Date: Sun, 1 Jan 2006 20:27:40 -0800 (PST)
From: Caipirinha <caprice_111@yahoo.com>
Subject: Songs, Chapter 1

All the usual rules apply. This story is purely fiction and any
resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. This is my
story, please do not steal, duplicate, or re-post elsewhere without my
permission. And of course, if you are under the legal age in your area,
please refrain from blaming me when you get caught. You should know
better, go read something wholesome instead. Any feedback can be sent to
Caprice_111@Yahoo.com. My computer however is a fickle mistress so please
don't be gravely offended if I don't respond to you as soon as you would
like. That having been said, enjoy.

~~~
            "Morning."
            "Hey," I whispered quietly, turning into Judah's chest and
pulling myself closer. I could feel him staring down at me. I was
reluctant to open my eyes though: that would be admitting that I was
awake, and I wasn't quite prepared to handle that yet.
            He shifted his weight just enough to pull me that much closer
and kissed the top of my head. "You gonna be okay today?"
            So there it was, the million-dollar question. "No," I
answered honestly. "But I'm going to call Paul and Gina. I'll probably
spend most of the day with Paul."
            "Do you want me around? I can take the day off...."
            I smiled at him and leaned up to kiss him briefly. "Thanks,
but it's okay. Me and Paul will be fine."
            "You sure?"
            "Yeah."
            "All right." He found my hand and laced his fingers with
mine. I had always loved his simple, genuine displays of affection, and I
needed them today more than ever.
            The clock on our night table started buzzing furiously, and I
knew that was his cue to get up and get himself ready for work. "Last
chance," he said.
            "I'll be okay."
            He kissed me one more time before sliding out of bed and
walking towards the day ahead. Water started running and I could faintly
hear the whirr of his electric razor. I sighed, knowing full well that at
some point I'd have to get up and face today too. I rolled over and
grabbed the phone off of the nightstand, quickly punching in my brother's
number.
            "Hello?"
            "Hi Gina, it's Danny."
            "Hey sweetie, how are you?"
            "I'm okay."
            "You sure?" she asked with a gentle sigh.
            "Yeah. Listen, is Paul awake yet?"
            "Yeah hang on." I heard her call for my brother even though
her hand was covering the receiver.
            "Hey," my brother said quietly into the phone.
            "Happy anniversary," I muttered bitterly.
            "Yeah, happy anniversary." He let out his own bitter little
laugh.
            "How are you?" I shimmied my way up the headboard until I was
sitting upright, staring straight out the sliding glass doors. It was
beautiful out.
            "Not as good as I was yesterday and not as good as I'll be
tomorrow."
            "I know."
            "Thank God this day only comes around once a year." I could
hear the emotion seeping out in my brother's voice.
            "So what's the plan for the day?"
            "Well," he started, "Gina's not going to be around so it's
just me and you. I'm thinking we grab a quick breakfast and then just go
to the cemetery."
            "Sounds good. You know we're having dinner with Mama at 6
right?"
            "Yeah."
            "Alright."
            "Is Jimmy's okay with you?"
            "Yeah."
            "Alright," he said with a small sigh. "It shouldn't take me
more than 2 hours to get there, so want to meet at like 10?"
            "10's good."
            "Alright. I'll see you then."
            "Alright."
            "Bye."
            "Yeah." I clicked the phone off and slid back down into bed.
I sighed softly and curled up into a little ball, pulling my knees up to
my chest. I wasn't crying, but I felt like I wanted to.
            The shower turned off and Judah walked out a few minutes
later, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a smile. "Put some clothes on,
skank." I couldn't help but laugh at my boyfriend as he searched through
his drawers trying to find a pair of pants. He eventually did towel off
and slid on some old jeans and a faded tee shirt.
            "Food?" he asked quietly, coming back to bed and lying next
to me on top of the covers.
            "I'm eating with Paul when he gets here."
            He nuzzled my neck and kissed my ear lobe. "I meant for me,"
he said with a wicked grin. I was about to deny him when his stomach
started to rumble.
            "You're pathetic," I said with a sigh, slipping out of bed.
            "I know." He kissed me sweetly and held my hand as we made
our way to the kitchen.
            "So what'll it be?" I asked as he sat down at the counter. He
looked at me with an evil gleam in his eyes. I recognized that look. "God
Judah no, please Judah, I can cook, I can cook really good things for
you. Please eat something normal." My bargaining with him only made the
grin across his face spread.
            "You know what I want," he smiled.
            "I got out of bed for you! Let me cook you something real,
please?" I was on the verge of whining.
            His eyes were dancing. "Pop-tart sandwich." I groaned
over-dramatically.
            "...Please."
            "Pop-tart sandwich," I complained more to myself than to him,
"I could make a spinach and tomato omelet with feta in 10 minutes, but
no, he wants a pop-tart freaking sandwich."
            I'm not entirely sure when but somewhere along the line Judah
and his siblings had invented what could possibly be the most random
breakfast ever: the pop-tart sandwich. It wasn't hard to make at all;
what was hard was watching him eat it, knowing that with every bite he
was one step closer to having a heart attack and getting diabetes.
            The pop-tart sandwich: one strawberry pop-tart, one
blueberry, arranged frosting side out with a layer of cream cheese in the
middle. This was my boyfriend's breakfast of choice. I didn't understand
it either.
            "Here," I said, basically hurling the damn thing at him.
            "Thank you," he said quietly, before taking his first small
bite. He smiled at me, a dab of cream cheese on the corner of his mouth.
            "Yeah, yeah." I wandered back to our bedroom to grab myself a
shirt, suddenly having become very self-conscious of the fact that I was
only in boxers. Judah was done by the time I came back around to the
kitchen and was pouring himself a glass of orange juice. He lifted the
glass and asked me with his eyes if I wanted one. "No thanks, not before
I have a cigarette." I grabbed my pack off the microwave and searched for
a lighter.
            He took a sip and walked over to me, putting his glass down
on the way. "When are you going to quit that?" he asked, putting his arms
around my waist.
            I folded my own arms around his shoulders and leaned my head
on his chest, "Not today, that's for damn sure."
            "But you will?"
            "Someday."
            "Soon?"
            "Judah," I whined.
            "Please? For me?"
            "Judah, come on."
            "I just want us to have a long healthy life together."
            "Says the man who just inhaled 4,000 artery-clogging calories
in less than 3 minutes."
            He smirked and stroked my back gently. "Will you please try
to quit?"
            "Someday I will," I said, looking up into his eyes.
            "Soon," he said. This time it wasn't a question. My answer
came in the form of a sigh, which obviously did not go unnoticed by
Judah, who just smiled back at me.
            "Alright," I said, breaking the moment, "I'm tired of you, go
to work." I wriggled my way out of his arms and grabbed him his keys from
off the counter.
            He gave me one last quick, but surprisingly passionate, kiss
before taking the keys. "Bye."
            "I'll see you tonight."
            "Okay." He flashed me one last smile and closed the door
behind him.
            I wandered idly back into our bedroom and laid back down for
a minute. I didn't really have to get ready right now; the drive from
Massachusetts would take Paul at least another hour, assuming he left as
soon as I hung up the phone. I decided to get ready anyway. I didn't
fully trust myself to stay awake if I didn't.
            The bathroom was still humid from Judah's shower. I loved
that feeling, the feeling of damp air covering your body like a second
skin. I turned the shower on and set it to the hottest setting just so
the room would steam up more before I hopped in. I shaved and brushed my
teeth, relishing every minute of the warm air caressing my body.
            Careful to adjust the setting to something that wouldn't burn
my skin off first, I hopped into the shower. I relaxed under the warm
spray, momentarily putting aside all of the feelings I was having about
the day I was about to have. For the moment, it was just me, a tepid
waterfall, and a bar of soap.
            I was somewhere between shampoo and conditioner when the
memories started to come back, flooding my mind with interviews and
newspaper articles. My breath started to catch in my throat. "Don't do
this, Danny," I told myself, trying to ward off the anxiety attack I
could feel building up.
            Whatever I managed to do, it worked. I finished my hair
quickly and was out of the shower in a flash. 'God,' I thought to myself,
'This is what I get for not having a cigarette yet.' I slung a towel
around my waist and walked into the kitchen, ignoring the blinking
answering machine and grabbing my pack of Camels off the microwave.
            I had hardly crossed the threshold of the door before the
sweet, delicious cancer was lit, ready to rot my lungs from the inside. I
slid the door shut and walked further out onto one of the numerous decks
in our house. That was what had really attracted us to the house in the
first place: almost every room had a deck, or failing that, a balcony of
some sort. That and the view.
            I grabbed a chair, took another drag, and admired the view.
Connecticut in early spring really was a sight to see. The landscape was
in perfect transition, dull winter grey mottled by new spring green, and
we were in prime position to view it. Our house was perched on the side
of a mountain overlooking a valley and some of the flatter grounds of the
surrounding area.
            When Judah and I went searching for our dream house, we never
imagined we would actually find -the- house of our dreams. It was exactly
what we both had wanted, and sitting there enjoying it, I was really very
grateful to what ever higher power had helped us along to get here.
            I was down to the filter, and not much happy about it either.
I dropped what used to be my cigarette into a butt bottle and made my way
back inside, but only after seriously considering having another. No, it
was starting to get late, and I needed to meet Paul. I dressed quickly in
nothing too special, but nothing too casual either, and put on the
finishing touches.
            I was on my way to the door when I remembered the blinking
light on the answering machine. I clicked the button and waited patiently
as the mechanical voice told me I had one new message. Judah's voice came
out of the machine, definitely not what I had expected, but also not
unwanted. "I missed you," he said quietly. I smiled knowing that I would
be on his mind.
            I had figured on being early, so I was a little surprised to
see my brother's Jeep already in the parking lot of Jimmy's as I pulled
in. I made my way to the booth at the back of the restaurant where my
brother was patiently nursing a cup of coffee.
            "You're awfully early," I remarked casually, dropping into
the seat across from him.
            "What can I say, I have a lead foot." He smiled weakly,
taking another sip of his coffee.
            "Clearly." Our waitress came over and cheerily took out
orders.
            "So what's on the agenda for the day? Are we going right to
the cemetery after we get out of here?"
            I sighed. "I don't know. You're the one who drove an hour and
a half to get here, what did you want to do?"
            "Well at some point today I promised Sherry and Mike that I'd
go visit, so I figure sometime after the cemetery and sometime before
dinner with Mama I'll do that, and the rest of the day is ours to waste."
            "Well, you could always hang out at my house, Judah's gone
for the day."
            A smile crossed my brother's face. "My man Judah, how's that
jerk doing?"
            "He's good."
            "Yeah? How about Shai and Shiev?"
            "They're good." I was interrupted by the waitress bringing
around our food: western omelet with home fries and a side order of
sausage for my brother, bagel with cream cheese for me.
            "You still eat like a bird I see."
            I chuckled to myself, "And you're still a fatty." Irony was a
harsh mistress in our family. My brother was a stick his entire life. He
could literally eat himself into a coma and somehow manage to lose weight
in the process. I, on the other hand, had always been heavy, regardless
of the fact that even as a child I ate sensibly and made a point to eat a
varied and healthy diet.
            Of course all good things come to an end. Puberty hit us both
like a brick wall, and while I was suddenly growing taller and slimming,
my brother was buying bigger pant sizes. Not that he was excessively
obese - he certainly wasn't - but it wasn't any secret that he was
dissatisfied with who got which genes in our family.
            "You look good though," he said, bringing me back to reality.
            "Thanks."
            "I mean it, you look good. A little tired, but good. Do you
still have trouble sleeping?"
            "No, not any more."
            "Judah?" He smiled and winked.
            I was slightly embarrassed. "Yeah. You know me, Mr. 'Needs to
Be Knocked Out Cold by Drugs to Get a Full Night's Sleep Unless He's Not
Sleeping Alone.'"
            "You were always like that though, even as a little kid. Mom
always had to come lie next to you until you fell asleep." He smiled at
the memory.
            I couldn't help but smile myself. It never really made sense,
but it was true: unless there was someone sleeping next to me, I was hard
pressed to get a good night's sleep. I had done the sleep studies, I had
seen doctors, I've taken just about every prescription sleeping pill
available on the market today, but unless someone was next to me, I
couldn't sleep. That of course came in handy as a viable explanation for
why I still slept with a teddy bear after the 2nd grade.
            "How about you and Gina?" I asked, zoning back in, "how's
everything?"
            "You know how it is with us: different lick off the same
lollipop."
            "I still don't get how Mr. Adventure, Mr. Take Risks ended up
marrying Ms. Use Good Sense."
            "Opposites attracting I guess," he shrugged, cramming a slice
of toast into his mouth.
            "And how's little Marky?"
            "He misses his Uncle Danny."
            "Awwwww," I fawned, smiling from ear to ear. "Are you guys
doing anything for his birthday? Me and Judah can probably come up."
            "Yeah, Gina will probably want to do something, you know how
her family is."
            I laughed, "All too well, my friend, all too well."
            The rest of breakfast was filled with pleasant conversation
about my brother and his family, me and Judah, and a plethora of other
things that melted one into another. I had finished my bagel eons before
Paul had had his fill and was grateful when he finally reached his limit.
The waitress came with our check and was delightfully amused by our
scuffle to see who could grab it first. Whoever did, paid. It was weird,
I know: most people would much rather sit back and let someone else
treat, but it was tradition.
            "On me!" he said triumphantly, waving the check above his
head like a 4-year-old.
            I arched an eyebrow at him.
            "Reflexes like a cat!" he gloated.
            "A dead one."
            "Harr harr."
            "Just pay already," I said, flicking one of his leftover home
fries at him.
            We gathered our things, left enough money to cover our check
and leave our waitress a surprisingly good tip, and headed out. I didn't
even have to ask, I just gravitated towards his car, knowing we would be
driving together, or rather, he would chauffeur me around for the day.
            "We should stop for flowers or something," he said quietly,
his tone a lot more somber than it had been just minutes ago in the
little breakfast shop.
            "Agreed."
            He darted the car around traffic, quickly making his way to
the smallest but undoubtedly best florist in town. Linda didn't have any
fancy display cases or rows and rows of ribbon and balloons. Truth was,
she only had a modest catalog, but a fabulous talent. We had known Linda
all our lives; she grew up with our mother in Italy, so it was nice to
patronize someone who could arguably be considered family.
            "Ay!" she yelled, spotting us out of the corner of her eye,
"Paolo, Danielle! How are you!" she chattered happily in the gutter
dialect of Italian we both grew up speaking.
            "Good, both of us are good," my brother responded, kissing
her on the cheek as was the Italian custom.
            "You know us Rinaldi boys, always good!" I chimed in, my turn
for the kiss.
            "You still running around with boys?" she asked sharply, her
words dripping with accent.
            "Boy, just one."
            "Same one as last time?"
            "Yeah," I smiled, "Still Judah."
            "Alright!" she said with a smile and a pat on the cheek. "Now
if only they'd let you people get married, make an honest man out of you
like your brother!" Her 5'1" frame almost floated as she retreated behind
her counter. "So what do you boys need today?"
            "Something for the cemetery," Paul responded.
            "The cemetery? What do you need something for the cemetery,"
the look of recognition crossed her face. "Oh Dio! Is, it's not, of
course it's today." She reached out and grabbed Paul's hands, giving us
both sympathetic looks. "Boys I'm so sorry I forgot all about it. Hold on
I'll make you something nice okay?" She stormed through the door to the
back room screaming "Maria!"
            Paul turned to me and smiled as she walked through the door,
"Same old Linda," he laughed.
            "I know, right?" Each of us had found our own little catalog
that we flipped through, hoping to pass the time. I was pleasantly amused
at the amount of screaming and foul language coming out of the back room,
and I was sure that Paul was smiling too. Only an Italian could find the
need to swear that much while she was arranging flowers.
            When she finally did reappear about 10 minutes later, the
wait and the floor show had been worth it. Linda really did have a talent
for arranging flowers, and this was no exception. The breathtaking
arrangement of calla lilies and orchids could have easily cost a hundred
dollars or more.
            "Here," she said placing it gently down on the counter,
"something elegant and beautiful, just like your mother." She barely
whispered the last part, and took a minute to rub her eyes, which I'm
sure had the beginnings of tears forming in them.
            "It's beautiful," Paul said, pulling out his wallet, which
was met with obvious disapproval by Linda. "Should I even bother
offering?"
            "Boys, I loved your mother like she was my sister, this is
the very least I can do, okay? Now take these," she said, handing Paul
the arrangement and myself two individually wrapped lilies, "And make
sure to say a prayer for me, okay boys?"
            "Of course," Paul replied, bending down to kiss her on the
cheek.
            "Alright," she said, placing a kiss on my cheek as well, "Now
you boys take care, you hear me? And come see me more often. Especially
you," she said turning to me and fixing a pointed stare on me.
            We thanked her quickly and walked back out to Paul's Jeep,
where he carefully placed the arrangement in back, and started towards
St. Oliver Cemetery. We rode in mostly silence; nothing either of us
could have said would have made us feel better, and trying to lighten the
mood would have made us feel worse for not feeling bad. It was a tough
spot to be in and the comfortable silence, broken only by the hum of the
motor, seemed like a good answer.
            "Six years," Paul almost whispered as we drove through the
gates. "Six long, long years."
            I rubbed a tear away from my eyes, almost ashamed that they
had already started. "God, I still remember it like it was yesterday."
            "Me too."