Irina.

I got a Christmas card in the mail from my mom's old Boss' daughter. It was addressed just to me. I don't know how she knew I live here again but I love that I got something in the mail that isn't bill.

She's grown, probably 38. Two little kids that are both models. I remember when those kids couldn't even walk yet.

I used to stay over her house in Staten Island because she was the closest thing to a mother, even though she was way too young to be my mother. I told her things I never told anyone. It's strange how I can forget these things for years and remember it now, when I'm almost 22. I like that she didn't forget me, and I know this isn't a generic card because there's a long message inside hand written for me.

I used to think Staten Island was some sort of paradise when I was little...like an exclusive club for super opulent people. I was weird.
She lives in a closed off community where everyone knows each other, and everyone owns a Bentley. I mean, that's awesome to be in temporarily. I couldn't live there. It's too.....isolated. But she was so wonderful to me. Now that I'm older and more aware, I should speak to her again. I miss her. And her crazy Italian husband Vinnie who swings from doorways just because it makes his kids laugh. I think she was the coolest Romanian woman I met. She was like me when she young.