The American Dream

My name is Carlo Yasou. I am an Italian immigrant who came with my father and mother to America looking for that “Dream” everyone’s been talking about. More like a nightmare. My last name actually means hello in Greek. Odd, but that was the first thing I was going to tell the ladies when I got here, heh. Back home, we hadn’t heard about the outbreak. In fact, I think it was news to the world; one of the most powerful nations falling apart in just days. Well, if anyone should know better, it’s this young Roman and that all empires must fall.

We came on plane literally hours before the hell happened. There was no emergency re-route or anything. The plane landed in Hell. We expected to see hundreds pouring out of planes trying to get in to this place, but it was the opposite. People were screaming to get into the airport. My parents were confused and frightened. They knew no English, so I had to translate everything for them. After finally reaching a police officer, I asked what was going on.

“You came at a bad time buddy. I suggest you turn back around and go back to where you came from.” He shouted while trying to physically blockade a wall of desperate people. My father started asking me what he said.
“Che cosa ha detto? Che cosa sta accadendo?” [What did he say? What is happening?]
I responded trying to comfort my frightened parents as much as possible “Calmati, Papa. Va tutto bene. Io chiedere a qualcun altro.” [Calm down, Father. Everything is fine. I will ask somebody else.]
My mother prayed out loud. “Vi preghiamo di aiutarci, San Rocco.” [Please help us, Saint Roch.] She always seemed to know what to do.

We left the crowded airport to find a quiet place to relax. There was a small diner across the street. When we went inside, the strong smell of beef and potatoes filled the air. My mother and father sat in the booth nearest the door. I walked over to the counter and rang the bill. “Yeah. Hang on.” Someone yelled from the kitchen. I leaned against the counter and looked around the place. Lined along the walls were pictures of famous celebrities who stopped by and ate here. One in particular was a picture of a George Romero. [I’m sorry, I had to.] There weren’t many people in the restaurant: a police officer who probably should be at the airport helping out, a very attractive woman with long, black hair, and a man in overalls that looked like a farmer.

Finally, the chef in the kitchen walked out toward the counter. “What do you need, friend?” He was an exceptionally built black man with a solid moustache.
“Yes, thank you. We just want some water please.”
“That’s all? You look new here. C’mon, you can’t come to this great nation thinking that the food they serve here tastes like what they give you in the plane. Here, I’ll give you your water and I’ll make some hamburgers for you guys on the house. Hows about that?”
“Okay, thank you.”
“No problem.” He smiles widely and goes back to the kitchen.

I sit down next to my mother in the booth seats near the door. “Mama. Papa. Come sono i tuoi primi minuti in America?” [Mother. Father. How are your first minutes in America?]
“Come mettere il braccio in culo di un toro.” [I don’t think you want to know what this means. Well, if you do, go to Google.]
“Papa.” I looked at him sternly. My father was never fond of leaving Rome. We are only here because he lost his job at the tire factory. “E tu, Mama?” [And you, Mother?]
“Non mi piace. C'è qualcosa di sbagliato.” [I do not like it. There is something wrong.]
“Mama, va tutto bene.” [Mother, everything is fine.] A loud thump on the window startled us. A bloody handprint was left behind by a man in a business suit clutching his neck. He came stumbling in the door and fell to the ground. I got up and helped him up. The police officer put his coffee down and ran over as well. “Are you okay, Sir, what happened?”
“Oh my God! Please, help me! Please!” He stopped suddenly, and his eyes rolled up into his head. The officer checked his pulse. The chef came to see what was going on.
“He’s dead.” The police officer looked up at me. I stared in horror.

Fine Della Prima Parte

End of Part One