Farewell, My Loves

by Jen Tirone

  I didn’t want to fathom what it all meant.

  I didn’t want to be without him!

  “No, please, you can’t go!” I told him in between my sobs.

  I couldn’t even look at him anymore, it hurt too much.

  “Gianna, stop crying and look at me,” he demanded.

  But I couldn’t. I was so distraught, it felt like a nightmare I needed to wake up from. I shook my head over and over wishing it would shake away everything I just heard, blur away all the distress I saw on his face.

  I wanted to go back to watching how sweet it was that he was carving our initials on our tree.

  He kneeled down in front of me and cupped my cheeks to capture my attention.

  “Gia, this isn’t the end. You’re mine, okay? G & G sempre, because as soon as I can, I’m coming back here for you. I’ll work hard and save everything I make to be with you. I’m going to marry you one day, Gianna Vitale, and we’ll never be apart again,” he promised with a soft kiss to my cheek.

  But I was unfeeling.

  I knew he could vow all the promises he wanted to profess, but we were at the mercy of our parents.

  He was going to move away and I was terrified I wasn’t going to ever see him again.

  I’ve spent my whole life with this boy.

  The boy I knew I loved since I could remember and now he was going away.

  I couldn’t look past my own pain to see how adamant he was in his promise.

  Because nothing at that moment could comfort me.

  He was leaving and no matter how long or how soon he could be back—if he would even come back, he was going to be away from me and I didn’t know how I was going to survive it.

  When the week was over and we had to say goodbye, I thought I would die without him.

  That first year Giorgio was gone was the hardest.

  He took my little eleven-year-old heart with him.

  At first, every morning I would get ready for school thinking I was going to see him on the walk there, only to remember he was gone.

  I was used to rushing out of school everyday to meet with him and tell him all about the ways Serafina annoyed me, or the new book we needed to read in my class…I’d run outside and be met with no one there waiting on me.

  And on the weekends and holidays and then summers, I had nothing to do without him.

  My sister was seven years older than me with a social life of her own, looking to get married to someone new now that Nico wasn’t a prospect. He didn’t make her any promises like Gio did to me.

  My brother Alessandro was twenty-two and single. He was never home if he could help it.

  So once a year, maybe twice if I was really lucky, I would come alive with the arrival of Gio’s letters.

  It would seem that because I was so young, it was a bit extreme to feel this way, but being without the boy I absolutely adored—I was desolate.

  He had been my past, and was supposed to be my future. He was my best friend. He felt more important to me sometimes than my own family. It felt debilitating he wasn’t here anymore.

  His first letter came a few months after he moved. Promising me in each and every letter that he was coming back to me one day, the words made up the air in my lungs to be able to breathe through the loneliness that choked me; mine were reassurances that I was only his and that I couldn’t wait to be together again.

  I’d wait for him as long as I had to.

  1952

  Gianna,

  America is indescribable and so are the days without you.

  Voyage on La Saturnia was like no other. After getting over the initial seasickness, I didn’t notice we were traveling on water!

  As you can imagine, my brothers were ecstatic to move to America, but I assure you, I did everything in my power to make them feel just as miserable as I felt leaving you.

  Bambina, every morning I’m in this new country the thrill to explore rises with the sun, only to plummet to my feet and drag on with the day knowing you’re not part of it.

  Just you wait, Gia, I’ll be back before you know it.

  Yours,

  Gio

  But loneliness followed me day in and day out, the constant companion weaving into my DNA. It wrapped around the very essence of my being like a new layer of skin, I eventually didn’t know any other way to feel.

  To deal with it the best way I could, I imagined all sorts of ways our life would be, but really, the daydreams only added more yearning to my sadness.

  I became an avid reader to distract myself with other worlds and try to experience feelings other than my own loneliness through the characters’ lives.

  But more often than not, I was a glutton for punishment torturing myself with romantic books in the hope our lives would merge together again, resulting in added longing I had been doing just fine creating by myself.

  1955

  Giorgio,

  Waiting for you is a job I take with the utmost responsibility.

  I will admit I impatiently wait for your letters, but mostly for you.

  What can I tell you that you don’t already know? Salerno isn’t the same without its golden boy. It seems America has the best of everything—even you.

  Tell me more about your life.

  Do you have any friends?

  Have you mastered English yet, like you do everything else?

  What is your home like?

  Don’t leave out any details anymore. I need them all.

  Please, write to me more often. You can’t imagine how reading over your words a thousand times is what comforts me.

  Forever yours,

  Gia

  Life went on, though I spent more time with my mama than most girls in their teens did.

  Instead of looking for every chance to go out and socialize, I holed up in my room with Gio’s letters, musing what it would be like to be his in every way.

  I took to watching my parents or other married couples at church so I could hopefully one day mimic a good marriage.

  1956

  My dearest Gianna,

  I know you want all the details of my life—but I promise none of it is fascinating. I won’t waste your time detailing monotonous experiences. What I will tell you is all the ways you’ve come to mind.

  There’s a small neighborhood here in New York they call Little Italy.

  Most bakeries sell cannoli, but what they all fail to do is dip the ends of the shell in chocolate and top them with pistacchio, like you love.

  Every time I treat myself to one just to feel closer to you, I think, my Gia would be so disappointed—she would wonder how they could call themselves Italian. I’d imagine you reprimanding the baker and telling them how it should be done, making a smile appear on my face. Even if it’s just for a second, you managed to do it from (too many) miles away.

  I know that you’re still young, bambina, but I’ve always known I’d marry you one day. While my mother nags Nico and Matti to find a nice girl here, she reserves comment with me knowing my girl is impatiently waiting for me back home. Just as I’m impatiently waiting to get to her.

  Yours,

  G.

  Nothing else mattered more than looking forward to having Gio in my life again.

  I knew him as my best friend; I couldn’t wait to know him as my boyfriend.

  That he would do everything he could to be with me again, was the ultimate, romantic gesture in my eyes.

  1956

  My dearest Giorgio,

  It sometimes feels as if there’s a gaping hole in my chest. America has taken you away from me, and time is trying to do the same with your memory.

  Gabi married Piero Ambrosino, the eldest son of the family who owns the pizzeria we used to frequent.

  During the whole ceremony I pictured us as the Bride and Groom kneeling at the altar instead. But if it weren’t for your mama sending us a photo of you from two years ago, I may not have been able to picture my groom in my mind!

  I’m despera
tely waiting, Gio. There aren’t enough books to occupy my mind from feeling the emptiness in my lonely heart. Waiting for you and missing you have made permanence in my life.

  Please write me more. You can’t imagine the joy it brings me even if it’s only for a moment to hold and read and become enveloped in the warmth of your words.

  My 15th birthday just passed and as I’ve done since you moved away—is dedicate the wish to be reunited with you soon.

  Gabi’s new brother-in-law, Paolo, invited me recently to join them on a double date, but I politely declined—letting him know I’d been spoken for since the day I was born.

  But am I still spoken for?

  I don’t mean to rush you, but Gio, I miss you.

  With love,

  Gianna

  When boys offered to hold my books for me on my walks home, I always ignored them. I didn’t want to give anyone the undeserved attention, and I undoubtedly didn’t want any from them.

  In my heart, I knew that’s what Gio would want. I knew he was trying his hardest to come back to me. It wouldn’t be fair not to hold out for him. I couldn’t imagine he was occupying his time any other way, than working a lot to get back home.

  I know my parents loved the fact that I didn’t pay anyone any attention. Or, more specifically, any boys.

  Babbo especially loved this, making comments over time how he was glad Gio made his promise to me, but even happier he’d been very, very far away from me at his age. I wasn’t sure what babbo meant, but I think if it were up to him, he would’ve sent Gio away himself during such a “delicate and impressionable time” in my life as he liked to insist one too many times I was apparently in.

  I don’t think I’ll ever understand babbo!

  But honestly, any longer apart and I think my lonely heart was going to wither away for good.

  1958

  My treasured Gia,

  I don’t endeavor to make you grow old without a husband, or never experience becoming round with my children.

  You are the only thought that warms me in these frigid winters and the only solace of peace for my damned soul.

  Your wishes have come true—as I’ve kept my word over the years.

  The wait is finally over.

  I’m coming home for you.

  Love,

  Giorgio

  I thanked God for giving me back the boy I loved so much, six years after waiting for him.

  I woke up that Saturday morning and put on my favorite plaid dress. It was pastel yellow and purple, with a white pilgrim collar and cap sleeves. Gabi always said I looked rather nice in it and I wanted to make sure I looked great to welcome Giorgio back home.

  I decided to forego my usual ponytail and leave my wavy dark brown hair down. I wasn’t real familiar with any way to style it other than a long braid to the side. So I stuck with what I knew, and a braid to the side it was.

  The only comfort was that my sister always said I had beautiful, thick hair, insisting I keep it long. I took her word for it, and hoped Gio found it as pretty as she said it was.

  I never had to pay my looks much attention before, so now that I wanted to impress him I was a bundle of nerves.

  Once I had my Mary Jane’s on, I was ready to hang on his every word. I couldn’t wait to look into those deep brown eyes and get lost in them. I was dying to hear every little thing he didn’t write home to me about.

  I was sitting at the kitchen table watching Mama prepare the ingredients for dough when two sharp knocks sounded at the kitchen door, kickstarting my heart into overdrive as Giorgio stepped in with a bouquet of white roses in his hand.

  With a fond smile on his face, dark brown eyes met my green ones, and immediately my heart stalled.

  I almost couldn’t believe this was real.

  It had been too long since I laid eyes on him and he was even more beautiful than my memories allowed me to remember.

  But he looked so much older!

  He just turned twenty-one at the end of April a few weeks ago, and I didn’t know how to take in his vast changes.

  The last photo I saw of him he was seventeen.

  He looked like Gio—but like a man!

  I was beginning to panic the more I looked at him, because I felt more and more child-like.

  Unworldly to his cultured and dapper look.

  God, I suddenly felt like such a little girl in front of him.

  Stupidly, I was expecting the teen who left all those years ago. How was I going to act with him?

  “Gianna, hello, bella,” he said in a deep voice with an easy, charming smile.

  My God, his voice.

  So much deeper than before, it was making the hair on my arms stand.

  The endearment, too; I wasn’t used to that one from him.

  I was bambina!

  Not that I wanted to be called the baby anymore, but beautiful felt like it was for a... woman.

  Or it was the way he said it.

  Oh my God, I was so scared.

  This was my Giorgio!

  The boy I’ve known my whole life.

  But this man was scaring the heck out of me!

  “Gia, you’re staring at me like you don’t know me,” he told me in that deep voice again.

  I got goosebumps all over hearing my name in that rich baritone.

  “Giorgio Antonio! What a handsome man you’ve grown up to be!” Mama says smiling at him. She wipes her hands on her apron reaching out to take the flowers, and he walks over to her and kisses both cheeks and hugs her.

  He’s so, so tall. He towers over her as they begin small talk about his family and mundane things in America. Mama is about five feet tall. I’m maybe about an inch or two taller than her. In other words, we’re real petite.

  And he’s statuesque.

  Mama turns to me expectantly, “Gianna, come say hello to Giorgio already.”

  She’s looking at me like I’m a lunatic, and she should be. I was moping around for years missing the hell out of him and I’m staring at him like he’s a stranger.

  In essence, he is.

  And I don’t like it.

  “Hi,” my voice comes out so small.

  And I want to cry over how unprepared I feel now.

  My mind was belatedly telling my heart that everything I’d ever imagined, was just that—my imagination.

  Because he... wow. He’s just, wow.

  He even has a shadow of facial hair now.

  “C’mon, Gia. Let’s go for a walk and visit our old tree,” he coaxes.

  Our tree.

  Our G & G sempre tree, I cried many times under its canopy missing him terribly.

  I don’t know how the carving was still intact after all the tracing I did to it.

  And now this man-version, wants to go to the tree the boy-version had carved for me.

  I almost don’t want to take him to it. My mind wasn’t processing everything fast enough.

  He extended his elbow out for me to grab, and I tentatively take it to go outside with him.

  “Gianna, you come back right away, you understand?” Mama warns me, but looks right at him.

  I’m guessing she’s scared of him too, now.

  He laughs and is all smiles, but I look back at Mama as if to beg her not to leave me alone with him yet.

  Or ever.

  Just by looking at him, you could tell he wasn’t the kind of man you were simply friends with. Not as a woman, no. And you could tell without a doubt, he was an experienced man. With just one look at that face, that height, no, he definitely wasn’t spending his time apart from me only working.

  I was too stunned by him to even be bothered with what that meant.

  His easy, charming smile felt predatory.

  Especially on that handsome face.

  Back then they accompanied a harmless exploit. It was his way to disarm someone before he manipulated what he wanted out of them during a time of survival.

  I was wondering if I was still the exception to him...


  I had to be, right?

  He came back.

  He wasn’t still like that, was he?

  He was only just a kid then...

  This was all happening so fast!

  I needed to acclimate the reality with my daydreams.

  Oh God, are we just going to go get married already?

  I don’t think I’m ready anymore!

  What I thought I knew of him all these years, what my memory preserved, are most certainly not what’s standing next to me right now.

  We needed to get to know each other again.

  Too much time had passed by, it was easy to forget the weight of my promises. It’s distressing now that he actually came to collect.

  I think I was just so used to the idea of us in separation for such a long time and not actually being an us together anymore, that I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

  Would he try anything?

  Trying to keep my cool because I was already doubting a ton of choices I made overall and not just with my plain appearance, I took his arm and tried to breathe steadily before I hyperventilated as we walked.

  He felt so strong.

  The breeze gave me a waft of his cologne. So different, but I liked it.

  I’ve yet to speak to him still, other than the lame ‘hi’ I gave him earlier, I was feeling rude.

  Goodness, I was a mess.

  “Being home feels nice,” he comments, giving me an opportunity to look up at him.

  Wow, he’s tall.

  I would’ve never imagined he’d grow that high.

  And my God, I can feel his bicep through his suit and it was firm, and significantly sized, and looking at his large hands was wreaking havoc on my heart.

  Or was it hormones?

  Because I felt my blood pumping now that I was alone with him.

  Flutters I’d never felt before settled deep in my belly had me in knots. This was all exhilarating and scary.

  The sharp angles on his face were stunning. Though I missed his youthful, plush face still, he’s aged really, really well.