Different Worlds

*Bolded is English, non-bolded is Italian.

• This story contains mention of suicide, bullying, mental health issues, self harm, mild mention of alcohol abuse, and mild gore if you look with a magnifying glass. If you are not comfortable with these topics, please do not proceed!

--prologue--

I had moved to a new country. All my life I had lived in Italy. With all my childhood friends and family. My father had went to war, and mysteriously went 'missing.' We received a letter from him saying he never wanted to speak to any of us again. The police say he only wanted to leave us, that this was his divorce letter.

But that wasn't my papa's handwriting.

My mother had tried to commit suicide after. Her note read, "Tell my Isabella she deserves a family, a real one. I must leave, please take care of her." But she didn't get the results she wanted. She lived, and she says she's happy but I hear her cry every night.

My uncle says it will be better in America. For me and my mother. He says it will be a fresh start, a new environment.

My mother was granted a work visa. She looked happy when she received the letter and opened it in front of everyone, but I had heard her pray the night before, that she didn't want to leave.

--

Today would be the day we leave to America. We were going to be living in a place named, 'Vermont.' It took me 15 minutes and 30 seconds to learn how to pronounce it correctly.

"Say your goodbyes, Isa," said my mama. "I don't want to leave, Mama." I told her, hoping she would listen to my pleads.

"We must." She told me, but I know in her mind she's yelling, "I want to stay! I don't want to leave! I don't want to restart!"

Everyone waved goodbye as we followed the signs to board the big metal bird. "Are we really never to come back?" I asked my mama.

"Yes, Isa. We are to never look back." She spoke, never once looking into my eyes because she knows if I looked long enough, I would come face to face with the eyes of a liar.

"Hello fellow passengers, please pay attention to the flight attendant, for she will be going over some procedures we must follow to assure everyone's safety, thank you and may you all have a nice flight."

"What did he say, mama?"

The man spoke a different tongue, one I had only heard on TV when my papa put on the English channels to watch the fight games. I was always to scared to watch the men hit each other. Blood would always spill out their nose or parts of their face, but papa would always yell, encouraging the reactions.

"Hit him!" "Yes, like that!" "Take him down!" He would yell, with a beer in hand, in that couch Mama always wanted to throw away, but now it was the only thing she had left of him. It smelled of the many glasses of alcohol he would chug when he would come home from  base. Mama said it's best to leave him alone when he drinks. She would say he had a long day, and needed to relax, but not to step near him.

"He said you must watch the lady in the front, it's weird he speaks English, this is the Italian airport" Mama said, as she stitched her brows together in confusion. "You know their language?" I asked. "Yes, Isa. You will have to learn it too."

"I don't want too learn anything new..." I whispered to myself

--

As we landed, the man spoke again, "Yet another successful flight, ladies and gentlemen. Please wait as the flight attendants will lead each section off the plane safely, have a nice stay everyone."

"What did he say, Mama?"

"Argh, Isabella, be quiet! Just stop asking questions for once, let me be!" Mama yelled in frustration, and anger, others watched as my mother bent down to hide her face.. "We should have never left." She said covering her eyes. "I should have left you too. I should have left like your father." She whispered to herself, but loud enough for me to hear. "What did you say, Mama?"

"Isabella, just grab your things." Mama spoke, as she picked up pieces of paper she had been writing on during the flight, when I asked her about it she said she was practicing her English.

We got off the huge metal bird. Once we walked down the stairs, inside the big glass building I smelled food, my tummy immediately starting to growl of hunger. "Mama, I want food, please." I asked, as I held on tight to the doll my uncle had given me before we left.

"Isabella, we just landed, we must find our guide. Then we will eat." Mama said, as she looked up and down, and around the large place.

"We will never find anyone in this big crowded place, there's people covering every inch of this place." I said, as I looked up to admire the roof the building we were in.

"Isabella, listen too me." My mom spoke, as she grabbed my shoulders to face her. "This is a new place. A new life, for you, and me. You must stop fooling around? Do you understand me? This isn't home, Papa isn't here to protect us anymore." 

He never was. "Isabella, I need you to answer me."

"Yes, Mama."

--

7 weeks, and 3 days.

It took me 7 weeks and 3 days to be accepted into those nice fancy schools Mama told me she always saw on the news. Papa always said that counting was one of my strengths. I hated reading, so I focused on math.

"Isabella, make sure you look for the translator, and please pay attention in class, none of this is cheap. You hear me?"

I wish we were in Italy. Mama has been stressed.

I heard her cry to God, she begged him to take her life. She questioned him, Papa said to never question God because everything 'He' does, has a reason.

I can't do anything but painfully choke out, "Yes, Mama."

Walking through the halls was a challenge. I didn't know where I was going. I had a mission, to find that translator, or somebody that could help me.

The yelling of the children flooded my ears. If Papa never left, I would have never had to come to this place. Mama wouldn't have to be supervised by that lady that comes to check on us every weekend.

I wouldn't be searching for "the short mean looking lady with brown hair."

"Are you Isabella?" A robotic voice spoke.

A tall pearl skinned boy with circle glasses hovered behind me, and he knew my name. "Yes... Yes, I am Isabella, hello!" I said, feeling relieved that someone from home was here. Even if he looked... a bit different.

"Hi Isabella! I'm your translator, my name is Micah. Do you need help?" He smiled, as the robotic voice spoke again, as he held his hand up for me too shake which I took gracefully. "Yes, I need help finding.. um.." I looked down back at my palm to check what Mama had written down on it earlier.

"Ms. Per-co-wits?" I struggled. I looked up at Micah just too see him already looking at me, with a pitiful smile. "Ms. Berkowitz, she's the principal, I'll help you find her." He spoke. His real voice, which I didn't quite understand, but all I caught was the way he spoke the name differently. Giggling when he turned around, motioning me to follow him.

Why would he laugh at my pronunciation? Mama said it was perfect. Mama doesn't lie. Well... she does tell the truth.

Sometimes.