She scrubbed the stove with precision as her rosary dangled from her wrist. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” she prayed as she counted down the beads until the final “Our Father”. She would never inherit the earth. Her thick Italian accent boomed through the house. “Antonella, mangia!”
The blank pages of my notebook blew in the wind as I yelled back, “coming!” She never hears me the first time. “Antonella, mangia! Food!” She yells again. I gather up my pencil case and notebook and head inside. My eyes sting as I walk into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?” I ask as I grab a plate from the pantry. “Why you no get plate for your sisters?” She snaps. I roll my eyes and grab four other plates. Hazel walks in. “Ugh, what’s that?” She groans. “You like.” Nonna said. “No I don’t,” Hazel whined. “Just eat it,” I said. After we finish I put my plate in the sink. “Fold the clothes,” She said pointing to the pile of clothes scattered over the laundry room.

Quickly I begin folding. She walks in and begins to fold with me. “Don’t fold so quickly,” she said. “You are just like your Aunt Maura,” She laughed. “Didn’t you and Aunt Maura run a pizzeria together?” I ask. She nods her head. “Your Aunt Maura was always with the panic,” she said. “Once we were almost robbed and your Aunt Maura went white like a ghost!” She stares into the washing machine as it spun us back to that pizzeria on Seneca Avenue in Flushing, New York.

Suddenly I was standing there, in Carlo’s Pizzeria. I look around. Standing behind the counter was a very beautiful young woman with dark hair and black heels. As she was cleaning the counter a young boy walks up to order. His worn jeans brushed over the floor like a street cleaner. “How can I help you?” Maura said, smiling. “I’ll have a cheese pizza please,” the boy said. He kept tapping his pocket over and over again. Aunt Maura pulls the pizza from the oven. The boy fumbles to pull out his gun. She turns and stops dead in her tracks. “What’s in the back room?” The boy shouts, his voice cracking. Maura is pale white. “N-nothing,” she stutters. “Bring me back there,” he is more composed now. She begins walking toward the back of the restaurant.

I rush into the back room. Everyone is laughing. “Tony, Tony whadda you doin’? This is poker not go fish!” Said a man who seemed to be balding but managed to comb his hair over from one side to the top of his head. “Kiss my hairy butt, Luigi,” said Tony. There were about ten to fifteen men, all in strangely patterned sports jackets and shirts with the top button undone so you could easily see their gold chains and chest hair. In the corner sat a younger version of my Nonna dealing cards to all the strange, hairy men. “Hey Linda kiss my cards for good luck,” said Luigi. Suddenly, Aunt Maura walks into the backroom, white as a ghost. Linda jumps up. “Maura, Maura che cos'hai? What’s wrong?” Linda asks. “Th-there is a boy outside, he wants to come back here,” Maura said, tears streaming down her face. “He’s got a gun!”

I watched as every single one of those grown men ran out the back door leaving Linda and Maura to fend for themselves. Linda straightens out her apron and marches toward the door to the pizzeria. She bursts through. The boy jumps back. “Whadda want?” She snaps. “I-Take me to the back,” he said, trying to regain his footing. Linda begins to raise her voice “There’s nothing back there, go home!” She took a step forward. He pulled out his gun. Linda begins to laugh, “Shoot me! There’s nothing in the back.” The boy steps back nearly tripping on the frayed ends of his jeans. She takes another step forward and says, “You are a boy, go home or I call police.” She seems to tower over him though she is the same size in those big red heels. The boy looks around, then bolts out the front door. As Linda turns around and walks through the door we were brought back to our time.

“All those big men and they all ran, whoop! Out the door!” She laughs. Her eyes stay in one place as she folds. She’s not quite back yet.