East Oak Grove

By Harriet Simons

Gloria Ruth Mason begins her story May 2, 1980, when she and her four childhood friends sit in the West Virginia University Coliseum waiting to receive their diplomas. The five girls realize this day marks the first of many life-changing events. Isabella “Alma” Argenteri will be leaving in the fall to attend Harvard Law School. Rosemary “Romie” Greco will be eloping that day with a recent graduate of WVU Medical School. And Carmela “Bunny” Schumo, Melissa “Tilly” Lepera, and Gloria Ruth “Sue” Mason have no idea what adventures lie ahead. Dreams of a bright future turn dark eight days after graduation when Alma and her car end up in the bottom of Cheat Lake. Because everyone scattered after graduation, only Sue and Tilly attend Alma’s funeral. Sue decides to create a phone tree journal for everyone where contact numbers would be listed, along with blank pages where each girl could journal. None of them knew how important those journals would come to be in the years to come.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: May 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483410807

Book preview

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Copyright © 2014 Harriet Simons.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1081-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-1080-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014906629

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 04/04/2014

Contents

My Alpha

May 1980

Alba

The Phone-Tree Journal

The Treasures in the Wall

July 1981

Romie and Buffy 1994

Bunny Foo Foo 2017

Tilly and Sean 2023

September 27, 2028

Sue’s Lists

TO M. A. M. AND T. J. S.,

WHERE LOVE LIVES

Montani Semper Liberi

My Alpha

I was always under the impression that a good story had to start from the beginning. If that were the case, this story would have to begin at various times in 1958, when the five of us were born at St. Vincent Pallotti Hospital in Morgantown, West Virginia, under the tender care of the Pallottine Sisters of the Catholic Apostolate.

In case you didn’t realize, 1958 was what the Chinese referred to as the Year of the Dog. I guess the characteristics of a dog could describe the five of us—loyal, trusting, merciful, always ready to give a helping hand, and defenders to the end. But then again, as I am recalling this story, I’m not quite certain those would be the correct adjectives to even begin to describe us.

Unfortunately, I have to start this story where I feel that I can make a good run to get to the finish. So May 1980 is my starting line. Before I begin this tale of love, pain, friendship, and redemption, I need you to understand that there are large gaps in this story that are very important. But those years will be mostly left to your imagination, because at the age of seventy, I seem to be suffering from a little memory loss. I will try to sprinkle bits and pieces of those years into my story, but remember that’s just what they will be—bits and pieces. I am apologizing up front for the missing years as I am trying to write this story from my memory, and from journals.

May 1980 is a date when many life-changing events started to occur for the five of us. Actually, three life-changing events happened that May. Bad things always seem to come in groups of three, wouldn’t you agree?

I guess this is the point in the story where you need to know the names of the people involved. Names get to be a little confusing. I never thought there would be so much explaining when you told a story. I just assumed that you could tell a story and everyone would be able to follow along. I guess that’s why they say that storytelling is a lost art.

Back in my day, if you were from West Virginia, you always had a nickname, which was not necessarily associated with your given name. I have often wondered if that was true for people in other parts of the country. I have never left West Virginia, and my knowledge of such things is limited. So let me tell you our given names and the names that followed us all the days of our lives.

Isabella Marie Argenteri, a.k.a. Alba

I can’t recall how Alba got her nickname, but it never seemed to fit her. Of course, who am I to say what an Alba looks like? From the first time I saw Alba on the playground during first-grade recess at Westover Elementary School until the last time I saw her, her looks never changed.

She was the perfect replica of a china doll. You know, the kind of doll that sits high up on a shelf with never a shiny, smooth piece of blonde hair out of place; with perfect, piercing steel-blue eyes that never have a trace of the tiny red marks that appear in most human eyes; with lips that are always a shade of light pink mixed with red; with long, curly eyelashes that are the blackest of the black; with clothes that always seem to be without stains or any kind of crease marks; and with skin the color of bisque. To top things off, when Alba spoke, her words were always light and smooth, like a silk cloth falling across your shoulder.

As I grew older, I discovered that some people never find themselves. The look they project is manifested by the sheer willpower of their parents. Sooner or later, the porcelain cracks, and everything turns ugly and dirty. Alba’s façade cracked sooner rather than later, and unfortunately, she was never able to find her true, real self.

Rosemary Ann Greco, a.k.a. Romie

Romie derived her nickname from her older brother Fred, or maybe it was one of her three other brothers. Her mother told me once that when she gave birth to Romie, all four of her sons were devastated when she presented them with a round-faced bundle of pink. Mrs. Greco then realized that her sons had been certain this change-of-life baby was going to be a boy, which would have completed their backcourt. So you can imagine the expression on their faces when they saw Romie for the first time and realized that their hopes were not going to be realized.

However, the Greco boys did not lose faith over this pink bundle. Soon after they got over the shock of Romie’s gender, they became determined to somehow turn her into a tomboy. From that day in 1958, the four Greco boys implemented their plan of action. Mrs. Greco soon found herself in a power struggle between testosterone and estrogen. The woman was clearly outnumbered and never really stood a chance. Every morning, Mrs. Greco clothed Romie in the prettiest pink dress with a matching pink bow and white Mary Jane shoes. At the end of the day, Romie was in dark-blue cotton bib overalls, frayed at the knees; a stained striped T-shirt; and dirty white Chuck Taylor shoes, her curly black hair flying in every direction. By the time Romie entered first grade, Mrs. Greco had completely given up on sugar and spice and everything nice and had surrendered to snips and snails and puppy-dog tails.

In the first five years of Romie’s life, her brothers taught her many skills that would serve her well, at least for the first twenty-one years of her life. Some might say these skills only involved fishing, hunting, flipping rocks in Deckers Creek, the pick-and-roll, shooting, and basically every mental aspect of any sports games that comes to mind. But when you think about traveling through life, what more do you need? Life is a game, and Romie learned early on how to get across the line and win every time. In fact, from the time she entered first grade all the way through twelfth, there wasn’t a finish line in West Virginia that Romie Greco had crossed without coming in first place. I don’t know how many times I watched her cross those finish lines with my own eyes—Romie with her short, dark, curly hair that her mother could never get her to grow out once Fred cut it completely off.

At Romie’s funeral in 1994, I learned from Fred that when Romie turned five, she marked her own rite of passage with her brothers. Fred was going squirrel hunting one Saturday, and of course Romie wanted to tag along. Fred told Romie she couldn’t come because she wasn’t brave enough to see a squirrel die, let alone watch Fred skin the animal before bringing it home to eat. That was when Romie decided to show Fred just how brave she was by jumping down the laundry chute outside Fred’s third-floor bedroom door, which dropped straight down to the basement.

Fred told me he practically flew down all

Reviews for East Oak Grove

[linda.marsheells · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I'm hooked..there HAS to be a follow-up book by the author and i will eagerly be awaiting its arrival! Oh good gawd as the last page quickly approached i dreaded having the book end...and when it did? I had to take a moment to absorb all the emotions i was feeling.This book is a stunner.This book is not a simple one about 4 friends who grow up in the same town, no no no...it is instead a book about how easily childhood ties are created,seemingly broken and forever tethered. It's a brief book that holds so much love, humor and yes, sadness. It's a book that allows us a glimpse into how much more there is to come!Love the style of writing Simons uses- a stream of consciousness that makes the reader feel like you are in the midst of a conversation with the narrator. I WANT Gloria/Sue for my friend! One of the unique aspects is that we watch them age beyond 2014, which opened my eyes because i am about the same age as the characters in EAST OAK GROVE...their eventual everlasting home."...I think that when we are going through a storm we only see what we want to see or what God allows us to see."