Thanksgiving

1st Chapter!

‘Lord, we give thanks for this wonderful life, all our family, and all that we have. Amen.” My mother said. “An, it’s your turn.”
I sighed; this was going to he painful. “We. no, I give thanks, Mother Earth, for all that you have given us. I thank you for my life. Mother. I ask you to forgive me for the pollution and other ignorances in this world.” “An, that’s enou—”
“No mom, I’m not done. I ask the soul of the ill fated turkey on this table for, on hehalf~of my parents and my family, for fon.Iveness for killing such a gentle and kind creature. I ask for-”
“Ariana! I will not have this kind of blasphemy at my table!” my dad cut in.
“You told me to give grace. and I’m giving grace!” I yelled at him.
“Ariana, don’t use that tone with me!”
“Ettore, stop.” my mom pleaded.
“No Clara! This happens every year! She ruins our Thanksgiving dinner with that s* * “S’~”~’?” I hurst out at him. “Forgive me for asking our mother and this poor creature for forgiveness! And this is a pointless holiday! You’re pretty much thanking the Pilgrims for killing the Native Americans!”
“Ariana. You will he quiet, and von will eat your dinner. I don’t care about those Native Americans, they didn’t even belong here in the first place. That turkey is just an animal. and we have a god given right to eat it. “ Lie growled.
“Dad,” my brother, Giulio said. “She’s just upset over Nona’s death.”
“I’m not! That was a year ago! And Nona is in another life! We should be happy for her, because it’s not death, it’s another birth!” I yelled.
“An,” I could hear the sadness in mom’s voice. Nona was her mother, but in order to marry my dad, she had broken all contact with her until a year ago. “Please, stop.” “No mom,” I said, my voice extremely bitter. “I will not.”
“Aniana!
“Forget this.” I got up, tears welling in my eyes and ran upstairs to my room. When I got into my room, I slammed the door behind me. This happened every year. I would try, try my hardest to not have turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, but no, my clad HAD to have turkey. We could have had warm pizza with fresh, home made dough. warm home macic sauce with basil, oregano, sage, and chunks ol tomatoes, and to top that all, freshly ground mozzarella di buffalo. And with that a salad with lettuce, many other vegetables, topped with vinaigrette and herbs. Pasta fresca with that, and freshly- made sauce, and drenched in fresh ground Parmesan. I-Iome made garlic bread on the side. In short, I wanted a traditional Italian meal. But my dad hated his home country, he hated everything to do with it. l-Ie only kept his name because my mother persuaded him too.
But I couldn’t have what my father didn’t want. HE had to always have his way. I wanted to got to Italy every summer, to the village of Nuvola, where my mother had been raised. I wanted to explore the ruins there and ask the elders what had happened there.
I slumped down on my bed. lying flat and letting all the tears welled up in my eyes out. I sighed. because I was hungry and tired. And I was also quite bored. And there was only one thing to do when one was bored. Think about school.
I was pretty popular at Stratford Academy, our school. It was a beautiful Greek-revival School for me was great. I loved being there with all my friends, and especially Alessandro Venzetti. Alessandro, or Alex, had moved to Prescott at the beginning of the school year and had, in words, become an instant hit here. He was nice, intelligcnt, had the most impish smile, and the warmest chocolate eyes anyone could have. And best of all, he was Italian. I knew that most of the girls in the school had a crush on him and I, was one of them. And to my happiness, I frequently caught him staring at me. Mostly during Latin and lunch, but it was still cool. And he was best friends with my brother, Giulio.
"Hey, can I come in?” I heard at the door.
I had popped on my iPod, laid down. and had closed my eyes.
The voice had popped me out of my trance. I took the iPod off and said. “Yeah,” and opened the door. It was Giulio.
“I brought you something.” He said, laying a plate of salad, bread, olive oil, and a pastry.
“Girazie.” I said to him, hungrily taking the plate.
He sat down on my bed and gave me a concerned look. It was funny how much we looked alike. We had the same dark brown hair and the same eyes and almost the same allergies. We looked nothing like our parents, hut we had been told since we were young that we took after my dad’s mother. I didn’t really believe it; neither did Giulio.
I ate fast and offered a piece of bread to him, hut he refused. Saving my pastry for later, I said, “What happened after I left?”
Giulio sighed and softly started saying in Italian, “Dad swore, mom looked like she was about to cry, Isabella tried to come upstairs to talk to you, but Dad said that no one was to see you until he actually talked to you.”
I could only turn my head down and pick at my pastry.
“You know how Dad wants everything to go his way?” he continued on.
“Yeah,” I whispered softly.
“We started to eat in silence and then mom looked at him and said. ‘Ettore, why did you have to say that?’ And, An, you know how he is, so they fought and she left the table almost crying to go to her ccn/hrt camera. And Dad angrily looked at me and Isa and told us to finish our dinner. And he took his own dinner and took it to his study.” he sighed again.
I finished the last of my pastry, put it on my side table, and we sat there in silence. “I should go talk to Mamma.” I softly said, still speaking in Italian.
“Si.” Giulio said. “You want me to take this down for you?” he asked, pointing at nw plate.
“Yeah. Grazie. I’ll go talk to mamma.” I only used Mamma instead of Mom when I was really depressed or pained. I gave Giulic a sad smile, almost as if to dismiss him. He smiled back in the same way and wished me good luck for talking with dad.
After Giulio left, I went into my bathroom and stood there. I looked in the mirror and parcticed what I was going to say, because I wanted it to sound as applogetic as I could sounding like I didn’t care. I stood there, watching my expression carefully, and mouthing the words with caution. It was almost like being in performing arts class at school.
After a few tries, I finally got it right. I bent down under my sink, to the cabinets that were under there and grabbed my brush.
My mom was always telling me to put my hair up and get it out of the way so that I could see, and other people could see me. It took me a while, because me and my hair weren’t used to being put up- I struggled to tie the hand, and also struggled to pin up my bangs.
When I was finally done, I sighed. My hair looked horrible. But at least mom would he happy.

 

Reviews

[R.W. Blue]

man, that food made me drool all over the place!!!!!!!
huntress? oooooh.... can't wait to read the next chapter!!!!!!!!!!

[Diamondjules]

This has a great beginning - I shall continue on! :)