Promises from the Closet

By Laura Sorento

Laura Sorento grew up in a home filled with lies and abuse. At a very young age, her mother had an affair with a divorced man named Bruce, who had three children. Shortly after that, her mom convinced her husband, Anthony, to buy a large home with Bruce and his children.

Her mom had managed to pull off this twisted arrangement for almost ten years, ending with Laura being abused, humiliated, violated, and emotionally abandoned. Bruce was so abusive and her mother was so caught up with this love affair that she lost sight of everything. She became a totally different mother than Laura knew, and the home soon became a dysfunctional nightmare.

Laura often would be chased into her closet, where Bruce would abuse her. While she lay in her closet crying, she would wonder why her mom never helped her. Her mom knew about all of it, but she would always find fault with Laura. She felt abandoned by her mom and afraid to tell her dad. Why did she allow this to go on? As Laura cried in her closet, she made promises to herself and to her future children that she hoped to have someday. She promised to love and protect them at any cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504926898

Laura Sorento

Laura Sorento lives in a small country town in northern New Jersey with her husband. Married for thirty-one years, they have four children, three girls and one boy, and a house full of animals. She loves to paint, travel, and spend time with her family and friends.

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CHAPTER 1

Derby Street

I remember our house on Derby Street in Closter New Jersey. It was a small little white house, one of the smallest on the block. Two bedrooms upstairs and downstairs was a small kitchen, dining room with flowers on the window sill, a living room with plastic covered couches and a console television that had a lot of tubes in it with an antenna that was often moved often to get a clearer screen. Our house was always clean and we often had parties in the back yard during the summer. We had a round wooden picnic table with curved benches where the birthday cake would be placed in the center with all our cousins around the table singing to both my sister and I because our birthdays were on July ninth and tenth. Pin the tail on the donkey, candy, swing set and of course presents for both my sister Michelle and I. Life seemed happy with my family and all my many cousins. It was somewhat uneventful. A few years later mom had given birth to another girl. Her name is Teresa. My mom would have all of us dressed to perfection. Always matching and never a hair out of place; we had bows, bracelets, and even little white gloves.

We kind of matched my mom as little kids; she made us little extensions of her. She was always dressed nice and her hair and makeup was always perfect. She had a lot of friends and would have them over often. Mom loved her stuff". She had beautiful clothes, shoes, bags and hats with netting over them.

My dad worked hard at a place called Pandora Plastics in Yonkers New York. He worked during the day and at times he took the midnight shift. He was a hard factory worker who took a lot of pride in what he did.

My dad was a funny guy. I never met anyone who did not like him. He may not have been the smartest person in the room, but you knew he was there. He would be the one making the funniest jokes, and the first one to run to help you if you needed it. Dad was a short, but handsome man with dark brown hair cut short with a little bit of an Elvis wave going on and hazel eyes. He was a very proud man of his wife and family. Anything we did he would puff up and say, That’s my girls. And if it was a dance recital, OH gosh… you could hear him in the back of the room. He would yell our names and say, That’s my baby.

Throughout our whole life, he did that, even at High school graduation. We would just breath, brace and wait for it. He loved doing it because he liked the attention and it was his way of showing us how much he loved us. We all knew it, and we all expected it.

As kids, my mom and dad did a lot together. They liked to volunteer at our church. Both my parents helped out with bingo and dinners and parties at the church. If they were not helping out at church, they were with family, helping cook and plan parties at my house and my aunts and uncle’s home, they were always involved.

I guess you could say we were a typical Italian family, living in Closter, New Jersey with a big dinner every Sunday with my grandparents. Macaroni and gravy with meatballs, Italian bread, nuts, and finocchio just to name a few were always on the menu. Christmas was fun; I remember walking down the very narrow steep, steps leading to the living room where the silver tinsel tree with the rotating colored light wheel would turn the tree different colors. Presents would be across the whole room, my dad would always have the movie camera going, and my mom was always dressed, make-up on and looked amazing. Mom was in her size six bright colored dress, patent leather heels, and dark brown perfectly styled flip hairdo with red lip stick on. I’m sure she didn’t always look so perfect, but that was my memory of how I always saw her. In fact, I remember one Christmas before Teresa was born, Michelle and I were so excited to see the gifts under the tree. I don’t remember who tripped but, one of us grabbed to hold on and we both fell from the top of the steps all the way down; rolling over and over each other and my dad had it all on camera.

Ahh, the good old days we would laugh about that for years. He was so proud of his girls. We were Daddies little girls and Mom… well, we were her three princesses always looking beautiful with poofy red velvet dresses that had crinoline slips, white lace stocking, white gloves, patent leather shiny black shoes that were polished with Vaseline. They both made sure we always had what we needed and looked perfect. They seemed to get along for the most part, but like other people they would get into arguments at times late at night. Sometimes I would fall asleep to the yelling, but by morning things were quiet.

Derby Street was a long hill. During the winter at times we would get really big snow storms and my mom’s sisters would come over on a Sunday with all my cousins and we would sleigh ride down the hill. It went on for what seemed like hours. It was so much fun. My Aunt Sophia, would be the only female adult who would get on the sled and pile as many of us on the sled with her, or on top of her, and sleigh all the way down with speeds that I thought were supersonic. The screaming and laughter could be heard from the top of the hill all the way down. After we peeled off all the layers of snow clothes we would go in the house to eat. My dad’s dad would always be over also. His wife had passed years before I was born so he spent a lot of time with his grandkids. We called him Little Grandpa. He was a real tiny old man that stood maybe four feet, ten inches and did not speak English. I don’t remember him very much, but what I do remember is that he would always look me directly in my eyes and touch my cheeks and smile. Even though he never spoke English his smile told us he loves us and we made him happy. He would try to give us money and my mom would always stop him. After he left and it was time to go to bed, my sisters and I would always go to the windowsill in the living room and look through the plants. Little Grandpa would always hide dollars and coins in there. He never failed us. We found money there all he time. Michelle and I would get so excited and giggle every time.

My mom’s parents would be over also. My Grandpa was, or seemed tall, strict and quiet. He talked a lot with his hands. When he wanted a glass of wine he would raise his hand and act like he was drinking, look at you, and you knew what he wanted. He was never a man of many words. My grandmother was my favorite. She was always in a house dress, wore big bulky old lady black laced up shoes and short gray hair - no makeup on and was very simple. She would always show me all her cooking secrets and make me laugh.

Michelle and I would walk to school every morning. We walked up Derby Street crossed over the boulevard and traveled about one-third of a mile to school. There were about five of us every morning that would walk together. We went to the Catholic school there with one of my cousins. Most of the nuns there were really nice, except one. It was my first-grade teacher and she was really tough. I remember one day I got in trouble for running in the playground. When I came back to class I was called to the front of the class where she pulled out a ruler, made me bend over and she spanked me in front of the class. I still remember the humiliation from that day. I cried for a while, but stopped and hid the tears as soon as I could. I did not want her to see me so upset or give her the satisfaction. Another time they came around with the ruler measuring how short our uniforms were. Mine was just maybe a quarter inch above my knee. The teacher sent home a letter telling my mom that my uniform was too short and to take down the hem. My mom thought she was nuts and said, not to worry, my uniform was fine and she wasn’t going to do a thing about it. The next day came and she measured it again. She told me that I needed to tell my mother or else. Her voice was screechy and loud. It reminded me of the witch from the Wizard of OZ, now that I think about it. I don’t even remember her face anymore, but when I think of her, I think of the witch in the movie. Three days went by and it was finally the weekend. My mom assured me that it was all going to be fine; so Monday came and I sat in class waiting for doom. Sure enough she called me up to the front of the class and she asked me if my mom took down my hem. I told her, no in a very polite and calm but scared way. Without warning, she grabbed my arm and dragged me to the center of the room and took something from her desk. She then proceeded to rip apart my hem of my uniform, all the way around, broke the button that held the suspenders on one side, and then said;

OK now we will see who wins this battle. It’s disgusting that you mother has you walk around like that.

Again, I cried and wondered why some of the other girls in the class had uniforms on and they had hem lines even shorter then mine. I was so confused; after all, I was only six. When I got home my mom was so upset with what she did. That following day she marched into the school so angry and walked herself into the principal’s office to speak to the Mother Superior. That next day my dress was fixed by my mom; not as long as my teacher wanted it, but it was fixed. My Dad, on the other hand, had his own way of handling problems. He was very friendly with Father Bill from the church and he used his friendship in a unique way. He would show up at the school and just walk in. Security was not like it is today. He then would walk in my class unannounced and say hello to my teacher with a huge smile and hug her. She was not very happy with him. I could see it in her eyes. He then would say, Hey kids, who can name the Holy Trinity? We would look confused and giggle because there was a silly parent in our room talking to us.

Kids would be yelling, The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost!

Then my dad would say, NO… No…. it’s the Father, Son and Casper the FRIENDLY Ghost.

The look on her face could have stopped a bus. He had us all laughing, and then he would tell more jokes. Needless to say she had him kicked out several times, but the kids loved him. Father Bill liked him a lot also, so he never really got in any big trouble. In fact, one year there was a big birthday party for Father. The party was in the gym with beautiful paper table cloths, and decorations from the Roaring Twenties, but the big surprise was a huge cake that stood what seemed like ten feet tall. During the opening of the party, they had two kids dressed like a nun and a priest. Guess? Yep, I was the nun, and one of the boys in my class was the priest. My outfit was the full outfit made exactly like the nuns wore. We had to do something silly and give him some paper at the opening of the party. I remember standing in front of the room full of people and they all laughed and starred at us. I then left, and Mom and Dad had our babysitter Lorraine who lived next door, watch us. Later I found the photo album of the party. It seemed that my dad was the life of the party. Remember the big cake? Well, he was dressed like a flapper girl and he jumped out of the cake and sang to Father. Like I said, he was always making people laugh, and his dress was short too! Above the knee - I am sure that went over well with my teacher. Not too much time after that year, my parents pulled us out and put us in public school. Life was fun then. I had no idea how my life was going to unfold and change, but it did.

While all this went on in my life, my mom seemed to have other arrangements. Michelle and I would hear more arguments as we lay in bed trying to go to sleep. We did not know exactly what they were fighting about, but it was noisy. Many nights I would put my head under my pillow to muffle the sounds. During all this time, it seemed that she made friends with a man named Bruce who had three children. He was a tall man with light-brown hair and silver streaks. Some people thought he was a good-looking man, but to me, he was just a man. From what I understand, he was from our church. He and his wife were divorced and I had heard that she tried to commit suicide and was in a hospital. She lost custody of her three children and Bruce was now a single father taking care of children and holding down a full-time job. Now I have no idea if this was true, but somehow this is what I had heard from the conversation from the dining room while I was told to watch cartoons in the living room. I was told by my mom that she felt bad for the children because Bruce had to go to work and he had no one to watch his children.

Soon after that, arrangements were made, and she agreed to watch them on weekends at our house during the day. Our small home with three girls was now full with six kids on Saturdays and Sundays. Let me see, Michelle was nine, I was six, and my sister, Teresa was two. Bruce’s boys were Bruce and Keith, five and four, and he had a little girl, Lilly, the same age as my sister who was two. To add more to the story, it seemed almost immediately that my mom was then pregnant, and she was watching all six of us while being pregnant. It was a lot on her. But it was even more on both my older sister and me. You see, all the attention we had gotten in the past seemed to be shared with a lot more kids, and we felt it. She was too busy trying to cook and clean and take care of the kids who needed a mother in their life, forgetting, that, what they were gaining from her, we were losing from her in the same moment. At the time, my little sister really didn’t feel the loss because she got an instant playmate. Teresa and Lilly hit it off, plus they were only two. They always had each other and Bruce loved the idea that his little girl had a best friend and woman to care for her.

Bruce was a appliance repair man. I remember his tool box at our house that he would use to fix our washing machine from time to time. He came across as smart, and a little scary. I did not like him particularly because he would come in, and it seemed like take over the role of the man of the house. He had a smug personality with an attitude like he was better then everyone else and acted like he was a big, hot-shot mafia guy, but I don’t think he really ever was; I think he liked making people think he was. He was the type that when he spoke you had to respond fast because he demanded it. He used to look at me in a strange way, like he did not like me very much. Bruce hated me around his boys and loved my sister Teresa because she was his daughter’s playmate. One observance was that he liked to be around my mom a lot more. I started to get jealous of him and his kids because they were around so much, and because the weekends started being overnighters.

I would see and hear arguments more often with my parents and I kind of knew why. My dad did not like him at all, but he put up with him because my mom wanted it that way. Back then divorce was something looked down on and I’m sure he did not want to fail at that. In a very strange way he still loved her, but was not even treating her very nice now. Name calling and yelling started becoming a regular occurrence at the house. I even think he was drinking because there were days I could smell the alcohol.

We lived like this for over a year, and it was kind of depressing. His kids could do no wrong, and we were always pushed aside. Mom gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. She named him Vincent, and gave him my dad’s middle name. So, Vincent Anthony was here. Now mom has seven kids to care for, but it was not just during the weekend, it was everyday, and they were staying over all the time. We lived in a two bedroom house. We shared my very small bedroom with four girls. She put the boys with her, my brother was in a crib and my dad was on the couch. It was just crazy. Family parties were not much fun any longer. Every time we went to my aunt’s house for a birthday, we had them with us, even Bruce would come. There were times I could see my relatives snicker and talk about my mom. Bruce would even correct us at other people’s homes, and it was humiliating. I felt that there was no place I could be without them around. Even in July when we would have our birthday party in the back yard, his daughter’s birthday; you guessed it…was on the same day as mine. July tenth. Talk about not having anything for yourself. My sister and I had to share even that day. I hated it! I know this sounds trivial, but now I had to share my birthday cake with her. Don’t get me wrong, she was sweet and nice and it was great that she finally had someone to celebrate her day with. After all, she didn’t have a mom and all she had was us, but I just did not like it. I liked her, but I just did not want to share. I remember one birthday party where I got so jealous that I took my hands and wiped my name off the cake, yelled I hate my party, and stormed out of the room. I honestly was afraid to take