Made (3 page)

It's best you don't get attached.

His mother’s harsh streak, her mental and physical abuse, grew worse as Corrado’s father’s absences grew longer. Things crumbled around them, often literally, the house in pieces as Erika destroyed everything in a bitter rage. She took her anger out on the kids, Corrado enduring the brunt of it to spare his sister.

He figured he was doomed, but maybe Katrina had a fighting chance.

    
2

Warm air filtered through the wide-open bedroom window one evening in the early spring of 1971. The temperature lingered around eighty degrees outside, even higher inside the darkened, bleak house. Nine-year-old Corrado lay tangled in his sheets, sweat soaking his half-clothed body. It was too hot to fall into a deep sleep, too suffocating to breathe, too muggy to relax. He'd tossed and turned for hours.

The dark made him restless.

The electricity was off. Despite the numerous notices that had appeared at the house, Erika acted shocked when the worker showed up that afternoon to disconnect it. She scoffed and insisted it was a mistake, belittled the man and berated him, but she didn't dare beg. Never that. She'd simply stood at the front door, watching. Once the electricity was off, she'd grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen and stomped off to her bedroom alone.

They hadn't heard a peep from her since.

It was eerily silent with no power in the house. Corrado was used to the subtle sounds: air blowing from vents, the hum of appliances, the static of televisions and radios. Even his bedside lamp emitted a sort of low buzz, a sound he'd never noticed until he'd tried to sleep without it.

Impossible
.

He lay there with his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to fall asleep, when a low groan rebounded through the still bedroom.

A creaking floorboard.

Corrado's eyes shot open just in time to make out the form hovering over him. His heart stalled for a beat before hammering fast and hard in his chest. He sat upright, eyes wide with alarm, and faintly made out his mother's face in the soft glow of the moonlight. She stood deathly silent, as unmoving as a marble statue, as she stared at him, clutching a white pillow with both hands.

"Mom?" His voice was a panicked croak. "What are you doing?"

Her expression, cold and detached, melted as she slowly lowered the pillow. "Just checking to see if you were still breathing."

The stench of alcohol was thick on her breath as she spoke. She made a point to fluff the pillow before setting it on the bed behind him. Grasping his shoulders, she pushed him down onto it, and grabbed his blankets. Despite the fact that it was scorching hot, she covered him up, tucking him in so tightly he could hardly move.

Erika staggered out of the room without saying another word. Corrado just lay there, staring at the doorway in the darkness.

It was the first time he'd had to consider the fact that his own mother might try to kill him someday. Had he been asleep, had he not sensed her, had that floorboard not creaked...

He shuttered to think of what she might've done.

Corrado didn’t dare close his eyes again that night.

Corrado stood in front of the darkened refrigerator, grimacing at the odors spilling out of it. He grabbed the milk, gagging and coughing when he caught a whiff of the rancid spoiled scent. He set the carton beside were Katrina sat on the counter, swinging her legs, watching him.

“Anything?” she asked impatiently.

He shook his head. Nothing.

The electricity remained off with no sign their mother planned to do anything about it. The most recent woman to come stay with them had vanished days ago. Corrado wasn’t sure if she’d run away, or been fired, or if she might have died, but her absence meant they had no choice but to fend for themselves. School days they'd had lunch at least, but today, Saturday, they were all on their own.

He moved on to the pantry next, but little remained in there. Picking up an old box of Cheerios, he shook it, hearing a bit of cereal left on the bottom. He tossed the box to his sister, who opened it and reached inside, grabbing a handful of the remnants. She popped some in her mouth, talking as she noisily chewed. “This is stale. Isn’t there something else? Anything?”

Corrado eyed the contents: a dented can of peaches, a bag of dry beans, and some kind of processed can meat. “Not really.”

Katrina groaned dramatically, throwing the box of cereal down beside her. “Ugh, I'm going to die!”

Corrado shut the pantry door. “You're not going to die.”

“Yes, I am! I'm going to starve to death!”

Corrado kept his patience, sensing panic beneath the immature whining. She was scared, and rightfully so.

He went upstairs, hesitating outside of his mother’s bedroom. Slowly, he raised his hand and tapped on her door, listening intently for sounds inside. There was nothing—no response, no movement—so he knocked again. When she didn’t respond that time, he carefully opened the door. “Mom?”

Erika lay sprawled out face down on her bed, not moving, hardly wearing enough clothes to cover herself. The air in the room was musty and humid, the odor nearly as putrid as the refrigerator had been. A surge of panic ran through Corrado as he stared at her, wide-eyed, unable to tell if she were breathing. He walked over and grasped her arm, feeling her clammy skin. He shook her hard, feeling like he was only able to breathe when she did.

She grumbled, peeking an eye open. “What?”

“We’re hungry.”

“Then eat something.”

“There is nothing. And the lights are still off. It's been a whole week already."

She groaned as she rolled away from him. “You brats are always complaining. I don’t know what you expect from me.”

I expect you to be a mom, and get out of bed, and put on some more clothes, and take a bath so you don’t stink so much, and make the lights come back on, and feed us so my sister doesn’t starve to death!

The thoughts angrily ran through Corrado’s head, but the words didn’t come from his mouth. He remained silent, unmoving, until his mother fell back into a deep sleep, lying so still it was like she wasn’t breathing again.

For a moment, in his fury, he wished she wasn't.

Frustrated, Corrado's stomach growled, his gaze zeroing in on the white purse on top of the dresser. He peeked back at his mother, double-checking she wasn’t awake, before tiptoeing over to it. He dug around, his heart racing when he pulled out a crumpled wad of dollar bills. He shoved them in the pocket of his dirty jeans before bolting out of the room.

Katrina still sat on the counter when he returned to the kitchen. “Mom gave me some money so we can go get something to eat.”

Her eyes lit up. “Where?”

He shrugged. “The pizza place?”

It was the only restaurant they ever went to.

“How are we going to get there?”

“We can walk. It takes a couple minutes driving, so it won’t take much longer walking, I think.”

The two put on their shoes and Corrado grabbed his mother’s house keys from the stand in the living room, in case they got locked out, and hesitated before snatching a scrap of paper from the corkboard in the hallway above the telephone. It, too, had been disconnected days before the electricity went out.

The few-minutes journey actually took them almost two hours. Their legs were tired, their bodies drenched in sweat, when they stepped foot into the busy pizzeria. Corrado dug in his pocket, laying all his money out on the front counter.

Seven dollars.

"A small cheese pizza," he said. "And two colas."

The teenage boy rang up his order. "Total's $5.40."

He pushed the cash toward him. "Can I have the rest in coins?"

"Sure."

The boy gave Corrado his receipt and a handful of change. He gave half of it to Katrina, who ran off to play games, while Corrado headed over to the payphone. He put a bunch of coins in it, not sure how much it cost, as he pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket.

Chicago
, it said, written in his father's handwriting, with a phone number beneath it. He dialed, making sure he pushed the right buttons, and clutched the big receiver to his ear as it rang and rang.

"Moretti."

Vito sounded out of breath as he answered.

"Dad?"

Silence for a moment, then a woman's voice rang out in the background before Vito shushed her. "Shut up, V. It's my kid." Something rustled as he focused on the call. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, but we need some stuff to eat," Corrado said. "Things we don't have to cook on the stove, because we can't use it until they give us some lights back."

"What?"

"We need food at home," he repeated.

"Yeah, groceries, I got that part. But what do you mean about getting the lights back?"

"We don't have any," he said. "The man turned them off."

Tense silence took over before Vito spoke again, a hard edge to his voice. "You telling me you ain't got
no
electric?"

"Yes."

"Where's your mother? Put her on the damn phone."

"She's not here," he said. "She's at home in bed."

"In bed? Where the hell are you?"

"Walked to the pizzeria."

"By yourself?"

"No. Kat's with me, too."

Vito laughed dryly, muttering under his breath. Curses flew from his mouth, back-to-back, one after another. "That goddamn woman. I tell her to fucking call if she needs anything. Bullshit. What the hell did she do with my money? Drink it all away?"

Corrado switched the receiver to the other ear as a lady came on the line, saying he had one minute remaining. He searched his pockets for more coins, but he had none left.

"The phone lady said I have to go. Can you send some food? But not milk or anything, since we can't use the fridge."

"Don't worry about it, kid. I'll handle it."

"Thanks, Dad."

Corrado hung up, heading to an empty orange booth when their pizza was ready. Corrado took one piece, slowly picking at it, while Katrina greedily devoured the other five. He was still hungry, but he didn’t take any from his sister, not wanting her to starve.

Once they were out of food and money, the two made the trek home. They walked slower this time, in no rush to get back to the stuffy house, so it approached nightfall when they finally arrived. They stepped inside the front door as Erika walked out of the kitchen, wearing her robe, carrying a sealed bottle of wine under her arm. In her hand she clutched the dented can of peaches, the top removed, a fork stuck in them. "Where have you been?"

"Outside," Corrado said before Katrina could answer. “Playing.”

"Good," Erika muttered. "Fresh air's what you need. Keeps you out of my hair."

They remained silent until their mother stomped back upstairs. Katrina turned to Corrado then, raising her eyebrows. "Mom didn't give you that money, did she?"

He slowly shook his head.

“Didn’t think so.”

He headed up to his bedroom and took off his shirt before collapsing onto the bed, not bothering to change out of his jeans. Exhaustion dragged him into a deep sleep, but it didn't last long.

His bedroom door flew open, crashing into the wall and waking Corrado. It was dark now, the only light in the room from the open window. He sat up abruptly, eyes darting to the doorway as his mother burst in. His heart raced as he tried to make sense of things, his adrenaline pumping overtime.

Erika descended upon him, no hesitation in her footsteps, one of Vito's thick leather belts in her hand. Corrado tried to move away from her when he spotted it, but he was too late. She snatched his arm with her free hand, twisting it as she pinned him down on the bed. "You think you can lie to me and get away with it, you little shit? Huh? You think you can
steal
from me? You’re just like your father!"

Before he could reply, before he could defend himself, she raised the belt, the first blow striking him in the chest. A sharp sting rippled across his skin, seeping into his muscles, seizing his lungs as he let out an agonized screech. He tried to get away from her, sliding off the side of the bed and collapsing onto the hard wooden floor, his shoulder throbbing as she twisted his arm further.

She savagely whipped him as he huddled into a ball, trying to shield himself from the beating. Strike after strike hit his back, a few even connecting with his head and face. Tears stung his eyes, involuntarily running down his flushed cheeks, as he struggled to hold in the sobs bubbling deep in his chest.