Page 9 of The Singing Trees
“Nonna?” she said, rapping lightly on the door. “Can I come in?”
After a moment, Nonna cracked open the door, dressed in her nightgown. “Yes,nipotina?”
Annalisa lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”
Nonna’s bottom lip jutted out as she pulled open the door and opened up her arms. “I know you are.”
Annalisa bent down and hugged Nonna’s shoulders. “I’m so confused.” She noticed fresh prints in the kneeling pillow by the bed.
Nonna patted her lower back. “It’s okay to be confused. I am too sometimes.” She let go of Annalisa and took her hands, looking up into her eyes. “You might not believe it, but I love having you here. It’s not easy being alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Annalisa assured her, pulling her grandmother back into one more hug.
After a long, loving embrace that Annalisa needed so badly, the two bid each other good night. Returning to her room, Annalisa knelt by her bed and prayed, asking God to forgive her for being such a mess and to give her some guidance, and maybe a little help. Leaving Nonna would be incredibly hard, but how could she deny herself the opportunity rolling out ahead of her? She wasn’t sure if He existed, but she thought she’d at least give Him a chance to prove Himself.
Chapter 3
ALICE AND THEWHITERABBIT
Annalisa worked her tail off over the summer and into the fall as the temperatures fell. She pulled double shifts at Harry’s General Store, and even when school started, she worked any time he’d let her. What she didn’t spend on art supplies went straight to her savings to move to Portland.
Promising herself she’d do at least three pieces a week, she painted with every spare minute. To find new ideas, she caught rides with Nino or her aunts whenever they left town—sometimes to Freeport or Brunswick or Davenport—and, using her photographic memory, cataloged her experiences. Even when she was stuck in the Mills, the newspaper and television showed how extremely turbulent the world had become, and Annalisa could see its influence in her work. How could it not? Even Nonna had admitted these years might be the strangest of her long lifetime.
All in the span of a few months, so many crazy things were happening. Senator Kennedy had driven that woman off the bridge. Neil and Buzz had walked on the moon. Nixon continued to ship more soldiers to Vietnam, backing away from his pledge to end the war. The heartbreaking Manson murders happened less than a week before Woodstock. Talk about a juxtaposition to explain the times.
She had desperately wanted to go to Woodstock (it was only a few hours away) with a group of her friends from Bangor, but she knew that getting caught would doom her entire senior year and earn her a one-way ticket to becoming a Sister of Mercy. Still, she wanted to join this movement of young people desperate for the truth.
Annalisa would listen to her often-drunk and closed-minded uncles as they talked war and politics after weekend suppers. In her family, there seemed to be only one way, and that was strict conservatism and Catholicism. Any other opinions were wrong. The women in the family typically agreed, and that was why Nonna was still discouraging Annalisa from moving to Portland, the epicenter for sin. But like so many people her age, Annalisa didn’t want to mindlessly accept what she was told to believe. She wanted to get out into the world and form opinions of her own.
The only thing the country seemed to be in agreement on was the war. She’d never heard anyone argue for it. Sure, the US wanted to rid the world of communism—who didn’t?—but how was attacking soldiers and their families in a jungle thousands of miles away doing that exactly?
All these questions came out in her most recent works, where Annalisa explored themes of uprising. She painted protesters picketing against Nixon and the war. She painted scenes of women attempting to break through the infinite and impenetrable glass ceilings—and hippies and musicians and poets and artists expressing themselves through an endless array of mediums. Of course, many of these works weren’t popular in her family, so she kept them hidden under her bed.
On the fourth Friday in October, three months after being rejected by Jackie in Portland, Nino talked Annalisa into attending one of their high school football games. She wasn’t much of a sports fan at all. Quite the opposite, actually. Her father used to drag her to watch his alma mater’s team, the University of Maine Black Bears, play their home games, and revisiting those memories was never easy.
Still, even those rare Payton Mills residents who didn’t follow their team knew tonight was the biggest rivalry of the year: the Spartans versus the Davenport Eagles. When it came to great restaurants or golf courses, Davenport won. Prestige and money, it wasn’t even close. Beautiful scenery, Davenport excelled. But when it came to football, Payton Mills wore the crown.
In the sprawling grounds behind the very fancy Davenport High, Annalisa sat with Nino and their other friends in a sea of Spartan blue on the visitors’ bleachers. It was cold out, just over forty degrees, and many of the spectators had blankets draped over their legs.
Under the powerful bright lights, the Spartans’ star running back broke through the line. He ran to glory, and everyone in the visitors’ stands sprang to their feet.
Everyone except Annalisa, who stayed seated in both protest and shock, wondering how so many people could obsess over such a silly sport—especially with everything else going on in the world. It was a distraction, rooting for a victory in a conflict more controllable than war.
When Nino sat back down, she continued the conversation they were having about her departure after graduation. “You see,” she said, surveying the field. “This is exactly why I don’t belong here. I’m not sure a girl can live in Payton Mills and not care about these brutes running around tossing their weird-shaped ball. It’s not that I hate Payton Mills. Not exactly. It’s just not for me, you know? This is my father’s town. It was his school. I want nothing to do with it.”
Nino adjusted the crucifix dangling from his neck. “I get it,cugina mia. You’re not hurting my feelings. All I care about is having a couch to sleep on in Portland. Or maybe an extra bedroom so I can take a city girl home.”
She hit him in the arm. “Ew. You are definitely not bringing any girls back to my place in Portland. Besides, with the kind of money I’ll have, there won’t even be room for you to stretch your gangly self out on the floor.”
“Ha,” he said, keeping an eye on the kicker lining up behind the line. “Like I keep telling you, you’re so pretty; just marry a rich guy. All your problems will go away...and I’ll have a place to stay. Find a guy who has one of those big houses in the West End or a place on the water in the Cape.”
She shook her head in disappointment. “You would think my cousin would know me by now.”
“You wait and see,” he said. “A month in the city and you’ll be showing off your diamond and telling us all about your tennis lessons.”
She hit him on the shoulder. “You’re such an idiot, Nino. If I do that, please come kill me in my sleep. A relationship is the last thing I need. You might recall it was my father who destroyed my mother’s chances to make something of herself.” While the Spartans’ cheerleaders did a post-touchdown routine on the side of the field, Annalisa stood. “I’m gonna grab a Moxie. You want one?”
“No one ever wants a Moxie except you,” he said with repulsion. “I’ll take a Crush, though.”
