A Mother's Tears • Ch. 2 of 16

Paradise

The years slowly rolled by; school days came and went, the seasons changed like clockwork, and finally my mom grew into a sharp-witted teenager. Her father had finally come back home. Life was good again. He would walk with Gabriela for an hour to the train station where she’d take it to her high school, making sure she boarded before turning around to walk another hour back home. Rain, snow, sunshine, it didn’t matter—, all he wanted was to spend as much time with his daughter as possible. These are some of my mother’s most cherished memories of her father.

A year after graduating high school, Gabriela and her cousin were walking through a forested area nearby both of their homes on a sunny summer afternoon. The trees were particularly beautiful and they came upon an open space in the middle of the woods that seemed to all but speak out to them.

“This would be perfect,” my mom said. They’d been looking for a place to hold summer get- togethers with their closest friends and what they’d just discovered was the place to do it. For the next few years, on and off, my mom and her cousin would have these gatherings with the radio blaring all their favorite songs. They decided it was a perfect place and so decided to call it Paradise. That was their go-to escape when they were young adults and needed a spot for themselves. Far from my generation, they didn’t need drugs and alcohol to party or have a good time. They were content to dance and just hold hands whenever they’d feel sparks of love. Living under communism, people took pleasure in the simpler things a lot easier than their children ever would. She’d daydream throughout it all—, not knowing what type of life lay ahead. Not knowing she’d ever see the downfall of Romania’s dictatorship, not knowing she’d eventually come to America, and not knowing what battles and victories would cross her path. She just listened to the music and kept on going in rhythmic movements, completely free and blessed. To be that age again is something so many people wonder about later on in life. When things were so simple and at the same time, everything was the end of the world. I remembered my own adolescence while my mom would reflect on hers—, it was so innocent and full of compassion that I couldn’t have wished for a better upbringing. Nothing could level my enthusiasm for life. My mom related in more ways than I’d thought she would.

Gabriela had little loves that came and went throughout those years. None of them ever reached a mature stage where something deeper developed but she had plenty of eyes set on her. She was popular enough in school to have boyfriends here and there, but as she grew into an adult, her style became that much more refined.

Finally, Gabriela was turning twenty-one years old on the day she and her cousin planned the perfect birthday party in Paradise. They invited all of their friends and went to the train station to meet them.

“Ready for tonight?,” Gabriela asked her companions. They all shook their heads in anticipation. They eventually made their way into the woods, deeper and deeper they went until reaching their second home.

“Let’s make a fire,” my mom’s cousin suggested. They lit the leaves and twigs laying nearby and sparked the flame. It grew higher and higher up toward the night sky. They’d brought along their radios and set them all on the same station, turning the volume up as loud as it’d go. They danced well into the night and until sunrise the next day.

“We should do this every year,” Gabriela said. It wasn’t meant to be—, that was the only birthday she’d ever spend with her closest friends in her preferred place of partying. The years would keep rolling by and they’d see less and less of their Paradise. My mom eventually moved to the capital and quickly began her new life there.

The Meeting

Gabriela had been living in the Colentina neighborhood of Bucharest by herself for a couple of years when she was at a local grocery store one day. There, she met a woman who was living in the building next to hers.

“My name’s Gabby,” my mom said with a smile. After the short introductions the friendly woman invited my mother over for dinner on an upcoming night. The walk to the neighbor’s apartment was short as she lived only a few minutes away. My mom entered the neatly-laid out space and sat down at the dining table. Dinner was already prepared but there were four place-mats set up.

“I invited a couple of friends who also live in the building to join us tonight,” the woman said. “I hope that’s alright.” Not long afterwards came a knock on the door. In walked two handsomely-dressed men, both in suits and ties. They looked to be about mid- to-late thirties and one of them immediately started eyeing Gabriela out of his peripheral.

“This is Marcel and his friend,” the woman said, introducing the two. They took their seats and began their night of light conversation, food, and fun. Decades later, my mom would tell me how she truly felt about meeting my dad.

“I didn’t like him at first,” she’d say. “He was so intelligent and clean but he liked to drink. That was his downfall.” Over the next few months, my mom saw more and more of Marcel and came to meet all of his friends. There was a spark between the two but still not enough to pursue anything serious. It was the way he treated her. “Any woman would’ve loved being the center of his attention,” my mom reminisced, “he treated me so well.” It just wasn’t meant to be—, at least, not yet.

Exponential Love

Marcel eventually introduced her to a good friend of his. This friend instantly fell in love with Gabriela and so, they began their own relationship quicker than anything developing between her and Marcel. They had dated for more than a year when the boyfriend’s family decided they needed to move away. Before making it into America, they needed to go through an immigration camp in Austria. He raised hell on the train ride there.

“I’m not leaving her!,” he shouted, pounding on the walls and doors inside the cabin. Everyone tried to calm him down, but his heart was set on being reunited with Gabriela at all costs. Eventually, he accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to return to Romania anytime soon and so asked a favor of Marcel. “Please take care of her,” he sobbed over the phone to my dad. With that, Marcel and Gabriela began seeing more of each other than ever before.

He’d bring her groceries and take her out to restaurants. They reignited their innocent friendship, still withholding any deeper feelings they may have felt. It was a given that my mom’s former boyfriend was going to at least visit Gabriela at some point in the future. Once his family had settled down, he was on the first plane back to Romania. Marcel was going to pick him up from the airport early the next morning.

Knowing that it was probably their last night together, my dad invited Gabriela over for dinner and as long a talk as possible from his standpoint. Tomorrow, she’d be back in her boyfriend’s arms and the thought of Marcel and her being an item would dissipate for good. What was to be a lively night between my future parents turned out to be a quiet and somber evening. They knew that the inevitable sunrise would mean they’d be parted from any potential relationship. Theirs would remain a friendship and nothing more. One night left; all of the future memories they were to experience together came so close to being forever erased from their reality. No marriage, no son, no escape to America. It would all disappear in a matter of hours.

Sunlight finally came calling and they both knew that soon, Marcel would have to leave and pick up his friend from the airport, essentially putting an end to all future communication between my parents. Fate works in wonderfully strange ways—, as my mother’s boyfriend was stopped at customs and turned away from entering the country due to lack of papers. He was distraught. Marcel couldn’t help but feel elated. From that point on, my parents were officially a couple.

Pregnancies & Passports

Marcel published four novels before meeting and falling in love with Gabriela. She tried reading them to me many years later to no avail as I hardly understood the language he used. I still knew they were important, that they spoke of a time before my existence in a country I barely got to know. They were completely anti-communist in nature but it wasn’t obvious to the audience at first. They’d have to read closely.

Gabriela would often stop and speak to a friend or fellow coworker on her way to work. Maybe she’d run into someone she knew on the street, on any random corner of the city, unaware that she was being watched by the Securitate—, Romania’s secret police. Every step she took, every move was scrutinized. They knew whose wife she was, that neither Marcel nor she would ever become card- carrying communists like so many others had done in fear of persecution. They stood their ground and so, were constantly under the government’s microscopes for it.

“What did she say to you?” they’d ask my mother’s friends after she was well on her way and out of sight. “What did you two talk about?” They wanted to know every last detail, making sure my mom didn’t speak out any anti-communist messages or had anything negative to say about their worshipped president.

Finally, the day came that my mom began experiencing morning sickness. Marcel thought it’d be a good idea to send her to America for a brief visit with his cousins in Oregon. My mom didn’t want to go, she’d already felt his family’s disapproval of her in the past and to spend anymore time with them would’ve only aggravated her pregnancy. Eventually, she agreed to go on the condition that she’d be able to come back if things got too heavy to handle. Before anything else, my mom needed a passport to travel outside of Romania with. That became my parents’ first priority. Luckily, my mother had kept her maiden name and my father was primarily known under a pen-name of his. Neither of my parents could be tied to the other so it didn’t seem like one was leaving in order to bring the other over into America afterward. Prior to getting her passport, she’d have to be interviewed by the Securitate at their offices in downtown Bucharest. She arrived early and prepared herself for the upcoming interview, mentally going through what questions may come up, how best to answer them, how to be most composed. Finally, her turn came around. She was interviewed for nearly an hour.

“For what reason are you going to America?,” she was asked. “How long will your stay be? Who’s inviting you?” At that time, you couldn’t leave unless someone sent for you from another country, most of all the United States. The person calling you over took on all responsibilities until you’d return—, living expenses, medical bills, etc. My mom was lucky enough to have a few options open to her.

Pure Oppression

A few weeks later, she was back in a police station awaiting confirmation on her papers. This was a crucial moment—, without a passport she’d have no chance of leaving the country. She knew she couldn’t afford to seem shaky or self-conscious about her actions. Just stay calm, she thought to herself over and again. Through the backroom doors, she could hear a girl’s screams from down beneath in the basement—, nobody in the lobby moved a muscle. It was so customary to witness such things at a communist police station in those days. The doors eventually opened and out came a young teenager with bandages wrapped around her bloodied hands. She had the reddest eyes from all the crying and Gabriela couldn’t help but feel heartbreak for the girl.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” the police officer said in front of everyone, not caring who overheard what. “I don’t ever want to see you back here again.” The young lady left the building and my mom wondered where she was headed, whose house she’d find solace in and whom she could trust from here on out. This was the atmosphere Gabriela grew up in.

She couldn’t dwell on the distraction for too long, it’d soon be her turn to go speak with the clerk. She approached the man at the desk and asked about her situation. In Romania, it was customary to give gifts to anyone who was to either help you or who had helped you in any given circumstance; doctors, policemen, government officials, they were all expecting something in return for their services. My mom slid the clerk a carton of the most sought-after cigarettes at the time, hoping he’d take the present and just move onto other business.

“Oh no..., I’m sorry I can’t accept anything,” he nervously said.

“Please take it,” my mother pleaded. It wasn’t meant to be. He refused again and she slid the bag back into her purse. Not long afterward, he presented her with a brand new passport that she happily placed with her belongings as well. Gabriela left the police station feeling an elation she still can’t describe—, she was someone going to America and that made her precious.

She still couldn’t get the thought of not giving the kind clerk his gift, so instead of walking home like she could’ve done, my mom took a seat outside of the police station and decided to wait for him until he exited the building. He finally came out at half past five in the afternoon and almost immediately saw my mom waiting there for him. His face showed a surprised expression but he just continued on his way, not stopping to talk or ask why my mom was still there. Gabriela waited a few moments before standing up to follow him—, she didn’t want to risk any chance of being watched and flagged for suspicious behavior. She finally caught up to the clerk and resumed her plea.

“Sir, you’ve been so kind to me and have helped me more than you can imagine. Please accept these cigarettes as a sign of my gratitude,” my mom said to him. He at last accepted.

“Thank you ma’am,” he said and was off on his way. He too, knew it’d look strange for them to have a full-length conversation on the street so near the police station. My mom turned to walk away and again felt an excitement wash over her. She was finally going into the Promised Land—, milk and honey abound.