The Fallen Ones

Chapter 3 • The Second Summer

Maria:

I could have never imagined how much my life would change when I first met Rosa. For the first time in my entire life, I have a friend. I have someone I can talk to and hang out with and just be myself. I was still surprised, though, when she offered to help me move back into my grandmothers house after graduation.

For the most part, I don't actually see Rosa. Between the hour drive between us and the three different jobs I work, there's not much time. She also travels a lot, typically to New York to visit family, and is often not in Italy. But we text and call nearly every day.

One of her favorite topics of discussion is her cousin. The same one I spent the summer with. The same one who I've never seen smile. The same one who kissed me and was never seen again.

I'm not quite sure what happened that day. But Enzo is in my thoughts more than I'd like to admit. There's just something about him. Something that says, despite who he is, I can trust him. That he's not as big and bad as he wants to come off as.

As soon as I graduated I abandoned my dream of being a ballerina. It was stupid to begin with anyways. Now I bounce between different jobs typically working close to 70 hours a week.

I wish I was like my classmates. I wish I could afford to go to university. I wish I could truly follow my dreams. But it's simply not realistic for me.

I work my ass off every day. From the cafe to the boutique to the produce stand. It's nearly non stop. But it's still not enough.

I didn't have a choice; really. Grandmothers money ran out and the debt collectors came. They were going to take the house; the last tangible memory of the family I've lost.

I had heard about these men. They hang out at some of the older bars, playing cards and smoking cigars. I remember, when I was little, my grandmother warning me about them. That they may look like men but they were actually monsters. For a while, I took it literally. But when faced with no alternative I went to see them.

I took out a loan, enough to pay the mortgage and house insurance. They said I could pay them in installments, which I thought to be quite generous. But they forgot to mention one thing. That collection day was whatever day they chose. There was no schedule to it, no set amount to pay each time. They'd just show up, at my work in the middle of the day or at my front porch in the early hours of the morning.

Pounding on my front door wakes me. I glance at the clock beside my bed and wince. It has to be them; who else would show up at this time?

I hesitantly put on my slippers and robe and head downstairs. The pounding on the door grows louder the closer I get. I keep the lights off as I walk, it's just another bill I'd have to pay. I take a shaky breath as I reach for the handle.

I don't have a moment to adjust before three men barge into my home. I take shaky steps backwards as they force their way in. They surround me, towering above with hardened faces and loaded guns.

The one man sneers, "è il giorno della raccolta."
(It's collection day)

My face drops; he can't be serious. I gave them my entire paycheck just a few days ago. I haven't even been able to pay the electric or water bill for the month. The only food I've had in weeks come from leftovers at my job and the little vegetable garden in my yard.

"I paid you on Monday," I all but whisper.

"E pagherai oggi," the same man retorts.
(And you're going to pay today)

"Non ho soldi," I insist.
(I don't have any money)

The men exchange looks. I can feel myself cower under their authority. I'm fucked, truly. I have absolutely nothing to offer other than this house which I refuse to part with. The only thing left is me. I shudder at the thought.