DEVUÉLVEME MI CORAZÓN(Joel Pimentel/CNCO)

Chapter 53: Dolci Ricordi

-Eli-

I closed my eyes as the wonderful, chilly breeze hit my face ; sticking my head out the window was not something I usually did in America, but this wasn't America.

"No! Eliezer!" Mamme, *Mom* immediately scolded me, as she turned around from her front passenger seat, next to tatti. *Dad*

"This is the b—best feeling in the world!" I grinned, refusing to put my head back in.

"Honey," tatti interrupted mame, "Its all right, he's just having a little fun."

"Fine," Mame huffed, not too overwhelmed by
tatti's words.

It was seconds later that I heard mame's  voice again, ever so rich and soothing, as she read my favorite story, Pinocchio.

" How it came to pass that Master Cherry, the carpenter, found a piece of wood that laughed and cried like a child. Well, There was once upon a time..."

I rolled the glass of the window up, reached for a bag of my 'emergency' gummy bears, and intently listened as my mame read on.
This was the perfect ending to our day.

We'd gone to just about every antiques marketplace, and at every stop, I'd get a different Italian treat. It had been my parents way of "cheering me up" or so had they said, because today after we'd left Adeline's house, my spirits had been quite low, after hearing about her situation.

She wasn't even twelve and already had a life set out for her. My poor Adelina, she had cried on during the entire time of my visit. She couldn't help it, she had tried, she really had.

"I have a really bad headache," She had wiped her tears with the back of her hand, no sooner had I asked her why she was sad.

She'd always known she was a princess. Which somehow, lead to her knowing she'd marry a prince. What she didn't know, was that I was Jewish. Her father had a strong dislike for Jewish people. So it's no surprise that when he found out, through my father's own words, that his face immediately changed. He no longer looked at us the same. Her father didn't say anything rude exactly, well at least not at first, but I could tell how impatient he was for us to leave, by the way he anxiously tapped his foot on the tiled floor, or the way he kept on glancing at his wrist watch every three minutes or so.

My family wasn't rich, I knew that. We we're blessed by the grace of God, my parents had jobs and we could afford a roof over our heads. We we're together, we always worked through our problems together, and for me, that was more than enough.

A year ago I'd gone to Israel, where both of my parents had been born and raised, in a small village. They had lived in a small cottage, with about twenty other kids. It was sort of like an orphanage, except it was only run by this one kind, old lady. She had picked them up from the streets, after the war had taken their parents. They called her Elouise. My father was ten and my mother was seven, when they met. I guess you could say they were childhood sweethearts.

Yet, a year ago, when we went to visit Elouise, she was still providing a place to live for homeless kids. Food was very scarce, and I'd never seen so many people eating from the same plate. Much less, so many sad children my age. They had no parents. I couldn't imagine a world without my parents. They were all I'd ever known, they were the only ones who understood me and accepted me for me.

That first night in Israel I couldn't sleep, thinking about what my life would be like without my parents. Thinking about how much pain and sorrow those children must've felt. When I glanced at the digital clock on the wall, it read 3:32 a.m. My parents were sound asleep. I got down on my two knees and I prayed to God, I begged him to console those children, I begged him take care of my parents, to never let us part from each other. And then I thanked him, for giving me a home, the way I had never before.