I stormed out of my house and into the already humid air.  Even though the last freeze was just two weeks age, people were already outside, out and about. I slowed my run to a walk and relived the last few minutes. I had gotten into another fight with my parents. They wanted me to start looking for a husband. They don’t seem to realize that this isn’t Greece. I moved to America when I was six years old. First we lived in New York until I was about 12, but then my father decided to move to Cleveland Ohio for work. We didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Back in Greece, we had a very tough life. My father, Helios Salis worked in the vineyards for as long as I could remember. It wasn’t easy. We barely and enough to eat and we barely got by each month.  My mother Asteria Salis took care of the two of us. I knew in many ways I was lucky. Most families wanted a boy instead of a girl and most families had practically next to nothing, but  I was never mistreated in any way. I had always been loved especially by my uncle, Nikolas Papas.  I remember the day my uncle had come home holding a bag of seeds.
“Angelos, Angelos!” He had cried excitedly. He had then told me to put my hands out. In my tiny palms, he dumped some seeds.
“This my omorfi anipsia (my beautiful niece) is the future,” he explained to me in a kind voice how these seeds would live on forever, even if he didn’t. I didn’t know at the time but my uncle was dying. When the first bulbs sprouted up he wasn’t there to see them. A few weeks later we were in America.
Now that I’m a young woman of sixteen, my parents seem to believe that I need to be settled down. I don't want that though. I have dreams. I want to be a teacher. I sighed and pushed away the unhappy thoughts. I rounded the corner and walked straight into someone.  It was an african-american women who had been carrying a bunch of tools and small flowering pots.
“I am so sorry!” I apologized frantically trying to pick up the things she had dropped.
She looked up and smiled at me.
“It’s fine,” she waved away my concern. I stood up, as she did.
“At least let me help you carry them,” I offered. She nodded and we started walking the way she was going. We took a few turns and came to a huge green space.
What is this place?” I asked in wonder. The woman smiled.
“Welcome to the Gibb Street garden. My names Leona by the way,” She welcomed me. I looked at all the different people in amazement. All the different plants and people gave this place a feel you can barely find anywhere else. A feel of security. A young woman who seems to be my age started talking to Leona.
`“Who is this?” She asked with curiosity in her voice. I smiled a little.
`My name is Tess,” I replied.
I observed the garden a little more then headed home.  This time instead of arguing with my parents, I would explain things from my point of view.
The very next day, I took a walk to the store nearby and bought some hyacinth bulbs. I found my way back to the magical garden and began digging little holes to plant them in. For the next few weeks I religiously watered and weeded my flowers. I had to do this. For Uncle Nikolas. I even got my parents to come and see the place of sanctuary.  There we realized how lucky we had become. Both of my parents began to listen to what I wanted and eventually stopped pushing me to settle down.  I cried when the first flower came up.
As the summer turned cold, and  the leaves began to fall, but that garden only 3 blocks away from my home, gave me something to look forward to in the summer.