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| Like Riding a Bicycle | Started by: Marietta on Jul 24, '08 22:30 |
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A young woman sits on the steps of the City Bank, her elbows resting on her knees and her face cradled between her hands. At first glanced it appeared she was napping, when suddenly she began to stir. Straightening her knees she stood up, peeling her hands from her cheeks and blinking her green eyes several times. Spotting a small crowd gathered around a mailbox at the bottom of the stone steps, she begins to head towards them, stepping lightly so as not to trip down the flight in her high heels. Hello there! she called brightly to the group, two of which she recognized. Men, from within her own famiglia. With a smile she stopped next to them and folded her arms across her chest. What are we talking about? "Ah, Tony here is about to get his big promotion pretty soon!" remarked one of the group, the rest of them breaking out into smiles and 'whoops' of congratulations. Politely nodding her head Marietta Rossi fixed a smile upon Tony. She had just met the man ten days ago, when he initially had joined up with the crew she too was apart of. How time seemed to fly these days. One day a thug, the next day a full fledged member of a family. I suppose congrats are in order, then. The man smiled weakly back, his eyes darting down the street to watch a car slowly putter by. Something stirred within the blonde, a feeling within her chest. Without quite realizing what she was about to do or say she took a sharp inhale and held it for a beat. Do you even want it? "Huh? Want what?" the first man responded with a raised eyebrow. His big promotion. The induction into the family. Made Man. Do you even want it? "Of course he wants it!" the man chuckled, clapping Tony on the shoulder hard and turning to the rest of the group who immediately followed suit and broke into a tinkling of laughter. When they spied that neither Marietta or Tony joined in they all smoothly stopped, the rumblings of the street behind them the only sound surrounding them. "Tony... you do want it, yeah?" one of the well dressed women with the crowd asked, batting her eyelashes in worry." More silence followed. Marietta swallowed a lump that traveled down her throat and landed into the pit of her stomach with a thudding feeling. I'm merely asking. Do you even feel like you're ready? Turning her head back towards the bank she surveyed it for a moment, a memory pressing to the front of her mind. This lifestyle... it's kind of like riding a bicycle. A loud scoff sounded behind her. Blinking twice she roved her eyes to size up the man who had initially done all the speaking scrunching his brow back at her. "You're just talking crazy now, woman." Am I? Marietta responded, her voice taking on a louder more forceful tone. When I was about seven years old, my Mother and Father purchase all of my older brothers their very own bicycles. God I was envious. I used to sit on the sidewalk with my head resting on my hands and watch them whip up and down the streets. To me it seemed like they were flying... and their faces. Oh! Their faces. They always seemed so full of joy. Like riding a bicycle was the most amazing thing they had ever done. More than anything I wanted my own. I wanted to learn how to ride one so I could be free to race along the streets with my brothers. "It is so dangerous!" my Mother always protested, turning me to my Father instead to ask. He always made the big decisions concerning me. "Not until you're ready, Princess," he used to tell me when I jumped around his desk begging and pleading, hands clasped and my lips pursed into a pout. "When I think you are ready you will ride." She pauses to let off a small smile at the memory before shaking her head and directing her attention back to the small gathering. I was so disappointed. It took me four weeks. Four weeks of watching from the porch as my brothers were allowed to do loops and circles around one another. Four weeks of watching them ride around the block with their friends, leaving me behind to walk alone in my jealousy and sorrow. At the end of those four weeks, though, the day I had longed for arrived. One day I came home from school and there it was waiting in front of the house: my Daddy, holding my very own bicycle. With a squeal I ran over, dropping my school books in a frenzy and attempting to clamor on. My Father halted me in my tracks. We spent the next hour or so going over the fundamentals to bicycle riding. There was so much to learn, so much more to remember. To think my brothers made everything seem so effortless. When we had finally gone over everything Daddy smiled at me with pride. "Marietta, I think you're ready." He had so much faith in me, he was so encouraging. With sweaty palms and trembling fingers I reached towards the bicycle and climbed on. Daddy held onto the seat and allowed me to test my balance. Slowly my feet began to rove on the pedals, I was crawling along at a snail's pace. "You can do this, Mari!" I remember Father calling to me, prying his hands off of the seat of the bicycle. "Wait!" I screamed in horror, tensing up. Immediately afterwards I began to wobble, unsteady, eventually toppling into a heap on the ground. Tears sprung forth from my eyes and I began to hiccup in pain. My hands and knees were scraped from where they had hit the pavement of the street. Father rushed over and picked me up, brushing me off and holding me close. "I wasn't ready! I wasn't ready!" I remember crying again and again. "You're right, darling," he had whispered, crouching down to my level and looking into my eyes. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were ready." Collapsing into his arms I wiped my tears away, stating I didn't want to try again. "Alright, Mari," was all he said. "Only you will know when you are truly ready or not." Marietta froze, staring at a woman with a baby carriage crossing the street. The rest of the group exchanged a simultaneous glance with one another, turning back to stare at her. She remained silent, her face stony and her eyebrows scrunched together in thought. "Uh, Marietta?" one of the men asked, delicately raising his hand to shake her shoulder. With a start she snapped out of her daydream and smiled. So you see what I was saying? "Not really!" the loud-mouthed man said with a roll of his eyes. "Was there a point in all that?" Yes, there was. The point I was trying to make was, this life... it's a lot like riding a bicycle. Your leader takes you in, teaches you the fundamentals, the ropes. 'How to ride the bicycle'. Sure, eventually he may think you're ready for the 'big ride', or your Made Man promotion. Yet who's really to say you are? We're the only ones who know when we are ready or not for the responsibility. With a tilt of her head she focused her gaze upon Tony, the man on the eve of his promotion. What I'm asking of you lot is, shouldn't we have the choice on whether or not we're promoted? I know it sounds crazy. Everyone wants their Made Man promotion sometime, right? But I know that most of us prefer to feel we've earned it. Our Boss may think it's time, but shouldn't we ultimately have the choice of when that time comes? Or do you all disagree? |
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| You bring up an EXCELLENT point Mari. I do believe your leader should ask you before. I've thought about this and your very right. If you do not think you are ready you shouldn't have to accept it. Becoming a made man is an oath to the family that you will be loyal until death. Now while you should have the choice to take the responsibility if you refuse their should be major repercussions. If you can't take that oath when offered I don't know that you should ever get it. When you leader decides that it's time it should be all or nothing. But you should have that choice. Made man is prestigious rank and if you don't think you can live up to it then the responsibility shouldn't be forced on you. The pressure would lead to mishaps which can endanger the entire family. Once again an excellent point and defiantly something everyone should consider in the future. | |
| Reply by: DrFeelgood at Jul 24, '08 22:45 | |
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Technically, you DO have a choice. When you are promoted to Mademan, you undergo a ceremony where you take an oath and blood is drawn from you and burned with a picture of a saint. Should you refuse the ceremony and the oath, you are refusing the rank. Of course, this is all under the assumption that such a ceremony takes place in your family. I've been in many great families that skipped this important ceremony, but perhaps we should be more vigilant about including it as a necessary ritual in our careers as mobsters. Having this ceremony impresses upon the new family member the meaning and importance of the rank, and taking the oath binds them to that family until death. |
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| Reply by: FlyingPig at Jul 24, '08 22:47 | |
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