Page 54 of The Singing Trees
The kitchen made up one corner of the main room. It was small but clean. Opposite the couch was a small television with rabbit ears stretching toward the ceiling. She peeked into the bedroom and saw thedouble bed, a mild upgrade from her twin back in the Mills. There was enough space by the window that it could be her studio in the colder months.
Mr.Burzinski stood in the kitchen and watched her as she poked around, eventually making her way to the little balcony, which couldn’t have been more than three feet by six feet. Sliding open the door, she stepped out into the gorgeous day and put her hands on the railing. She felt like she was Cleopatra looking out over her city.
Across the street, there was a candy shop, a law office, and a bakery. Next to a fir tree that leaned heavily to the left was a phone booth with a person pushing in coins. She was a block off Congress Street, away from the madness, but it was lively enough here—enough subjects to keep her painting for years. She could already see her easel set up there against the railing, her trunk of paints just below. She looked up and saw a fern with brown leaves swinging on a hook, and she thought that her mother’s chimes would hang wonderfully there. Another hook hung on the opposite side, and Annalisa thought making another set wouldn’t be such a bad idea. This little balcony was an artist’s dream.
“What do you think, young lady?” Mr.Burzinski asked as she walked back inside.
“I think that plant out there needs some water. I hope you’ve got a pitcher. As far as the apartment, I’ll take it. And I won’t let you down; I swear to you.” A rush of happiness came over her and no doubt showed itself on her face as she rifled through a cabinet looking for a pitcher.
“When would you like to move in?”
She turned to him, pitcher in hand. “Tomorrow morning?”
Mr.Burzinski chuckled, this time more warmly. There was something so wonderful about seeing and hearing a person who typically held their cards close to their chest open up, and she hoped she’d hear him laugh again. It was like that with Nonna, too, the joy of putting the first bit of color on a white canvas. Even Emma was that way, a part of this small group of guarded people who had a wonderful heartdesperate to get some air. Not for the first time, Annalisa saw a flash of Emma’s singing forest, and she hoped so deeply that Emma would one day realize that vision in reality.
Mr.Burzinski extracted a fine silver watch attached to a chain from his pants pocket, and it caught her eye. She imagined a watchmaker keeps only the finest watches for himself. He shoved it back into his pocket. “I need to see to an appointment, but you can come by anytime tomorrow. I’m always in the shop.”
Despite all it had cost her, Annalisa had taken a big step toward her dream.
When she returned home that night, she could barely hide her excitement. Even the earlier accident wasn’t holding her down. “He’s just like you,” Annalisa told her grandmother.
“What does that mean?” Nonna had her eyes on the evening news.
Annalisa tried to ignore the anchor, who said something about soldiers in Cambodia. She sat on the couch next to her. “He’s grumpy, but when he laughs, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.”
Nonna scowled and waved a fist, but a smile tickled the corner of her mouth as she said, “Who says I’m grumpy?”
“The whole world, Nonna.”
Annalisa went to her room to finish packing. She didn’t have much to take—her clothes, her trunk of art supplies, her best paintings, her sewing machine, the wind chimes she’d made with her mother, and her records and record player. Nonna had put together a box of old kitchen things, too, including a garlic chopper and one of her wooden spoons, which was like a samurai bestowing her sword upon an apprentice. The gesture had filled Annalisa with incredible appreciation.
As Annalisa finished folding her clothes and cramming them into her suitcase, Nonna came in and tossed a white envelope onto the bed.Annalisa opened it to find two twenties. The gesture of kindness nearly buckled her. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
Annalisa closed the envelope and held it out to Nonna. “I can’t take it.”
“You most certainly will.”
After a battle of wills that Annalisa knew she had no chance of winning, she pressed the envelope against her own chest and thought of the things she needed for her new apartment: silverware and dishes. Sheets and blankets. A broom and dustpan.
“Thank you,” she said, shedding a silent tear. This woman had done everything for her, picking back up her mother hat in her late sixties. As ardently as she’d wanted to leave Payton Mills, at times thrashing like a tiger in a cage, the realization that Nonna wouldn’t be there when she woke or when she came home from school hit her hard.
All this wanting to leave and now that the day was finally upon her, she was slightly afraid. What if she couldn’t get a job? What if she ran out of money? What if she never made it as an artist? Even if she did, would leaving Nonna now have been worth it?
She wrapped her arms around her grandmother. “I’m going to miss you.”
Nonna did what she always did and sort of half hugged with a light pat on the back. “Oh, don’t give me that bologna. You’ll be glad to get rid of me.”
“Not at all,” Annalisa said. Sure, she couldn’t wait to make her decisions, watch her own shows on the television, do something other than chores on Saturdays. But this woman meant the world to her.
“Promise you’ll come see me,” Annalisa said.
“You’re the one with the car. You know where to find me.”
“I’ll come pick you up or Nino will bring you down. We can go shopping and get lost in the city. I’ll even take you to church. They say Mass in Latin at Saint Peter’s from what I’ve heard.”
Nonna lifted a hand to her face and turned away.
