Free Stella Mia by Rosanna Chiofalo Page B

of the Duomo of Saint Sebastian without being noticed. Fortunately, the streets were nearly deserted that early in the morning, since most of the residents were sleeping in after staying up late to watch the fireworks. Once I left the cathedral, I quickly headed over to the bus station. There, a bus would take me from Barcellona to the city of Messina, where I would transfer for Taormina.
    As soon as my bus gets on the highway, cutting through the mountain tunnels, I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, I can relax. My heart races in excitement. My escape worked! I’m finally free and far away from my father’s clutches. I will never suffer another of his beatings. But as soon as I feel joy, guilt immediately washes over me for leaving Mama and the children behind. They are on their own now. They will not have me to protect them from Papá’s wrath.
    Though I have been surrounded by Sicily’s vibrant landscape my whole life, I feel like I am only now truly seeing her. Suddenly, something my teacher once said comes to mind. She described Sicily as “il gioiello del Mediterraneo” —the jewel of the Mediterranean. Looking out my bus’s window, I can see why. The verdant mountains . . . the azure waters of the Mediterranean Sea . . . abundant sunshine that graces the island for most of the year . . . towering palm trees lining the streets . . . farms that thrive because of the island’s rich soil that allows almost any crop to be grown . . . orchards full of fig, olive, and citrus trees . . . prickly cactus pear plants. This is my beautiful home.
    The bus slows down as it comes to a road that has been made narrower because of construction. We pass under a rain cloud, and rivulets of water quickly pellet the driver’s windshield. The driver does not even bother turning his windshield wipers on, for within seconds we’ve cleared the clouds and are cloaked in sunshine again. I see a rainbow and smile, feeling like it is a good omen. For me, rainbows have always been proof of God’s existence. Every time I see one, I feel God’s presence even more.
    Though I am elated to be heading toward a new adventure and home in Taormina, I’m also terrified. I try not to think about the possibility that it could take some time to secure work. If I am very meager with my meals and skip breakfast and just allow myself a little bread and cheese or a piece of fruit, I can make my money last a couple of extra weeks. I am not ashamed to beg, but I will offer people something for their money. I am prepared to sing on the streets and the beaches of Taormina. But surely, with all of the hotels and resorts that line the beach, I will be able to secure work as a maid in one of them. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly, I pray to St. Anthony, asking him to help me find my way.
    I open my eyes in time to see the highway sign pointing to Taormina. Her beauty has been written about for centuries. I wonder if she will live up to her fame. My stomach growls, reminding me I have not had anything to eat since the zeppola I nibbled on last night. I saved two of the zeppole for my trip. I take them out and pop one in my mouth, chewing ravenously. Something catches my peripheral view. I see a dirty boy with disheveled clothes leaning forward, staring at the zeppola I’m holding that I haven’t eaten yet. His mother is asleep beside him, and she has the same ragged appearance. I try to ignore the boy watching me, but my conscience won’t allow it. Suddenly, it’s not this strange boy’s face before me, but the face of one of my younger brothers. I hold out my hand, offering my last zeppola to him.
    â€œTake it.”
    The boy casts one nervous glance at his mother, who still remains sound asleep, and turns back around, quickly snatching the zeppola . He nods his head in thanks to me. I smile and turn my attention back out the window. My eyes feel heavy, and I want to sleep, especially since I