I believed in some superstitions, I knocked on wood with the rest of them to keep something bad I just said from coming true. I believed if you broke a mirror, it caused seven year’s bad luck, malocchio or if a black cat crossed your path, something bad would happen. Only because I had seen it first-hand. We went to an Italian dinner dance once and the café had closed, so I went with Zia Sarina, Abby and Tessa to grab some KFC. As we drove to the restaurant, a black cat ran across the road and when Zia Sarina opened the door to KFC, she fell on the ground, scraping her leg really badly. If it had been Abby, then I would have thought nothing of it, because she was one of the clumsiest people I had ever met — tripping over nothing or dropping things but with Zia Sarina, it could have just been an accident, however I think not. It was too much of a coincidence.
“My nose is itchy,” I said, scratching the spot.
“You know what that means don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, “It means I’m about to be hit and who’s going to hit me? You? Just for taking one slice of turkey?”
“Maybe.”
“Sorry…actually I’m not, besides the turkey is for me anyway.”
“No, it’s for everyone.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed another piece. I knew Mum bought it especially for me. The first time I had tasted turkey was in America for Thanksgiving and I couldn’t eat chicken after that. I preferred turkey, it tasted better. Mum didn’t like to cook it often because it took so long to prepare; however, she knew how much I loved it and promised to make it for every Christmas.
“I don’t know why you’re complaining. The Bendigo people might not like turkey,” I said.
I always referred to them as the ‘Bendigo people’. There were ten of them in their family and it was much easier calling them that, than to go through all of their names individually. Zio Cristo was my Nonno’s brother and he lived in Bendigo with his wife Pippa and their three adult children: Maria Angela, Connie and Rocco.
I had only known them for about five years. Before that I hadn’t actually met them or even heard their names mentioned because of a big rift between our families and it was mended the day Nonno died. I didn’t know the entire story but apparently, Zia Pippa was upset with my parents because Lorissa didn’t choose Connie to be a bridesmaid. They didn’t come to the wedding and my parents hadn’t spoken to them since. I think the only reason my parents forgave them was because they were in mourning; otherwise, they would still be fighting. Truthfully, I didn’t give it much thought. Maria Angela was married to Diego and they had three kids: Sav, Robert and Laura. I was just excited to learn I had three new cousins and had somebody different to play with. I also liked the fact that they owned a Pizza Shop and a café in Bendigo and whenever we went up there we got free food.
There was a tap on the window. They were finally here. I opened the door and greeted Zia Sarina, Zio Nico, my cousins and the Bendigo people. I stood with my back against the door, trying to avoid the hands from smack-ing me in the face as they moved uncontrollably in every direction. Last night, I was poked in the eye and couldn’t see out of it for ten minutes. I also had a huge scratch on my right arm and I really wanted to prevent the same scene, the same pain.
I swear Italians could have a whole conversation using hand signals, without even opening their mouths. It was a language of its own, each emotion shown in different ways and it was amazing how one gesture or one glance could say a lot more than a billion words. Holding out your hand in front of you, rocking it back and forth with a shrug implied ‘half-and-half’. Whereas a head nodded back once with your chin up, accompanied by a small shrug and the one word, ‘buh’ indicated ‘I don’t know’ and you knew to start running when you saw someone shake their head and start biting their hand. That meant you were going to get the shit beaten out of you and I had seen that signal more than a couple of times in this lifetime.
“Stand back with your hands up in the air where I can see them,” I said to Tessa as she moved towards me.
“What about the legs? I can kick too!” she said.
“Ha, ha, you’re funny,” I said as we walked into the kitchen. “I just don’t want a patch on my eye for the rest of my life when someone thrusts an eyeball out.”
Nonna and the Amato family arrived ten minutes later.
“About time you decided to show up. I’m hungry,” I said, as they walked through the back door.
“Nice to meet you ‘hungry’ ,” my Zio said, holding out his hand. “I’m Vittorio.”
I did a fake laugh, cutting the chuckle within a few seconds, and then scowled at him. I had heard that joke too many times. The first time was funny, the hundredth time, he managed to get a smile out of me but now after the millionth time, it was more of a glare. Zio Vittorio was the joker in the family. He was amusing but sometimes, like right now, you just stared at him and wondered what he was on about. However, most of the time I wished my dad was like him. He was always joking around with Sophie and David. My dad did kid around with us, but it was usually done at the wrong time and ended in tears.
“Oh shut up Vittorio,” Zia Manuela said, laughing.
“Thanks Zia, you took the words right out of my mouth. How are you doing bitch?” I said, kissing her on the cheek.
“I’m great, paccia!”
“I’m not crazy!”I laughed. I had a different relationship with Zia Manuela than I did with Zia Sarina. I loved them both the same, but with Zia Manuela, she was only thirty-two-years-old and we had always been able to banter back and forth and knew the other wouldn’t get offended. With Zia Sarina, I wouldn’t dare call her a bitch; it just didn’t feel right. The best thing about them both was I could talk to them about my problems and I knew they would always listen and help me in any way they could.
Zia Manuela pushed Zio Vittorio into the lounge room and sat down. I loved their relationship; it was a page out of a romance novel. You could see how much they loved each other, just in the way they looked at one another. It was something I wanted for myself one day; however not with David or Tony, that would be gross. Zia Manuela and Zio Vittorio were first cousins. I know it sounded disgusting but it really wasn’t. They didn’t grow up together. When Nonno and his family immigrated to Australia, Zio Vittorio was thirteen-years-old and Zia Manuela was a toddler. Then thirteen years later, Zio Vittorio travelled to Italy with my grandparents and met Zia Manuela. It was love at first sight and though their parents objected with the union, their love overcame every obstacle and within a month they were married.
I always teased Sophie and David, saying their parents were the reason they were retarded but they knew I was only kidding. If Zia and Zio hadn’t wed, then I wouldn’t have them as my cousins and I couldn’t imagine my life without any of them. I adored David. He was nine-years-old and because his only companions were three girls, he was sweet, sensitive and caring. He was also the biggest cry-baby.
Whenever Tess, Sophie and I upset him, not intentionally, we knew he was about to cry. He would scrunch up his face first, try holding in his sobs but then he would let it rip, with tears falling and vocally. He could scream and cry just like a girl and it took ages to calm him down.
We all gathered around the dinner table and began to eat, trying to fit in as much as possible. An hour later, we were all full and went our separate ways; the oldies inside the kitchen, the adults in the lounge room while us ‘kids’ retreated outside. David, Laura and Robert found a tennis ball and were playing two-square while Tessa, Sophie, Sav and I went into the front yard.
“What are you guys doing?” Sav asked as Tessa, Sophie and I stepped onto a hose stump and climbed onto my brick wall.
“We’re sitting on the wall,” I said, stating the obvious.
“I can see that. Why?”
I didn’t know how to explain it. When I had my