Love Like Winter

It's like when you are having one of those bad dreams.

Where you can't escape. You can't talk because you have a slight retardation with your lips. You can't do anything. You can just sit and watch what is going to happen, and you absolutely can't help. And then, out of nowhere, bang! You wake up. And realize you've wasted ten minutes of your life on thinking about that sort of nonsense.

I for once, have been thinking about what will I do this summer.

I couldn't imagine me having fun in Rome.

My dad was crazy about that place. About Italy, his home land. And my mother's too. My mom, Nicoletta and my father Frank (Franco, his real name, but we live in America, soo...) are both of Italian origins. Their parents lived there and came to America when my mom and dad got married. They even grew up in the same street. So everything was going fine and dandy until I came along. Their first child, Alison di Rossi, me. Then my grandparents went back to Italy while we stood in America. Nine years later, bang, my sister Paola was born. She's seven now. By the end of August she'll be eight years old. Ask for me, I'm seventeen years old. Got my hair dark brown, it reaches the half of my back. It's curly, but I tend to straight it out. Every single day. I got dark brown eyes, but I wear violet contacts, I'm slim, though I might add I doo have a curvy body. I've got an oval face with full lips and a pretty smile. I'm not stuck up. It's just how I look. I am rational and have a sarcastic point of viewing things. I left everything back in the states. In clouding Brian, my boyfriend. This summer I was really pissed for my parents sending me to Italy. First off, I wanted to stay in New Jersey because Brian was there, second of all I was going to Italy alone this time, for one month and I knew I was going to die if I don't find some company. Grandma and grandpa were awesome, but I couldn't keep up with them a lot because they spoke Italian very fast and they were old, they simply couldn't understand me if I told them that I went to a concert, got drunk and came home at 6 a.m. They'd kill me and throw me out the house for the rest of the summer.

''Attention passengers, please put your seat belts on, we're about to land, thank you'', a nice looking stewardess said. Then she repeated the sentence on Italian, German and French.

I was sitting next to the window so I could get a good view of the sea. I loved the sea and everything in it. Sadly, Rome was far away from it, but oh well, granny had a good bathtub.

Half an hour later, after I got trough all the customs and found my luggage I was waiting for my uncle Carlo to pick me up from the airport. He was always late. And then out of nowhere a car stopped. A black BMW X6, the newest model. Yes, my uncle did love cars so very much.

''Ciao bella'', he said as he was opening the door,''oh I have missed you for, oh so long!'', he gasped and hugged me.

''Ooh, uncle how are you? I've missed you too. You should come to America more often'', I giggled as I wrapped my arms around him. My favorite uncle, Carlo Maini. He was around 6 feet tall, had blond hair, muscles, sky blue eyes and a smile to die for. My dear uncle whom I loved almost more than myself.

''Well listen my love, you should move back here and then we'll see each other every day, you know you are not American by blood'', he snapped back at me, just like that. He was a bit bitchy though.

I pulled up a smile and added,''I never said I was American''

''Oh yes?'', he lifted his eyebrows up.

''Yes'', I was stubborn.

He laughed,''never? HA, zio Carlo, zio Carlo, io sono Americana!'', he squealed in a girly voice at me.

''Oh, come on! That was eleven years ago!'', I cried, knowing he was right. I was always ashamed of my last name for a stupid reason – I didn't love Italy.

''Yes,yes,yes. We'll ask nono when we come home!''

''Nono stands for grandpa, right?''

''Of course it means grandpa, what else could it mean? Pie?'', now he was starting to get on my nerves.

I rolled my eyes, and before you know it, we were in front of our house, actually my grandparents house.

The car stopped in front of the house and my uncle opened the door for me.

''You're a true gentleman'', I joked and got out.

He laughed and nodded his head,''Nono is asleep I think, but nona is awake, soo be quiet. Do you want me to take your bags in?'', he asked while he was putting my bags on the sidewalk.

''Aaam, no thanks. It's really late now Carlo, you should go home. Say hi to Mariana for me'', I yawned and picked up my bags.

''Okay bella, I'll see you tomorrow'', he kissed my free hand and went back into his car. He drove off quickly. Well it was midnight, so I couldn't be mad at him, he was tired, just like me.

The house was rather big. It had three floors, it was made of white stone. The windows were painted brown and there were a lot of trees and flowers around it. My granny loved plants. The house was all Mediterranean style. It was actually very pretty, but the thought of spending the next whole month there alone with two grouchy elder people made me mentally ill.

So I picked up my bags and entered the house, having no idea that this summer was going to be the best one ever.