Her mother had read to Angelina all the books about the little girl on the prairie, and when there was a television show about it she would watch the show with Angelina, the two of them curled up on the couch together. Her mother had told Angelina about how they killed the Indians, took their land. Her father had said they deserved it; her mother had told her they did not deserve it, but that is what happened. People always kept moving, her mother had said, it’s the American way. Moving west, moving south, marrying up, marrying down, getting divorced—but moving.
Her mother had recognized her the moment she was born—
“Okay, Mommy,” Angelina whispered. She stepped away from the window and went to the bedroom to get her computer, but she sat on the bed instead, looking around, this bed her mother shared with a man named Paolo.
For eighteen years her mother had put her to bed. Don’t leave yet, Angelina would say, not yet! Her father, from the doorway, would say, ’Night, Lina, go to sleep. Now Angelina gazed through the window at the sea; it was dark, the ships had their lights on. She heard her mother coming up the stairs. And she knew, Angelina knew, that she had seen something important when her mother helped the man who was unsteady crossing the street. Briefly—it would be brief, Angelina knew this, she knew she would always be the child—but briefly a ceiling had been raised; she pictured her mother’s quick and gracious loveliness to that man on the street: A street in a village on the coast of Italy, her mother, a pioneer. (p 148~149, 「Mississippi Mary」)
Moving west, moving south. That's alright.
Marrying up, marrying down. That's good.
Getting divorced from unfaithful hubby, getting discovered Mr Right. That's better.
Sharing a bed with whom in love, giving a hand to whom in need. That's really great.
Be a pioneer of your life.