How do you tell a story when so many parts are supposed to be left out? When words aren't supposed to be spoken, when the truth is just supposed to fade away to nothing? How do you convince someone you're alive when it's a crime just to exist?
Are you ready to run away yet? No? Damn...
Okay, fine... You asked for it.
My childhood really isn't that interesting. Or well, not to me at least. I was born January 5th, 1983. Sometime very early in the morning, or so I'm told. Okay, the catch being, I wasn't born in a hospital. Or at home, or under any medical care really. My mother and father should never have been together and my mother's pregnancy was hidden. So logically, it followed that my birth was kept a secret too. I was born in a cheap, second rate hotel room with a nurse who was hired for her secrecy, not for her talents. Does it surprise you that my mother bled to death a few hours after I was born? No? Me neither. She knew the risk she took when she was with my father, they knew the risk of the pregnancy. I guess they never thought through what would happen in childbirth, the downfalls. I think the only emotion I've ever seen out of my father is when he talks about my mother and those moments are few and far between.
My father is Gregory Giovanni Donnagán. Oh you've heard the name, have you? Not surprised, anyone who's been anywhere in Italy or New York has heard it. City Council member, local business owner, outstanding patriarch of the community, and all around a$$hole. Yup, I said it, deal with it. I'm not going to deny the dark rumors that follow him around, I'm not going to support them. I'm just not going to deal with them, okay?
Anyway, my childhood... Right. So yeah, I was born in Italy, in a hotel room. We've established that. I think my father wanted a son, it's tradition after all. But a daughter would do. The problem was acknowledging me to the rest of the family. I was raised as a bastard child, my father had a few others. I guess it was just sort of accepted, a man of his position was expected to have some failings. So, right... I was spent my early childhood in Italy and spoke Italian way before I learned english. That was just the way of things. Tradition is a big deal in my family, I can't go into all of it. It's just what's expected. I was expected to attend the finest schools, to hone my education from an early age. Afterall, we are a family based around business, regardless of how good and clean that business is. So I didn't see much of my father growing up, I was raised by my nanny. A wonderful woman mind you, but not my parent. I think I was about ten when there was some great big uprising in the family. My grandfather, patriarch of the family, was assisinated in America and everything suddenly fell on my father's shoulders. And naturally, I was uprooted and moved to the United States.
You have to understand, at this point I knew nothing about my family, it's real business and the actual reason I had to move to an entirely different country. So I went from beautiful, rustic Italy to the mess of New York City. Culture shock wasn't even the right word for it. I didn't even speak the damn language! My father thought it was best that I was just completely immerged in this new culture. I was sent to the finest Catholic schools in the city, I'm Italian... what did you expect? My family practices their religion like it's a curse, long story. Anyway. I did figure out the english language, but it was a tormenting experience. Most of the kids laughed at me for my accent, considered me stupid just because I couldn't understand what they were saying. I hate school. Enough.
I did manage to learn the english language, obviously. I'm writing this, aren't I? I didn't see much of my father, especially after we moved to the states. I think he kept his distance from me to protect me, but some things aren't meant to happen. Anyway, I learned to fit into New York. Learned to love it, learned to love a city that never slept. A place with a thousand temptations to spark a spirit I never really could understand. My nanny was still with me, she for some reason (reasons I later discovered) seemed to think I needed to live in the church, me... I lived in the streets, in the clubs, the bars. Every dark and devious location that I loved. Did I skip high school? damn.... right, backtrack.
Anyway, I survived grade school in New York. Survived and excelled, good grades were expected. Remember, business.. family... that sort of thing. High school was easy, well at least the school part. My father could only keep me sheltered for so long. I began to pick up on things... Some of the comings and goings at our uptown apartment. Things I wanted to ignore, things I chose to ignore. I kept placing it down to being only in my imagination. I mean, lots of girls have bodyguards, right?
Around my sophomore year of high school I was finally allowed to start dating... Well at least start dating the guys my father picked out for me, these trussed up Italian idiots of major families. Some of the guys were all right, some of them were major closet cases. Some of them seemed to think I was a piece of ass they deserved just because of their wealth and station. I didn't go for any of them. At least they helped me discover that I had no desire for men at all. I mean, I played around with them a bit, but there wasn't any attraction, nothing that lasted. So naturally curiosity followed and I toyed around with a few girls I went to school with, what is it that they always say about catholic girls? Damn. Yeah. Women are so much more fun than men. I guess I developed a distinct ability to seduce women as soon as I discovered I liked them. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes... Winning smile, just deviously perfect enough to get into anyone's pants. Alright, stop drooling. You're not getting anything more about my sex life. So anyway, obviously my father didn't approve of me sleeping with women. It's just not tradition.. Yeah, I know. So, I fed my desires outside his knowledge. That's what led me to the bars and the clubs. I managed to graduate from high school, I did well. It was expected, remember?
As a graduation gift, my father allowed me and a few of my friends to take a cross country trip. I wanted to drive out to California. The beaches, the surfing, the bars... the women. Heh, yeah I said it. Anyway, so I got a couple of my guy friends together and we headed out of town. Naturally I had to deal with a few bodyguards tailing in another car. A situation I carefully remedied. I arranged for a rent car to be waiting at the first rest stop we stopped at. With bodyguards watching my car, we slipped out of sight in a rental car. Free for the first time in my life. You know, sometimes our parents do mean us well with their overprotective nature. Maybe it was a good idea for me to be under careful watch. That's the beauty of the ignorance of youth, it doesn't matter till it bites you in the ass.
Did I really know that I was the only acknowledged daughter of a major mob boss? No, not really. My father was pretty good at sheltering me from certain things. Yes, I knew I was special for some reason. Yes, I knew my father had some underhanded dealings and ties. But that's just Italian you know? So for the most part I lived gloriously in the dark of my inherited position and the dark things that went with it. My father had me carefully guarded for a reason you know, his daughter was a fantastic target. So right, ignorance of youth and my desire to have freedom. Big mistake. Everything was fine to start we. My friends and I blew through the eastern seaboard in an old jeep with the top down... Loving the ride. I actually have a lot of fond memories of that. We tracked through atlantic city, down the beaches into virginia, passed through Atlanta and on down into Florida. I didn't answer the phone when my father called, I knew he was furious. I just waited to deal with it till I got home.
I guess somewhere along the lines, someone finally picked up on my tracks. The wrong someone, I think one of my father's old business partners who felt the need for a certain amount of revenge. Revenge that caught up with me in the midwest, on a backroad through the cornfields. We were flat out blindsided to be honest. Our exposed jeep was no match for the heavy fendered hummer than blasted into the side of us. My friend was driving, I was in the backseat. The first collision sent us spinning down the road. The second was hard enough to throw everyone from the car. I don't want to remember some of this, but I can't change the past. I know I landed somewhere in the middle of the road, I guessed I was lucky to be alive. I don't know if I was unconscious for long, I don't know what happened. I know I saw both wrecked cars when I woke up. I know I saw the bodies of my friends in the road, I know I'm the only one who walked away. Even the man driving the hummer had gone through his windshield.
So where were we... Right... me, in the middle of the road, trying to figure out what the hell had happened. And you know, you see another car coming and the first instinct is relief. Someone to help, I mean my damn cell phone didn't even get reception out where we were. So I saw a car, I saw relief. I was so hopeful when the car pulled up. I mean I was on the verge of breaking down, come on now... Everyone around me was dead. Believe me, it definitely wasn't a knight in shining arm. I mean the damn car hadn't even stopped before I heard gunshots. I couldn't even fathom someone shooting at me. Thankfully some part of my consciousness was smart enough to react. I ended up underneath the same car that my friends had lost their lives in. Yeah, pathetic hiding place... But I was in the middle of nowhere, give me a break okay? I really don't think they were shooting at me to hit me, just to scare me. Kidnapping works better when the victim survives, right?
So yeah, my father's position and my stupidity caught up with me in a serious way. Hiding beneath a wrecked car didn't save me. Let me tell you how uncomfortable it is to be tied up and tossed in a trunk. It sucks. Enough said. I guess it could have been much worse, I was fairly well treated for the situation I'd been put in. I was worth more to them alive than dead. And the only real torture was keeping a spoiled princess (yes I said it) in a rotten, falling down country house in the middle of nowhere. Electricity and running water are beautiful things. God bless the city.
I don't know how long I was kept in that place. I was locked up in a room afterall. Days, nights... all of it led to my own little random piece of insanity. Deep inside I was swimming in guilt, my stupidity had killed my friends, hadn't it? I learned a lot about my father, about the real nature of his business, all locked up in a little basement room. It's hard to see a parent in such a dark light, he's my father. He's a terrible man. He's the man who moved heaven and earth, or hell rather... To free me. I don't want to know how much it cost, in money or lives to get me out of that hell hole. Some things are best left alone. But needless to say, when the door was open to free me and it was my father waiting at the end of the steps. He was my knight in shining armor, good or evil. Because no one can draw lines in a moment like that.
Hate me for loving him if you want. But he is my father, good and bad. And much more bad than you would imagine. A mob boss is only skin deep, the soul is so much blacker. But that's not the point and that's not where this story is going to go. So anyway, my father got me out of that hell and delivered me into a new version of it. Yes, he was mad. But I don't think he really blamed me, you can only be held under someone's thumb for so long. The upside, there are no more secrets between us. The drive back was just us. Just us, talking. Sharing. There were many things I didn't want to hear, many things I can't tell you. But for the first time he talked about my mother, my birth. The reason they couldn't be together. The reason I feel so haunted. Yup, not telling you. Enough about the spiritual. Or conversation turned to New York, to what my father did. To his lack of a son. To what would be expected of me now. I was the daughter of Gregory Donnagán. Now, I knew who I was. Now, I knew what it meant. My father had new expectations of me. Childhood was over in an instant, I was expected to take my place as a member of the family business. I was expected to learn what my father had to teach me, to gather what I could from his power and prepare to hold it in the future.
I'm not an evil person. Really, I swear. I'm not a good person either. That's just the way I am, I live with one foot in two worlds. My mother was a pure being, beautiful and lovely. It's no wonder my father fell for her. Its no wonder they couldn't be together. So I take what I have of my mother in me and I shift it into my father's world. I should have run away I suppose. But I stayed to temper my father's judgement with some sort of compassion. I think, or at least thats what I justify to myself. As soon as I returned to New York, I started college. Inbetween classes, I stayed by my father's side. Learning how he expected his business to be run, both the honest parts and that which wasn't allowed to be seen. It's hard to look at a man who both contributes to the community and destroys it, it's hard to judge him. And now I know you're already judging me for staying, for helping. Just leave me alone, alright?
So yeah, college. I went to business school, are you surprised? With my god given brains and some serious financial assistance from my father's rather large assets, I was able to graduate with a master's degree in the time it took most people to get their undergraduate degree. At least I can be proud of that, says I do have some sort of brains ya know? My graduation from college actually made my father proud and I think somewhere he finally finished forgiving me for my road trip disaster. He rewarded me with the stewardship and presidency of a leading New York City graphic design company. Did I mention that I love to draw? No... damn, sorry. But yeah, art has always been a little known backward habit of mine. So the design company was a good gift to have. I was able to make my own decisions, live a little and escape a great deal of my father's pressure. But you know, it's still his company and his control.
And I'll admit, the draw of my father's sort of power is almost too much to resist. It is half of my soul afterall. So I sank in a little further than I should have. I enjoyed what I had more than I should have. I mean, doesn't everyone want to be the New York City socialite? The parties were fantastic. I blew more money than anyone had a right to. But I was denying who I was. Part of me just didn't feel right, I went to sleep every night with some sort of guilt eating at my soul. I told you, my father really isn't an evil man. But his actions can be. And my business was feeding funds into the true nature of his company. My decisions as president assisted him, I was quickly reaching the point where I just couldn't live with myself.
How can something feel so good and so bad all at the same time? I don't know. But believe me it can. Don't get me wrong, I love my business, I love my money. I hated what became of it. But you know, I won't deny the fear I was learning to inspire in others. I am my father's daughter, he taught me that looks can kill. He taught me to be ruthless, for awhile I relished in it. It was living a double life for me, catering to my father's wishes by day... And trying to undo the wrong I knew I was doing at night. I couldn't take it anymore. Something had to give, well. It wasn't that simple.
I guess I kept up with everything I was doing because I felt I owed it to my father. He saved my life... and well, he's my damn father already. I'm Italian, we're big on family. So I was satisfying him and hurting myself. I did a lot of dumb things, hurt a lot of really innocent people with my actions. But something had to give somewhere. I told you earlier, I have an addiction to women. And that addiction was what I used to make me forget about the guilt eating at my soul. So I used women, I used them for sex. I used them for the release of their company. I used them to make me feel better, regardless of how awful I must have made them feel. I've broken hearts, I broken many, many hearts... Yeah, I never said I was a good person. I don't know when exactly I knew I had a problem. Might have been the night I slept with three different women and still wasn't satisfied. Yeah, I have a demon's soul. I'm ashamed of what I've done. I'll admit to that.
I cried that night, for the first time since my friends had died. I cried until I had nothing left inside. It was the first time I think I really allowed myself to feel anything, what did money and parties mean when I felt that hollow? I was a living shell, nothing more. I cried till I slept, I cried till I dreamed. Till I dreamed of my mother, I'd never known her. But in that instant I did. She was a beautiful woman, in so many ways. And it was her, in my dreams that saved me. That saved the soul of a demon, reminding me that maybe I did have the heart of an angel. That was where all the guilt came from, a bad soul with a good heart. It was an epiphany I hadn't been expecting. But just the sort of thing I needed.
I got up the next morning and packed. Got up and left a long letter to my father. Got up and resigned my presidency of my father's company. Got up with every intention of changing my life. I was surprised that my father let me go so easily, I think he always expected it to happen. I think it was his ability to let go that allowed me to really break free. I love him, I may not like him, but I do love him. So I packed, so I took the few possessions that meant anything to me and loaded it all up in a new jeep. Some sort of weird tribute, I know. And now I'm just going to travel, I know I'll find home eventually. But right now, there's too much to heal. Too much of the past to forget. So me, my sketchpad and my car are going to find better horizons.
Maybe I am an angel in a demon's skin. Maybe that's exactly what I'm supposed to be.
