat, man did that man love his chicken parmesan!" He laughed and everyone laughed with him (except for mother) myself included. That was how the whole funeral unfolded. Much laughter and much wine. Everybody was happy, it was the best funeral I had ever been to. And it probably ever will be. By the time that it was over, Paolo was flat-out drunk, he could barley stand up straight, and his words were slurred together with the sound of intoxication. He planted a kiss on the portrait of Uncle Massimo before staggering of stage, "Would someone please go find out why this room is spinning?" he slurred with a low laugh, "It's really throwing me off balance." everyone roared with laughter.
Well, everyone that is, except for mother.

♦♦♦

"Leonora." I turned at the sound of a voice calling my name. Aunt Therese. I smiled and ran into her arms, she crushed me in a hug, we stood there for a moment or two, or possibly even three before she let me go. She smelled like lavender and another scent that I can’t identify, Rosemary perhaps? She releases me and held me at arm’s length, her watery grey eyes skirting over my face and down the length of my body. She smiles, making wrinkles appear by her cheeks and at the corners of her eyes. “My, you’ve grown, child.” She says, her voice quiet, like the rustling of the leaves as a soft wind stirs them. “Why, last time I saw you, you had a gap right where your front teeth are now!” She laughs breathily tapping her lips. I slide my tongue over my front teeth. She’s right. I didn’t know it had been that long. She looks over my shoulder at the portrait of Uncle Massimo, there’s a dark purplish-red splotch where Bushy-eye browed Paolo had kissed it, his lips stained with wine.
“He was a good man.” I say, which probably sounds stupid coming out of my mouth, like a child who’s trying to act to adult. I barely knew him, even if he was my Great Uncle. But Aunt Therese just nods and dabs at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. “How long were you married?’ I ask her softly. She stays silent for a couple seconds before replying.
“fifty two years. It feels like so much longer, though.” She sniffles, and raises her handkerchief again, pressing the lined to her mouth in an attempt to silence the sounds of her crying. I laid a hand on her shoulder, my fingers pressing into the bone, I could feel her frail body trembling with each passing sob . Eventually she dabbed at her eyes and looked back up at me. I stand there awkwardly for a few moments, the sound of laughter and merriment filling my ears. I feel a pang of resentment. How could these people be so happy when my dear Aunt was grieving so much? I felt blood rush to my face and clench my fists at my sides. But one look at Aunt Therese and I knew that it was what he would have wanted. I don’t have much remembrance of him, just a hazy silhouette, a brush of hand. A snippet of murmured words. But the stories that father told (When he wasn’t away on business that is) made Uncle Massimo sound like a man full of joy and life. The sort of man who loved fun. I nodded. Yes, this is what he would have wanted. A curl of hair has come loose from my veil, I stare at it out of the corner of my eye before tucking it back behind my ear. Aunt Therese pasts my shoulder and sighs before walking off, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress.
♦♦♦

Mother finds me before I can hide from her. After the fun I've had I dread going home with her. She looks around with distaste, her lips form a disapproving frown, and the crease between her eyebrows deepens. She reaches up and touches her hands to her temples, when she pulls them away, traces of makeup can be seen on her fingertips. I'm glad I'm not the only one sweating in all this heavy clothing. We stand there together quietly for a moment before she turns and starts to walk for the door, I begin to follow her, but I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump and spin around. Anthony stands there, smiling widely. I smile back uncertainly, I haven't had many chances to smile in my life, but when I do his gorgeous eyes light up. "Your not leaving are you?" He ask me, his hand still on my shoulder.
I don't mind, I actually kind of like it there, though I would never say it aloud. I stand there, then I remember that he asked me a question, I open my mouth to reply, but mother words overthrow my own.
"Yes, I'm afraid so, it is quite a long drive to the hotel that we're staying at." I blink, trying not to let my disappointment show. Anthony looks back and forth between me and mother,
"When are you leaving," he ask,
"Tomorrow morning, bright and early." a laugh presses against my lips and manages to squeeze through. Mother glances at me. Bright and early, mother? Right, mother hasn't been up before eight o' clock since when I was a baby. Anthony gives me a small smile, though it seems much larger because of his smiling eyes.
"Let me walk you to your car." Mother nods and walks out of the building, I start to follower her and Anthony walks with me, our feet marching in the same rhythm. "You know, she is a very stern women." he says, placing his hand on the top of my back as he guides me to the car. I nod,
"Yes, she is, but don't tell her that. She would tell you to be respectable." He grins at me,
"Yes, and what would you propose I do if she does tell me that." I hesitate for a moment.
"Do what she asks, then when her back is turned do exactly the opposite, it make you feel better." he laughs this time, his laugh is rich and somewhat deep, like the finest red wine, or better yet like the smoothest sweetest honey you've ever eaten. He opens the door to the car for me and I step inside. He smiles at me, and leans around to smile and wave goodbye to mother, who barely nods in return. As the driver pulls out of the parking lot, I watch Anthony in the window. And even when we are many miles down the road I swear I can still hear his laugh.

End of Chapter two

[Loudest Silence]

{Bump}