Reclaiming Me

by Chelsea Camaron

  I felt like a resilient child again that I somehow might get through this thing called life.

  It was Christmas break and I had made it through another semester of college. The snow was on the ground and it was cold, but I found it as more of a reason to snuggle up.

  He didn’t question my past, even though I found out he came from an Irish family that had ties to another family that somehow had ties to Giano. Since the name Diamante wasn’t widely popular, when he saw my name as an out-of-state student he checked my file. He was worried someone from his family was in trouble and maybe I was a set up from that.

  Sometimes guilty by association could mean big trouble when that association is to a crime family. They didn’t live by the laws and didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire.

  I explained that my father’s business and his associations were something he took great care to keep me separated from. Truly, I didn’t know much about Giano’s work life and I was thankful for it.

  As for Shawn, he had been cut off from his family when he made the decision not to be in the family business. With student loans he had amassed quite a bit of debt trying to follow his own dreams. I admired his determination.

  But I didn’t pry.

  While I wanted to know Shawn, I wanted to know him for the man he was with me and not the ties to his past. I knew first-hand that who you were born as didn’t predetermine who you would become.

  The man he was with me was the man I had fallen for and no matter who he was by birth I wouldn’t let that go.

  Pasts were just that, the things behind us. I wanted to look ahead.

  What a strange feeling to finally experience the euphoria of considering a time ahead with another person. I wasn’t making wedding plans or crazy stuff like that, but I was enjoying this time of getting to know one another.

  I was taking in the chance to be normal, feel like everyone else, and fall like everyone else.

  We made the drive to Crater Lake. A day hiking and sight-seeing awaited us. The deepest lake in the United States and the bluest, I couldn’t wait to take in its beauty. The drive from Portland was a little over four hours in which I sang out of tune, danced to all the songs, and laughed. Parking the car, I climbed out and stretched.

  Taking me by the hand he led us to the trail opening.

  The sky was a beautiful blue, the weather warm, but not overly hot, and the company magnificent.

  It was the kind of day memories were made of.

  This was my life now. Things were turning around. Each day was a new memory to put in the books.

  With it being winter, most of the area was closed. We brought snow shoes and hiked what we could. Taking in the peace and serenity, I felt a blanket of warmth envelope me even in the cold Northwestern Winter day.

  It was a little awkward when we stopped at one view point and Shawn shuffled to stand behind me. With the snow shoes it meant a change in position but he managed to wrap me in his arms as we took in the lake view in front of us.

  “Tell me what you dream of,” he said softly.

  I smiled. “World peace,” I joked.

  “Okay, Miss America, we’ll be sure to work on world hunger too. Seriously, we get this one life to live, one imprint to leave. What do you dream of yours being?”

  I thought about his question. “You’re a deep man, Shawn Patrick.”

  “I teach History, baby. My entire career has been in learning every monumental moment in the past and its impact in the world, in society. Do you realize most of those moments were tragic? Hitler’s lasting foot print can still be felt to this day. It wasn’t a positive one.”

  I nodded.

  “I want to help children,” I answered him vaguely.

  “Admirable. So children’s psychology?”

  I nodded. “Sometimes the footprints left by people mark a child in the formative years. I want to help people to overcome those scars.”

  “What was your childhood like?”

  “Lonely,” I told him honestly.

  “Was that because you missed your mother?”

  That was a loaded question I wasn’t sure how to answer. I didn’t want to live my life lying to people I loved, but I certainly couldn’t tell him my truths.

  “My mother died when I was young. Developmentally, I wasn’t ready to process the loss or the relationship we had. So did that play a part in my loneliness, I suppose it did. What was your childhood like?”

  “Structured.”

  I felt him stiffen behind me and knew instantly he had his own scars. I didn’t push. Honestly, not because I wasn’t curious, but more because I feared he would ask more from me and I sincerely didn’t want to lie.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Angelina Diamante.”

  I smiled.

  “You have a beautiful soul, Shawn Patrick.”

  He kissed my temple and we stood in place for a long while quietly cherishing each other.

  Making a memory.

  I knew how quickly the world could crash around you. I wanted to stock pile as much good as I could before life handed me another blow.

  I was cursed after all so it was bound to happen.

  **

  “Merry Christmas, Angel,” Shawn whispered in my ear.

  My body was tangled with his. We returned from Crater Lake after a few days together in a cabin that were pure bliss. Together we picked out a small Christmas tree and decorated it.

  Christmas was a tough holiday. I laid over Shawn as his rubbed my back as my mind got lost in a memory. My first few holidays with Giano were different, especially Thanksgiving, which I didn’t celebrate this year either. I remembered Giano struggled to find reasons to be thankful after losing his family so he didn’t celebrate the holiday or those traditions. That first Christmas I was anticipating another day on the calendar. In my mind, I could remember it all.

  Christmas morning arrived, and I expected to spend it much like I had every other day in the last seven months—in my room. I got up and dressed before going to the window. With the lace curtain in my hand, I allowed my mind to drift as I watched the snow fall in large flakes.

  “Angelina, what would life have been like for both of us if only we hadn’t been born as … Well, who we were born as? I would like to think you would be sledding right now,” I whispered to the air around me, smiling as I pictured a girl with similar features to me, laughing and carrying on as my stranger pulled her sled up a large hill for her. Closing my eyes, I allowed that little girl to become me going sledding with my stranger.

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the door open to my room.

  “Merry Christmas, Angel,” my stranger greeted from the entryway.

  “Merry Christmas.” I smiled softly at him.

  “Would you like to come open your presents now? Santa Claus visits all the good little girls and boys. Apparently, you were a very good girl this year.” He looked to the ground as if he was daydreaming for a moment.

  I couldn’t help letting a small laugh escape me as he tried to give me what he probably found to be a “normal” Christmas.

  “I know Santa isn’t real. I know there once was a Saint Nicholas who gave to the less fortunate. However, my mama made it very clear from as far back as I can remember that each and every gift I was given came from her and Father. Papa Valencia once tried to have ‘Santa Claus’,”—I used air quotes for emphasis—“visit his home for me, and Mama threw a huge fit, stating they would not allow me to believe such lies.”

  My stranger shook his head before looking up at me. “They took away your Santa Claus,” he stated as if he could read my mind.

  I only nodded in agreement because they had, but it had never bothered me until right then. Just like Papa Valencia had been trying to give me something innocent and sweet, so was my stranger; only, it was tainted by my past.

  Would everything be this way for me forever?

  Pushing my negative thoughts as
ide, I made my way out of my room and followed my stranger. For the first time, I got to see the true expanse of the home in which we shared.

  I made my way down the hall where Christmas garlands adorned the walls. There was a smell of cinnamon in the air, and the rooms were dim enough to truly allow the Christmas lights to sparkle from the living area. The rooms around me were there, but the doors were shut, so I couldn’t see inside.

  The living room filled my eyes with tears. Two stockings, filled to the brim with goodies, hung along the stone fireplace. A small train set ran in circles around the bottom of a short, fat tree. Its uneven sides were certainly something most would have shied away from, but much like me, Giano had given it a place in this home.

  The multicolored lights seemed to dance as the jingles played softly in the background. The hodgepodge of ornaments adorning the awkward shrub called out to me. As I reached them, I could see they were the makings of a small child and her family. A paper wreath with macaroni noodles, painted in green and held to the branch with a yarn string, reminded me of all the ornaments I had made at school that Mama had easily discarded as waste. Everything I had ever wished to see in a Christmas tree sat before me in this very room.

  Without a second thought, I turned to my stranger and wrapped my arms around his waist, holding him close. Ever so slowly, his arms wrapped around my back in the safest, most loving embrace I had ever felt in my entire life. Did he know he had made a wish come true?

  Tenderly, I reached out and touched the many mismatched ornaments and thought about the love and attention that went into making each one. I felt him watching me, but I couldn’t tear myself away.

  After allowing myself a moment, I glanced over my shoulder. Once again, he was off in his own world of thought. Was he, too, remembering Christmases past?

  A pang punched me in the gut when I couldn’t help wondering if he was wishing it was his dear Angelina here with him and not me. Of course he was. She’d had parents who truly loved and adored her. She hadn’t merely been the next expected step in her parents’ life plans like I was for Father and Mama.

  Fighting, I was successfully keeping the tears at bay when a hand suddenly gripped my shoulder. Looking up, my eyes met his dark brown ones, and the sadness I expected to see there wasn’t present. Instead, I found his eyes dancing with a quiet joy.

  “Wanna open your presents?” he asked, rendering me speechless.

  I never expected to have a “normal” Christmas morning. The only gifts I had ever been given by my parents were those the socialites my mother associated with would approve of.

  Looking at my stranger, I wondered what he might have gotten me. Rather than try to form words, I simply nodded my head and moved away from the stumpy tree.

  One by one, I opened each carefully wrapped package, finding surprise after surprise. From the art supplies to give me something to pass the time to the violin for me to learn music to the necklace of a bird symbolizing the chance to be free from my past, each and every gift had been bought with my needs in mind. He hadn’t given me the things he had planned to give his own daughter.

  Although I had to be Angelina in public, he still found ways to remind me I wasn’t the replacement for his daughter. For the first time since Papa Valencia had died, my heart filled with happiness. For the first time since the loss of my grandfather, someone cared about me, not what I represented or could provide.

  Once I had opened all of the gifts, we went to the kitchen for breakfast. I took in the granite countertops and the stainless steel appliances and thought this was a kitchen much like my family had, only slightly smaller. It was all very clean, very contemporary.

  My past was quickly forgotten when Giano opened the oven, revealing the cinnamon rolls I had been smelling. My stomach growled loudly in appreciation, and Giano smiled at me. Together, we spread the cream cheese frosting meticulously over each of the pastries before he served me mine then made a plate for himself.

  Unsure of my place, I made a move to exit and retire to my room, but Giano surprised me.

  “Stay,” he requested, and my heart raced. He sought out my company. It filled me with a happiness I hadn’t ever felt before.

  I nodded and followed him to the table where we ate in silence other than my groan in delight at the deliciousness of the warm cinnamon bun. When we finished, I took both plates to the sink. I began to wash them, feeling like I needed to give back in any way I could, but Giano’s arm brushed mine as he stood beside me to rinse and dry.

  He looked down at me, drawing my attention. “You are not alone, Angel, even if it seems that way sometimes.”

  That statement alone was the best Christmas present anyone could have ever given me.

  In this moment thinking on my time with Giano, the memory gave me comfort rather than anguish. I truly felt like I wasn’t alone that he was still with me.

  “What would you like for breakfast, Angel?” Shawn asked sliding out from under me.

  “Cinnamon buns,” I said with a smile that lit up my whole face.

  “Your wish is my command,” he teased walking naked from the bed into the bathroom.

  I took the moment of solitude to reflect. I was finally healing at least a little bit.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  As I emerged from the shower, the smell of cinnamon hit my nose. It took me back to a happy time and made me focus on the good memories I would make with Shawn today. Quickly, I put on clothes and made my way to the kitchen.

  Sitting at my table, I smiled as I lifted the sticky bun to my lips. The flavors exploded in my mouth and I moaned my pleasure.

  “Well, damn if I knew cinnamon buns did that, I would have been baking them regularly,” Shawn teased.

  “Uncle Zozo gets these shipped to me from a shop back home. They use the same recipe my dad used down to the cream cheese frosting he sends in the jars.”

  “Seeing your appreciation they are worth every penny he spends.”

  I was gleeful as we both ate our breakfast and appreciated the tastes.

  Appreciation.

  The act of appreciating. The recognition and enjoyment of something good. A full understanding of a situation, an acknowledgement, an awareness.

  Losing Giano had taught me appreciation.

  Picking myself up and getting through life had given me a profound appreciation for the things I had previously taken for granted … Giano.

  Uncle Alanzo had done so much for me. I told him all the time I appreciated him, but when had I really shown it.

  Actions spoke louder than words and I made a mental note to do something special for Uncle Zozo in the near future.

  “Do you have any family traditions?” I asked Shawn as I pulled another cinnamon bun onto my plate.

  I had shared with him that Giano and I had cinnamon buns every Christmas for breakfast. It was our tradition. I thought it would feel weird or like a betrayal to share it with someone else, but reality was this felt nice. Shawn giving me this, though, I wanted to share one of his traditions as well.

  His eyes hooded over and he grew distant. “I didn’t mean to pry,” I backtracked feeling shame for upsetting him.

  His hand reached out and cupped my chin. “You’re never prying. I didn’t mean to upset you or shut you out. I didn’t have the childhood most people do. I told you my family had ties. Those ties weren’t always good.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  He blew out a breath. “No, I want to. My dad was an old school Irish-man. He was strict, but more than that he was an alcoholic. He was great at his business, importing and exporting goods, but holidays meant family to most of his associates. With no work, he had to come home and face me and my mother. He hated us both. So he spent his time drowning in booze. When the buzz wore off he found his high in beating on me.”

  My heart broke for him.

  Shawn was so strong and had endured so much. He overcame it all to do what he wanted in li
fe rather than drown in the darkness.

  “Is that why you don’t drink?” I asked noticing that when we went out he didn’t order alcohol. I didn’t drink since the night with Giano. I abused alcohol teasing him and seducing him. I swore I would never drink again and I hadn’t.

  He nodded.

  Leaning over I pressed my lips to his.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  One Year Later

  Confidence was …

  I stared at the words on my computer screen. I was writing a paper for my Psychology class on developmental fundamentals and where we felt society failed. It was an opinion based assignment which I never liked those. Facts were easy. It was black and white, something happened or it didn’t.

  Opinions had many layers.

  One’s opinion was ultimately sculpted and fashioned by their life events. Tragedies and successes alike molded and formed us into what we perceived and believed. No two individuals saw the same thing.

  Even something as simple as colors could be left to interpretation because it was all based on how our eyes reflected the light as to which shades we differentiated. Add in color-blindness and truly a debate could be easily sparked on the shade of something.

  Confidence to me was a key factor lacking in many childhoods. It was a fundamental core of a person that society failed to recognize.

  Now, I didn’t buy into the gentle brand of life where we had to take into account every single emotion before interacting with another human being. That simply was lack of coping skills … another fundamental many people in today’s society were lacking.

  Look at the number of school shootings that were on the rise, the suicide rates, the world we lived in was not a kind and peaceful place.

  Where did it all go so wrong?

  Well, the key fundamentals to survival that weren’t instilled in childhood. One of those being confidence.

  We need to be raised to believe we have a purpose, a reason for being. Without that what did we have to strive for? What motivated me? My need to escape before Giano. After Giano, my need to thrive.