Category Archives: Teri’s Novelog — My Stolen Diaries

My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 32: From Rags to Riches

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CHAPTER 32

FROM RAGS TO RICHES

June 21, 1967

I graduated from eighth grade today. And on Saturday, Mom’s getting married.

With Mere Germaine gone, Mem is surviving but barely thriving. For whatever reason, the three of us don’t mention her at all. It’s like she never existed. I think we’re all afraid to upset each other, so we keep our treasured feelings and memories of Mere Germaine to ourselves.

Leaving my Bridgeport friends is going to be impossible. I have no idea what another school will be like or if the Westport kids will accept me, and honestly, I’m terrified.

I take for granted that I’m among the most popular girls in school, and according to Chris, I’m the prettiest. Speaking of Chris, he’s still dating Juliette, so we both agreed that we would settle for being close friends, although it’s doubtful that I will ever see him again.

Chris invited me to his after-graduation pool party, but while everyone else was dancing and carrying-on, all I could think about was moving to Westport. Chris played songs like “Let’s Live for Today” and “Seven Rooms of Gloom.” It seemed like every song he played was meant for me. Even though our house in Westport has more than seven rooms, knowing me, I’ll feel gloomy no matter what, at least in the beginning.

We all jumped into Chris’s above-ground and leaking pool, which was too small for even half of us to fit into, so we were squeezed together in the waist-deep water like a bunch of packed sardines. When the song “San Francisco” by Scott McKenzie started to play, I got teary-eyed and shoved my way out of the crammed pool to sit alone, feeling sorry for myself.

I dried off and walked home, thinking about how once Mom and Rob returned from their honeymoon, we’d be moving into his “colonial-revival-style home,” whatever that means. And according to Mom, we’ll be rich. A fancy town, a grandiose house, lots of money—everything Mom always dreamed about, but not me.

Although I’ve spent my entire life sleeping in the same bed as Mem, having a gigantic bedroom to myself can never make up for the fact that I’m leaving behind everything and everyone I love. I won’t be that far, but Mom will never allow me to invite my Bridgeport friends to Westport. And she has made it abundantly clear to Mem that I’m forbidden to return to Bridgeport ever again.

Leaving Mem will be impossible, because I have never lived without her. And once we’re gone, she’ll be left all alone. As someone who grew up coming home to an empty apartment, I know firsthand how lonely this will be for Mem, especially now that Mere Germaine is gone.

I keep going back and forth, trying to figure out how to get out of this Westport move, but it’s a useless exercise. Mom keeps promising me that I’ll make new friends, but I’m not so sure about that.

She thinks our going from rags to riches will make everything perfect, but she doesn’t know anything about me or what makes me happy. Or maybe she knows but doesn’t care.

I’m not looking forward to leaving Bridgeport, but I’ll admit, I am looking forward to being rich, mostly because I’m sick and tired of being poor.

Last night, I prayed that we would be one big happy family once we moved to Westport. That’s what Mom and Rob keep promising me. We’ll also be a family with lots of money, so maybe Mom and Rob are right, and everything will turn out how they expect it to.

I’ll be the female version of Richie Rich, and Mom will play the part of his mother, Regina—but a skinnier, prettier version. Rob can play the part of his father, Richard, but I only care about Mom and me. I sure hope Rob turns out to be a better husband and father than he was a boyfriend.

Stay tuned for Chapter 33: The Westport Wedding

My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 31: Bridgeport Hospital

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CHAPTER 31

 BRIDGEPORT HOSPITAL

September 16, 1966

I’ve been begging Mem to let me stay with her in Bridgeport ever since Mom asked for my permission to marry Rob, which I will never give her.

Mem promised to talk to Mom, but it caused a huge fight when she did. I was standing in the upstairs hallway, eavesdropping. Mere Germaine hadn’t been feeling well for a few days, so she was lying in bed. But I’m sure she heard the whole ugly thing.

First, Mem asked if I would attend Catholic School in Westport, and Mom said, “No, the Junior High School near Rob’s house is one of the best in the country.” I was gunning for Mem when she said, “But Tony wants to go to Notre Dame with her friends.”

“Well, that’s not happening,” Mom said in a raised voice. I thought Mem would blast her for speaking in such a disrespectful tone.

Instead, Mem asked if she could pick me up some weekends and bring me back to Success Park, and Mom said a flat-out “No.” That’s when things turned nasty.

Mem got loud and had a lot to say. “Westport is not for her, and you know it. It’s not bad enough that you’re taking her from me, but now you’re saying she’s not allowed back in Bridgeport? Let her go to Notre Dame with her friends. Let her stay with me during the week.”

Mom tried to interrupt, but Mem got even louder.

“I’ll drive her to you on the weekends. Let’s try to ease her into this thing. Maybe she’ll grow to like it. She can always change schools. She’s thirteen years old. I’m not sure she can handle Westport.”

Mom screamed back at her in response.

“This is not about Tony; this is about you. You want her all for yourself. It doesn’t matter to you that she’ll destroy her chances for a better life because she wants to hang out with her loser friends. She needs to get out of Bridgeport. I’m her mother, and she’s coming with me.”

Mem tried to say more, but Mom stormed out of the apartment. Mom’s decision was final, and I was furious and determined to make her pay.

But I never got the chance for revenge because the next day, Mere Germaine took a turn for the worse and was rushed to the hospital by ambulance.

Every day, the three of us sat at her bedside at Bridgeport Hospital. Mere Germaine was weak, but she was a fighter, and we were all praying she would come home soon.

Then, one night, Mem woke me up, clutching her heart, and told me to get Mom because she couldn’t breathe. Mom called an ambulance, and they took her away—also to Bridgeport Hospital.

Mom was relieved that Mem and Mere Germaine were on different floors, even though they both had heart conditions. We didn’t want to worry Mere Germaine, so we told her that Mem couldn’t visit her because she was busy working.

I know Mere Germaine didn’t believe Mom, and I could see that her anxiety about what might have happened to Mem was taking a terrible toll on her health, which was getting worse by the minute.

On our way to the hospital on September 23,  three days before Mem’s Birthday, I finally convinced Mom to tell Mere Germaine that Mem was in the same hospital. And she promised she would.

When we got to the hospital, we first went to see Mem, and we told her that we had no choice but to let Mere Germaine finally know the truth. She was unhappy about it but too weak to argue.

Then we took the elevator one floor up to see Mere Germaine. I was confused when we got to her room because her bed was empty.

Mom fell to the floor screaming. Then I screamed out for someone to help Mom because I didn’t know what was going on, and I was scared to death.

Mom was rolling around on the floor, writhing in pain, so I jumped on top of her. She grabbed me and held on so tight I thought she would crush me.

“She’s dead, oh my God, she’s dead, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she kept wailing over and over and over again.

And then it was like a knife got shoved into my heart. That’s when I realized why Mere Germaine’s bed was empty. My beautiful, loving, remarkable great-grandmother was dead.

It took a while for the nurse to get us both off the floor. Mom continued to crush me against her, and I have never in all my years seen her so beaten down.

Through tears, Mom asked to see Mere Germaine, but the nurse explained that they had already taken her away.

“Where did they take Mere Germaine?” I repeatedly asked Mom, but she was in no shape to answer me.

When she finally let go of me, she drew in a deep breath, and it was the first time in all my years that I ever saw Mom take charge.

We left the hospital, and she called the Germaine family to let everyone know the horrible news. She called the funeral home and St. Ambrose and made all the arrangements for Mere Germaine’s funeral.

And then she silently took me back to the hospital to visit Mem but never told her that Mere Germaine was dead. She was afraid it would kill her too, which, at the time, it probably would have.

Three days after Mere Germaine died, we buried her—on Mem’s birthday. After the funeral and burial, Mem’s doctor set up a time for him to be in the hospital room with us so Mom could tell her about Mere Germaine.

As soon as we walked into Mem’s room, she wept uncontrollably. Mem said she knew that Mere Germaine was gone from the look on Mom’s face.

The doctor gave her a pill to put under her tongue so her heart wouldn’t stop. I was on one side of Mem’s bed, and Mom was on the other. We laid our heads on her and sobbed uncontrollably while Mem placed a hand on each of us and softly and bravely prayed.

“Dear Lord, with heavy hearts, we place our beloved Jewel St. Germaine in your care. Although her body is gone from us, her soul will live on in eternity. May a choir of angels keep her safe until we meet again. Now and forever, Amen.”

In that moment of tears and prayers, I realized that Mere Germaine had been the glue that held us together.

And just like that, we went from a family of four strong, invincible females to three shattered and broken survivors.

Click here for Chapter 32: From Rags to Riches

My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 30: Mom’s Engagement

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CHAPTER 30

 MOM’S ENGAGEMENT

August 15, 1966

Today was my worst day ever. Mom asked for my blessing to get engaged and marry “Rob,” explaining that getting married to a wealthy man and moving to an affluent town like Westport is everything she has been dreaming about her whole life.

I found it brazenly annoying that she would “ask” for my blessing while shoving her left hand with a diamond the size of our apartment into my face.

Mom is getting ready to live out her dream while I’m still trying to get used to Roberto’s new name. What a joke. What about my dreams?

According to Mem, Roberto goes by “Rob” in Westport because his given name is too Italian for the town. Why would Mom want to live in a place where having an ethnic name is a problem?

And Nick? That would be it for Nick. He would be banished forever—I couldn’t let Mom do that. So, I courageously told Mom, “No, I won’t give you my blessing,” even though the next day was her 28th birthday.

“I really want you to want this for me.” Mom looked at me so pathetically that I almost gave in. But I didn’t. I felt like there was nothing more to say, so I stood up to leave the kitchen table. “That’s it?” she asked me sarcastically.

“What about Nick?” I asked nervously. She glared up at me with a frown and a smirk. “Seriously, Tony? Your precious Nick can’t give us what Rob can, and you know it. Do you want to live as a poor person for the rest of your life?”

The look on her perfectly made-up face told me all I needed to know. There was no use trying to talk Mom out of marrying “Rob.” All Nick could give us was love. And while love was enough for me, I couldn’t say the same for Mom.

I told her I thought it was a terrible idea. I told her that “Rob” wasn’t good for her. I was reluctant to say anything more but knew it was my last chance to change her mind.

“So that’s it for Nick? We’re never going to see him again? And Nick or no Nick, I don’t want you to marry Roberto—oops, excuse me, Rob.”

Mom’s mascara eyes were squinting angrily at me when she said, “Nick is gone; I told him it was over.” I forced myself not to cry in front of her, and my hands were sweaty and shaking. But Mom didn’t even notice. I’m forever caught up in her drama, but she couldn’t care less. It’s always been about her.

I told Mom I wanted to say goodbye to Nick, and that’s when she got unbecomingly loud. “I said goodbye to Nick for you. That’s it for Nick. And I don’t want to hear his name come out of your mouth ever again.”

“Okay, so go live with your Rob in his fancy house in Westport, and leave me out of your drama and your dreams. I have dreams of my own.”

Mom looked puzzled. “Wait, you think I’m leaving you in this crummy apartment? I’m marrying Rob next August. We got engaged last night, and you’re coming to Westport with us, little missy.” And then she stormed upstairs, muttering, “Tony has dreams. Please.”

Wait what? I’m moving to Westport with those two immature lovebirds? Mom thinks I’m leaving Mem and Mere Germaine? Oh no. Mem would never stand for that.

Here, I was worried about living without Nick. And now Mom wants to take me away from Mem? How will I ever survive without Mem?

Click here for Chapter 31: Bridgeport Hospital

My Stolen Diaries — Chapter 29: Naomi

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CHAPTER 29

 NAOMI

July 1966

I haven’t written in a while, because I made a new friend, and we’ve been spending a lot of time together. She’s my first real girlfriend since Yolanda from Father Panik, who I haven’t seen since we left White Street.

A couple of weeks ago, a bunch of us kids were hanging out in the Success Park playground near Court B when we noticed a plain, black-haired girl watching us from a distance. My friends said it was Naomi, a Jew girl, and chased after her, calling out, “Beat it, dirty Jew, Jesus killer.” One of them threw a rock that just missed her head.

Their hatred reminded me of the cruelty against Rebecca, the Jewish girl, in Ivanhoe, one of the books I just finished in Adam’s classic collection.

Naomi tried to run away, but she was slow, and when my friends caught up to her, they formed a circle around her and screamed, “Go back to your Jew house and never show your ugly Jew face around here again.”

I got into the middle of the circle with Naomi and loudly shouted that they were acting like horrible monsters. That stopped them long enough for me to take this poor whimpering girl by the arm.

Then Chris jumped in and ordered them all to leave. Ever since I plunged out of his dad’s car, we’ve become close. But I refuse to kiss him again until he breaks up with Juliette because I listened loud and clear to Mem’s words about “the chase.”

And just so you know, I’m still limping around from that horrible nosedive. And I still haven’t told my family about what happened—and probably never will.

“I’ll take you home,” I told Naomi while yelling at all my friends except Chris to “Get lost.” Chris moved everyone out of our way like he was a cattleman straight out of Gunsmoke. I was impressed.

A woman was running in our direction, terrified. As soon as she reached us, she hugged and thanked me for “my courage.” She also said that I must have extraordinary parents.

Extraordinary indeed.

Naomi asked if I wanted to come to their apartment for a snack. Her mom served up some delicious pastries called rugelach, which, by the way, is pronounced nothing like it’s spelled. I met her father and two brothers; they seemed kind and moral, just like the Jews in Ivanhoe.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I asked one of Naomi’s brothers if the Jews killed Jesus, as my friends said. He answered that Jesus was Jewish, which I didn’t know, and that Pontius Pilate ordered him crucified, which I did learn at St. Ambrose.

Naomi and I have become very close friends, and I have a ton of respect for her family, who are wonderful people. And since Jesus was Jewish, I’m sure God is okay that we’re friends, even though the rest of my gang refuses to speak to me when Naomi’s around.  Well, everyone except Chris, who I’m still playing “chase” with.

One of the girls accused me of being a Jew lover, and I put my fists up and yelled for her to come closer to me and say it to my face, but she didn’t dare. They all know I might be skinny and scrawny, but I’m tough as nails.

One of the best stories I can tell you about being friends with Naomi is that her father, Mr. Grulnik, took us to a place called McDonald’s on Main Street in Bridgeport, not far from where Mem used to work at Woolworths.

And in case you’re wondering, I stayed in the middle of the back seat, nowhere near the car doors. And I planted both feet firmly against the front seats just in case Mr. Grulnik made a sharp turn.

Everyone was talking about this burger joint with towering golden arches and delicious hamburgers and fries for hardly any money and served up in under one minute.

You could get a delicious and affordable all-American meal in this McDonald’s place for just 45 cents.

When we pulled up, there was a line, but it went fast—and all the food was waiting for us under hot lights. I had a vanilla milkshake, cheeseburger, and fries. From the first bite, I told Mr. Grulnik that I had never eaten anything so delicious and that McDonald’s was my new favorite place. He laughed and said, “You and every other American.”

Mr. Grulnik also told us not to tell her mother where we had eaten because it wasn’t kosher.

On the way home, Naomi told me all about what keeping kosher meant, what foods she could and couldn’t eat, and explained that being Jewish meant having to follow a whole lot of rules.

I felt horribly sorry for Naomi, not because she was Jewish, but because I could never survive in life without bacon, and I told her so.

Click here for Chapter 30: Mom’s Engagement