1: Luci
I didn't cry at the funeral. Mamma did, but that was her best friend, the love of her life and Chiara did but she's thirteen and really emotional. I have no idea why I didn't cry; I loved my Papá. I can't tell if everything has set in yet or not. It was too sudden, a blur of sirens and confusion. I think I'm still confused.
We're moving in with Mamma's sister in L.A., Chiara's and my Zia Rosa. I'm not sure why, but it's probably because the house we're leaving behind was the house Papá chose when we moved back to America from Italy a year ago. I'm fine with it; I didn't have any friends since I put off what you'd call "back off bitch" vibes. Or maybe it's just my accent that puts people off. Papá was my best friend, so I didn't have a need for one at school. Chiara doesn't have any friends to leave behind, not with her only being able to go outside for more than a few hours at a time without Mamma worrying. Mamma says the hospitals are better in L.A., better for my sick little sister.
Los Angeles, California is very different from Augusta, Maine. For one, it's fifteen times hotter than Maine or Florence ever was. It's hot and bright with endless sunshine here, absolutely no clouds to hide the bright blue sky. I can see sandy beaches dotted with neon swimsuits and there's just so many people. I want to go back to Florence, or Maine. I want to go back to when my
Papá
was alive a few months ago and stay in that time.
