Ciro picked up the ball and dribbled it a bit. He mumbled his reasonings. 

Vargo lifted an eyebrow. 

“Dude, speak up.” 

He gripped the ball tight to this chest and sighed. “You know Paddy?”

“Uh, Yeah…?”

“That bastard made fun of my drinking skills. He even fucking dared me to a drink off with shots at Chester’s. I want to prove our End ain’t whimps.”

Vargo chuckled. “So you just accepted goin’ to the party?” He irritatingly sighed. “We always do our own summer end celebration. This just feels a bit off ya know?”

“I-I know but I don’t want to be trenchin’ in there all alone, you know what I mean? All I gotta do is out shot Paddy and we leave.”

“That it?” 

Ciro nodded. He bounced the ball to Vargo. His friend dribbled a bit before driving the basketball through the hoop. 

“Ugh alright, I’ll go. You do your stupid drinking game and we leave. No hanging around those West fucks any longer than we got to." 

A small smile formed on Ciro's face. As Vargo turned around, he quickly washed it away. 

The next couple weeks past by uneventfully.

For each day that past, Ciro's nerves entangled stronger in his chest for the big night. 

Luckily he had the excuse of staying at Vargo's as a coverup for going to the party - his dad was none the wiser. 

However, on the evening before the party, Ciro’s father wanted to ruin it.

Ciro entered the house through the back mud room. A bag from the local butcher's dangled from his arm. "Mom! Got the meat!" He slipped his tennis shoes off and set the bag onto the kitchen counter. “Mom?" before he could look around, a deep voice resonated behind.

"Son."

Ciro jolted, not expecting his father. 

He's never here at this time of day. Why is he suddenly here?

"H-Hey. Where's mom?" 

"She's outside talking with Mrs. Santis before she makes dinner."

"I’ll-I’Il help prep then." Ciro slipped the packaged beef from the bag. Before he could even grab a cutting board, his father spoke in haste.

"Before that I need to discuss tomorrow.”

Ciro’s heartrate accelerates. Did he find out about the party? 

“W-What about it?” His voice shakened. 

“I want you to cancel your plans with Vargo."

"What?! Why?" 

"The summer potluck is coming up at church, we need your help with the younger ones attending."

"But!"

"No buts!” He roared back. His tone deepening. “You've been wandering around town all summer like a hoodlum. The most you can do is help at church. If you don't, you can just put up your ball for the rest of the summer."

Ciro clenched his palm. He bit his tongue.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now start the prep for your mother. After that get your sisters' ready. They haven't washed their hands good before meals so make sure they do a good job tonight." 

He began to take his leave.

Ciro stopped him at the open kitchen doorway.

"Are you going to be home for dinner?" 

Without turning back at his son, he answered plainly. "I have errands."

With no further explaination, he walked out of the house.

Ciro angrily breathed. “Yeah....'errands'.” 

The evening was bleak. 

Ciro kept to himself as he prepped dinner, helped his siblings wash their hands thoroughly, and reminded them how to set the table. He cleared the table after they ate, of course leaving his dad's plate untouched. All the while his mom sat smoking with wine in hand. 

She was just as quiet as he was.

With the last dish washed, he returned to his mom, her back to him and the table. 

“I’m going to get the girls to-“

“You can go.” Her voice was low, void of emotion. 

Ciro perked up, confused.

“What?”

She extended her withering arm to the table to burn out a cigarette in the ashtray. “To ‘Vargos’.” she emphasized his name. She wobbled out of the chair, her long black hair was now down, covering parts of her face chaotically. “The church has enough ‘help’.”she put a stronger empathize on the last word than she did with Vargo's name.

Did she overhear my and dad's conversation?

“W-What about dad….? He told me-”

“He’ll listen to me. Don’t worry.” She lit another cigarette. “It’s getting late, make sure your sisters' are in bed.”

Ciro whispered an okay before pecking the side of her head.

He headed upstairs. While helping his siblings, he pondered his mom's stranger than normal speech and the way she spoke.

Mom's always taught me to listen to dad no matter what. This time it felt like she was…I dunno…punishing him? She wants me to defy dad's order to go to the Church. 

But why would dad even listen to her? He could threaten her like he does me....

Ciro carefully made his way down to the first floor, trying to avoid the creaks of each crying step. 

Turning around the stairwell, he peaked back at the kitchen opening. His mom was still sitting, her back once more faced to the table, her head appearing slightly upward at the clock. The ticking of the hands cut through the stifled air. 

Ciro breathed out as he hurried himself into his room. As soon as he shut that door, a familiar stinging pain in his upper stomach came in waves. “ngh….” Ciro winced. Again….? He eyes a half drank soda can on his nightstand.

He guzzled the flat soda, hoping it will aide with the pain. 

Needing a distraction, Ciro sifted through his clothes. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to pick out somethin' to wear tomorrow.

He peeled shirts side to side. He grunted as his eyes leaned downward.  

What the hell am I doing? He felt almost a giddiness about tomorrow night. It's embarassing. He quickly ripped a black tank top and deep jaded pants.  

Ciro plopped down next to the outfit and peeked around at the window. 

That night.... I was so close to his face. 

"Argh!" Ciro buried his face within his palms.

  How am I going to get through that party when I could barely get through those five minutes? 

Deep muffled voices interrupt his feverish thoughts. 

"Are they fighting?" a confused expression replaced what normally would be one of anger. No, not fighting. At least not 'regular fighting'. He pressed his ear to the door and pressed real hard. 

It is his parents. It seemed more like a hushed secretive argument rather than the usual screaming match. 

Carefully, he unlocked his door. The curiousity was too much. 

They weren't in the kitchen like they normally would be. Are they near the mudroom? 

He directed his ear out the barely cracked door and closed his eyes. 

Within the angered breaths, he made out few words. They weren't speaking English either. Only Italien. 

First he heard his mom's dismantled voice.

"Church...Vargo...going to...I can't do this...I know, I know....everyone knows now too...embarrasssing...you and...thing..."

Then his father's voice.

"You can't....fine...you ever....I'll leave...no body...I'm not like this...I dare you..."

Ciro's face crunched up. Are they talking about me going to Vargo's? But what is that other stuff?

SLAM! 

Ciro jumped out of his skin as the sudden slam of the door quakened the house. 

He froze up from the noise and when he looked up, his father's stark demeanor was across from him. 

His face was strange and reddened. His dark eyes glaring at his son through the kitchen doorway. 

They exchanged a non expressionless look before Ciro's dad walked sternly passed him and to the front door. 

Ciro remained at his own door, ultimately jarred by what happened. 

He shut his door and sat back on his bed, holding his stomach from the lingering pain. 

What just happened? 

The lights of his father's car lit up the residential street as it peeled out from their neighbourhood. 

Normally he would've yelled at me, possibly even given me a smack on the mouth for eavesdropping. Instead he looked...

Embarrassed? 

Shame? 

Shaken up? 

What happened to make him look like that? 

It wouldn't be until years later when Ciro was told the truth of that night. The main reason why his father turned against him, treated him differently. 

Made him feel like a monster by a monster itself.