I Vagabondi

Copyright 2012 by Dominic Licorish

First Published on Smashwords

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The first thing I ever stole was a penny cake from Al's bakery on 116th. I was only eleven, and I felt so bad about it later that I ended up blabbing to my parents. Not one of my smartest moves; I couldn't walk straight for a week after the whippin' my father gave me. He always used the same belt when it came to discipline. He never wore it on his pants. In a lot of ways, it was more my belt than his, 'cause he never wore the damn thing. Only thing it did was tan my ass. And it did that a lot.

My father used to hit my mother and me before she died. After she was gone, he got worse, and I was the only target of his anger. I got used to crying myself to sleep, trembling from the burning red welts that damn belt left on my skin. At times like that, I would remember my Mamma. There was a song she used to sing when I was younger, a lullaby that her mother sang to her when she was a girl. She told me stories about Palermo and "our people". She'd talk about her childhood home fondly, as though being a kid was actually enjoyable. It sounded like a dumb fairy tale to me. I knew firsthand what being a kid was like, and it wasn't nearly as cozy as Mamma's memories of fresh baked pignulata and vastedda.

Mamma always complained about not having a decent oven or garden. I remember I asked her why she came here if she was so much happier in Italy. She shook her head and turned away to hide the sudden moisture in her eyes. She talked about going back to visit one day so I could see it, but we didn't have the money for a trip like that. Looking back, I took those stories she shared for granted. I was still young, but I'd already come to understand a few of the most important things about life: it's short, and there ain't no do-overs, so don't waste what little time you got. Act on your dreams or they'll never come true.

This brings me to the second time I ever stole. It was on my thirteenth birthday. I'd been working in a factory with my father since I was nine. I earned half the wages I should have. My father made me work till my fingers were too swollen and shaking for me to do any more. They didn't pay me at the factory; they paid my father. Everything I earned was his for "safekeeping". My mamma used to keep our earnings safe under a loose floorboard in our room, but once she was gone, nobody could stop my father from pissing it away on liquor. I suppose that was why I never really thought of it as stealing when I loosened the floorboard one night, and walked out of the apartment with nothing but a large rucksack and every dollar we had to our name.

I didn't have much, but I had enough for a trip to Sicily. I'd been thinking about it a lot, about my mother a lot. I wanted to see it for myself, ate what she ate, feel what she felt. Being half a world away from my prick of an old man was a big plus too.

When I stepped off the boat and onto the busy dock, I have to admit I was impressed. The city itself wasn't much to look at. I mean, nothing can hold a candle to New York, but the landscape itself held me in awe for a moment. The bay sprawled out around me, embracing me, and everyone else coming into port. Behind the city, I could see the gentle slopes of mountains rising up from the Earth to remind us how tiny we are. They were just how Mamma described them. The air was so much clearer here, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I took my first steps into the city with a happy grin. Running away was the best decision I'd ever made.

I spent the day as a tourist would, sampling the food, and soaking in the sights. That first day was everything I imagined it would be, everything my mother must have felt all those years ago. When the sun set, I found a small, dry nook to curl up in and laid down to rest. I had enough money for food for a week or so if I made it stretch. I wasn't sure what my next step was, once I was here. My plan had gone as far as achieving freedom. Now that I could do anything, what would I do? I figured the answers would come eventually, and I fell asleep, using my bag as a pillow.