Monthly Archives: February 2020

THE BUS STOP

The rain is relentless, coming down hard and cold. Kathleen has been waiting for twenty minutes for her bus. She’s chilled to the bone. Her feet are completely soaked. Her hair hangs limply, plastered to her face. Every time a car goes by, everyone at the bus stop moves back a foot or two. And then they move forward again.

Bus Stop by Jpleno

She looks at her fellow travelers. They’re a strange mix. She’s the youngest. There’s an ancient couple standing to the left of her. She imagines that they have been married for fifty years or more. The man is very tall and gaunt with a handlebar mustache. He’s wearing a long raincoat that ends at the top of his goulashes. A steady stream of rainwater is dripping down from the brim of his hat. Kathleen imagines him wearing a top hat.

The frail wife, at least Kathleen believes that she’s his wife, has her arm locked in his bent arm. Perhaps she fears she’ll float away in the storm if she doesn’t hold tightly onto him. She has probably been holding onto him in much the same way since they first became a couple. The woman has a rain hat covering her short curly white hair. It’s one of those old-fashioned ones that fold like an accordion, and you keep it in a little plastic case in your pocket for the next rainy day. Kathleen’s great-grandmother used to sport one of those back in the day.

The old wife is wearing stockings that end above her knees and are held up by some sort of garter. Her black raincoat is tightly belted but keeps flapping open because she is missing the bottom two buttons. She has a strange expression on her face. Her lips pursed, and she looks like she is sucking on a lemon. Perhaps she hates standing in the rain. Kathleen certainly does.

A twenty-something dude is wearing skin-tight jeans and a fitted jacket. His boots look like snakeskin, ankle-high. He has a goatee and hair that is tight on the sides and bleached blond, and stands four inches high on the top. The rain had zero effect on his hair because it had so much product on it. He’s texting on his phone and seems oblivious to the rain and the people around him. Kathleen admires his audacity.

Kathleen takes a deep breath and then looks down the street for the bus. At that moment, she sees someone running at breakneck speed toward the bus stop. Waving their arms frantically and yelling. At first, Kathleen believes that someone with mayhem on their mind must be chasing her. She can’t quite hear what the young woman is shrieking. She’s holding an umbrella aloft, but it has long since turned inside out. She arrives so abruptly at the bus stop that she skids to a halt. “Holy shit, I thought I was going to miss the damn bus again. If I’m late getting to work again, I’m toast.” She says this to no one in particular. However, she has everyone’s attention. Even the guy texting who looks at her momentarily and then looks back down at his cell phone. Kathleen feels a kinship with this woman. Her life is often on the edge of self-destruction.

Kathleen looks at her and says,” You haven’t missed the bus. It’s late. I hope it gets here soon.”

Umbrella girl says, ”Shit, it better get here soon. I can’t be late again this week.” Kathleen nods her head in agreement.

Five minutes go by, and then just as everyone is about to give up waiting for the bus, here it comes up the street and screeches to a stop. They all break out in a spontaneous “Hurray.” And start boarding the bus. There’re a few passengers aboard already. They all glare at the people boarding the bus. Then go back to sitting there quietly or just gazing out the window.

Kathleen looks from the front of the bus to the back. She has a fleeting thought that she’s on the Titanic. Unfortunately, she never had that little voice in her head that said no, don’t get on the bus, don’t go out with another loser. Don’t spend your last two dollars on a lottery ticket. Don’t wear a very low-cut blouse to work. Or if she ever did hear it, she never listened. And then the little voice gave up and stopped warning her of imminent death or dismemberment or looser alert. Kathleen was never one for self-reflection.

As the bus lurches forward on its trip to 55^th and Broadway, Kathleen’s eyes slowly close, and she falls asleep. She never gets enough sleep. She stays up late every night, but she can never recall why, nor has she ever accomplished anything worth losing sleep. Still, she continues depriving herself of rest. In fact, it was not unheard of for Kathleen to fall asleep at her desk while listening to music between being late and her mid-morning and afternoon naps. Kathleen’s job is at risk.

About halfway to her stop, a new passenger enters the bus and sits across from Kathleen. She is unaware, of course, because she has now entered the REM state of sleep and is dreaming. She has a reoccurring dream. She’s alone in a rowboat and is being taken out to sea by the current. The waves are becoming larger and larger, and she’s soaked. She swallows water and can’t breathe, and gasping for air. She yells out, “Help; I’m drowning. I’m drowning.” Just then, she feels someone grab her arm and roughly shake her.

“Hey, wake up. And while you’re at it. Shut the hell up.” It was a new passenger.

Kathleen’s eyes snap open, and she glares at the man. “What the hell, get your hands off me.”

The man has already lost interest in her. He’s staring out the rain-soaked window. He has his earbuds on, and the music is so loud that Kathleen can hear his heavy metal music blaring. It sounds like Paranoid by Ozzy Osbourn. Kathleen detests Heavy Metal. She recognizes it because her older brother was obsessed with it, and his bedroom was right next to her during her entire adolescence. Kathleen heard it until way after she tried to go to sleep for the night. Kathleen glares back at him, and she feels unreasonable disgust and hatred toward him, a total stranger.

The bus makes several more stops. Four more people step into the bus. And tight pants dude gets off and goes on his way. Kathleen’s ego feels slightly deflated after he walks by her without a second look.

A rough-looking middle-aged man comes aboard. He has his greasy hair pulled back into a low ponytail. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week or more. He has a drooping mustache that looks dyed and is growing out to its natural grey. He’s smoking. The bus driver says, ”Sorry buddy, you can’t smoke on a public conveyance. You’ll have to put that out.”

The man tosses his cigarette in the general direction of the bus driver’s feet. The driver gives the man a dirty look and stamps on the cigarette. The man walks down the center aisle and sits behind Kathleen. She thinks, what the frick? This is really turning into a shit day. I can’t wait until it’s over, and I haven’t even gotten to work yet. Well, at least I’m almost at work now. She closes her eyes and tries to block it all from her mind.

Kathleen is awakened once again by one of the new passengers who is sitting behind the bus driver. It appears that he is a regular on the bus. He’s having a loud and animated conversation with him. So much so that all the passengers can hear the conversation. Kathleen scowls at him to no avail since he seems oblivious to everyone’s presence except for his friend, who happens to be the bus driver. He’s rotund to the point of obesity.

In fact, he’s vigorously taking large bites out of a two-foot-long hoagie. While never stopping to chew. But he seems to be swallowing large mouthfuls of the hoagie whole like a shark. Occasionally, bits and pieces spew out of his mouth during his monologue. He looks for all the world like he just stepped out of a Wayback machine from 1965. He has long, unwashed hair in a braid. His face is embellished by a straggly, salt-and-pepper beard. His jeans are decrepit and are tight on his humongous gut. He’s wearing a faded and shredded jeans jacket. He appears to have a massive doobie in his jacket pocket.

Kathleen hears the fat hippie telling the bus driver that his horse came in first and he won $500.00. The bus driver shoots him the high five, and then the hippie finishes off his hoagie. He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, and falls asleep. His head wobbles from side to side and keeps time to the sway of the bus.

Kathleen thinks dear god, will we never get to my stop? She looks at her cell phone and realizes that there is no way she is going to get to work on time. They are at least ten minutes from where she gets off, and then she still has to walk another five minutes to her building. “Crap, goddammit.”

As Kathleen contemplates what lies she will tell her boss for being late once again, she hears a commotion coming from the back of the bus. She turns and looks behind her. It appears as if the Old Man and Old Wife are having some disagreement. And then she hears someone yelling, “Stop that, get your hands off her now.” Kathleen realizes it is Umbrella Girl. And she’s pummeling the old man with her inside out, soaking, wet umbrella.

Someone screams, “For the love of Pete, call the police.” Then the rough-looking man comes over and physically pulls the old man’s hands off of the old woman’s neck. Who is by now all but unconscious from lack of oxygen. Her head falls to the side, and lays limply on her bony shoulder.

The bus driver pulls abruptly over to the side of the road. He screams,” “Will everyone please calm the hell down?”

He heads to the back of the bus to have a look at whatever happened. Alright, lady, you can stop bashing this guy with your umbrella. “You sit down.” The rough-looking guy takes his hands off the Old Man momentarily, and the Old Man tries to push past him and gets in the aisle to make good his escape. He gets halfway up the bus aisle.

Kathleen sticks her leg out into the aisle, and as the lanky old man tries to escape, he trips and falls flat on his face. His hat rolls a few feet away and then stops leaving a trail of rainwater in its wake. At that moment, the police arrive, and Rotund Hippie gets up and makes his way to the door, and opens it.

“Alright, what the hell is going on in here?” A burly-looking cop says?” The old Hippie says that the old man in the back tries to off his old lady. I think she might be dead. He was choking her. And she ain’t moving anymore. The Old Man on the floor is the guy that killed her.”

The policeman says, “ Ok, everybody, back in your seats.” An officer will be coming onto the bus—the cop calls for backup and an ambulance. The Old man starts to get up and is restrained with handcuffs. “Alright, buddy, looks like you are going for a ride in the back of my police car. Isn’t that a great way to start off the day?”

The Old Man is led off the bus by the second cop and put in the back seat of the car. A second police car has arrived, along with an ambulance. As the paramedics walk past Kathleen, she is swearing aloud. “For the love of all that is holy, what the fuck is happening? Why is this kinda shit always happening to me? Why? Just why today? Crap, crap, crap.”

The paramedic checks out Old Lady. And then they lift her onto the stretcher. And pull the sheet over her face. Kathleen looks at her as she goes by. “Crap, crap, crap.”

“Ok, everyone, we are going to have to get a statement from each one of you and your contact information. You’re all witnesses. You may be called to testify in court at a later date. It’s your duty to do so. Don’t try to leave until we permit you to do so. Sit back and relax; this may take a while.”

Kathleen smacks herself on the forehead. “Well, I’m dead in the water now. That’s for sure. My boss is never going to believe this story. I’m toast. Man, I should have just stayed in bed and called in sick today. “

There is a unified moan that rises from everyone on the bus. Somewhat reminiscent of the hurrah when the late bus arrived. They all sink in their seats simultaneously, almost as if it is choreographed.

Kathleen stares out the window at the dreary gray ski with rivers of rain flowing down the street. “Well, isn’t this just great, yet another day in paradise.”

And The Winner Is

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It’s early Saturday morning, and my doorbell rings four times. Before I can answer the door, they knock several times using my new brass doorknocker, two Eskimos rubbing noses. I found it in an antique store in Philadelphia called Antiques R Us. I know that’s tacky, but they have some cool stuff in there.

I trip over my cat Sloopy in my rush to get to the door. Sloopy is trying to escape. He’s terrified of both the doorbell and knocking at the door. I step up to the door out of breath and a bit worse for wear. I see a UPS man standing there. He has his middle finger pressed firmly against the doorbell.

I flash him the universal signal for knock it off, a hand across the throat through the window in the door. I fumble around looking for the key to the front door. It’s in the top drawer of the desk next to the door.

I yank the door so energetically that I nearly rip the door off the hinges. “Hey, you can stop ringing the doorbell. What in god’s name is your problem? Couldn’t you toss the package on the porch like you usually do?”

The man sneers at me. You probably don’t really know what that means until somebody actually directs that look at you. “I haven’t got all day lady. Can you please sign this?”

He hands me the electronic signature thingy. I sign it. My signature looks like Sanskrit or something. He thrust a heavy white envelope in my hand. He does an about-face and walks down the sidewalk and propels himself into his truck. He pulls out without even checking for traffic coming in his direction. Maniac.

I close the door and look at the envelope. I don’t recognize the return address. It looks like a wedding invitation. Good god, almighty is it possible that I’m being invited to yet another of my college friends second-time-around weddings? This will make the sixth one in two years. I don’t think anyone should expect their friends to go to another wedding and give another expensive gift for a marriage that probably won’t last to the second anniversary.

I tear open the envelope. Surprise it isn’t a wedding invitation. It’s an invitation to a Scavenger Hunt. Seriously a Scavenger Hunt, who am I Katherine Heyburn? Where’s my Cary Grant? I look at the invitation for the who, what, and where of it all. It’s from a mysterious someone who is an associate of my investment broker Bill Holden. It’s scheduled for January 31^st, 2022 in New York City, from 8 pm until midnight.

Are they kidding New Year’s Eve in New York City? I throw the invitation down on the coffee table. I walk back to the kitchen to finish eating my now soggy Captain Crunch cereal. I sip my lukewarm tea.

I idly tap my spoon against the table. I imagine myself dressed to kill, wearing my to-die-for-black fur-lined cape. It has a hand-embroidered trim with golden bumblebees. I haven’t really had an opportunity to wear it yet. New Year’s Eve would be the perfect occasion to make its debut.

Well, why not? It could be a wonderful adventure. I’ll use the limo service for the invitation listed. I can drink champagne and eat caviar. Well, maybe not caviar. I hate it, but definitely drink champagne.

I walk back to the living room and pick up the invitation and take it back into the kitchen with me. I read it over several times. There’s a contact email to RSVP. That’s kind of odd, but it’s the digital age. I walk over to my computer boot it up and send my RSVP to the email address.

I’m busy all-day Saturday doing errands. I had to take some of my business suits to the dry cleaners and then I have my nails done and highlights added to my hair. I really want to make a good impression on New Year’s Eve. It’s only ten days away. I stop by on my way home to visit my mother. She lives about fifteen minutes from my house in an over fifty-community.

I knock at the door and my mother answers out of breath. “Santina, you nearly scared me to death coming to the door this early in the morning.”

“Mother it’s two in the afternoon. You must have slept in this morning.”

My mother has a very close relationship with Vodka Martinis. She likes to throw back a few every evening as she watches some man-hating movies on the LMN Channel. She just hasn’t been the same since my father ditched her and married his dental assistant seven years ago. She swears she wouldn’t have been as bitter if the woman had at least been a younger woman and not someone the same age. Somehow, I doubt that would have made that much difference.

“Can I come in mother?”

“Of course, who said you couldn’t?”

I follow my mother through the foyer and the pristine, never used, formal living room into the kitchen.

“Would you like a cup of coffee, Santina?”

“No thank you Mother, but if you have tea that would be great.” My mother refuses to acknowledge that I never drink coffee. It’s just another of her odd little quirks. “Mother guess what?”

Before I can continue, she says, “Santina, I’ve told you time and again that I don’t like guessing games. How in the world would I be able to guess?”

“Mother it’s only a figure of speech. I didn’t really expect you to guess. I was invited to a New Years’ Eve Scavenger Hunt in New York City, isn’t that exciting?”

“New York City, oh I don’t know Santina. That sounds dangerous. Who are you going with? Who is hosting this scavenger hunt?”

“I’m going by myself. I’ve rented a limo to take me there and drive me around. It will be perfectly safe.”

“You didn’t answer me about who invited you?”

“A friend of Bill Holden, my investments broker.”

“How long have you known him Santina?”

I hesitate for a moment and say, “oh I met him six months ago Mother. He’s very well known in the business community.” A bald-faced lie, but I was not about to tell my mother I never met the man.

“Oh well then that seems safe enough, but be aware that there are a lot of crazy people out there on New Year’s Eve in New York City looking for people to take advantage of.”

“I know Mother. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. Well, I better get going I have a lot of things to do this weekend. I have a busy work week ahead of me. I’ll see you later Mom. I’ll give you a call during the week.”

“What? You just got here. Why are you always in a rush to leave Santina? I didn’t even make you your tea.”

I stand up and awkwardly hug my mother. “Never mind Mother I wasn’t really that thirsty.” I head back to the front door and into my SAAB. Somehow my visits with my mother are always brief. I love her, but I just don’t enjoy spending time with her. It’s a shame, but that’s just the way it is with us.

The next week flies by before you know it; it’s New Year’s Eve. I’m dressed to kill. Even if I do say so myself, I look stunning in my sequined gold vintage Valentino umpire dress. I picked it up for a song in an out-of-the-way shop on South Street in Philadelphia. My cape swirls around me with my every move.

The limo arrives right on time and the chauffeur comes to my door. He’s a handsome man with jet-black hair and mustache. If that isn’t enough, he has a Middle Eastern accent that’s sexy as hell. When I open the door, I do it with a flourish. He greets me, “Are you, Madam Ferraro?”

“Yes, yes, I am, and you are?”

“My name is Amir Bashara, I am at your service.”

He looks like he could be a sheik, my heart starts pounding and my imagination goes into overdrive. I force myself to calm down. “Yes Amir, here is the list of destinations for the evening. I’m ready to go. I reach over and grab my purse and my digital camera. I follow him out to the limo. It’s gleaming in the light cast by a nearby streetlight. I feel like Cinderella on her way to the ball.

Amir opens the back door and says in his deep, melodic voice, “everything is as you have requested Madam, let me know if I can be of service in any way. There is an intercom in the back should you need anything at all.”

I sit down on the doe soft leather of the back seat. Six people could sit here comfortably. I see a discreet black refrigerator; within it are the chilled champagne I requested and a platter of horderves. I adjust my cape that had become twisted around my legs when I stepped inside the car. Capes are a thing of beauty but not really practical, like many things in life. I stare momentarily at Amir’s profile and dream of a thousand Arabian nights. I let my imagination visit there for a while.

I consider my coming evening. I think about my quest, the places I will visit, and the treasures I must capture. The instructions in the email I received said I must visit the 42^nd and Broadway Theater and either take a picture of the theater where the musical Chicago is playing or somehow get a ticket stub for it.

The next goal is to stop in at the Pego Club and have one of their famous cocktails and take the glass. The third stop is the Ice-Skating Rink at Rockefeller Square. I must capture a picture of the Skaters in motion. The final goal is to visit the observatory at the top of the Empire State Building. Where I will meet up with my fellow scavenger hunters and find out who they are. And who is this mysterious person who invited me to this wonderful adventure?

The evening passes quickly, the crisp air in the city is almost electric with excitement. People are walking up and down the streets in glamorous tuxedos and sparkling dresses. I arrive at the theater and see the sign for Chicago. “Amir, could you stop here and let me out? Could you drive around the block and then pick me up in front of the theater? It shouldn’t take me long.”

“Yes, of course, Madam, would you like me to accompany you?”

“What? No, that’s not necessary, but thank you very much for the offer. I’ll be fine. This won’t take me more than a few moments. I step out of the car and onto the street. It’s unbelievable how crowded the theater district is. There are actors walking around in costumes from some of the shows that are playing in the theaters. I walk up to the theater playing Chicago and take several quick shots of the Marquee and the people milling about. I look around on the ground for a ticket that someone might have dropped. It’s difficult to see because of the constantly moving feet of the people around me. I hear a deep and familiar voice say. “Madam is this what you are looking for?”

I look up Amir standing there, looking like Aladdin. “Oh, Amir that’s very kind of you but unnecessary. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. ”

“I have no doubt Madam, but such a beautiful woman as yourself should have company in this great city of New York.”

I look at him closely. I hope he isn’t some kind of stalker. I don’t see crazy in his eyes, but you never know. He hands me a ticket. It’s a stub for Chicago musical. “Wow thank you very much, Amir. I guess we can be on our way.”

“Follow me, madam, the car is right over here.”

Somehow, he has found a parking spot right in front of the theater. He opens the door for me. I step in like Cinderella into the pumpkin carriage.

It doesn’t take very long to arrive at the Pego Club. There’s a long line of people waiting to go inside. I wonder how I will be able to go in and get a cocktail and grab the glass. And still, have time for the other two destinations.

“Madam if you would allow me to step out for a moment I will see if I can arrange for you to enter more quickly?”

“Really, why that would be wonderful. Otherwise, I think I will be waiting in line all night.”

Amir pulls the limo into a spot that miraculously appears in front of us. I look at his mysterious eyes in the rearview mirror. He’s looking back at me. I look down quickly embarrassed to be caught looking at his handsome face. He steps out of the car and disappears into the crowd. The car seems suddenly empty and missing some essential energy. He returns in a few moments and taps on my window. “Madam, I have arranged for us to go in long enough for a drink.”

Us, did he say us? He takes off his cap and puts it in the passenger side of the front seat. I realize for the first time how tall he is and that he’s wearing a very expensive suit that fits him like it was tailored for him. “Oh of course.” I stammer and somehow get out of the car gracefully. My cape flows out behind me like the train on a wedding dress. He offers me his hand as I step out onto the sidewalk. I feel a surge of electricity flow between us. I think I really shouldn’t have drunk that entire carafe of champagne.

I can’t help but notice that the crowd seems to make a path for us to the door. The bouncer lets us walk right in. There’s a low buzz of people talking in the background. A wonderful aroma of incense or perfume is in the air. It reinforces the feeling that I’m walking into a dream. Amir finds a space at the crowded bar and orders. He hands me my cocktail and drinks something dark and golden. After I finish my drink Amir hands me a bag.

“This is for your glass, Madam.”

“Amir please call me Santina. I would appreciate it.”

“Madam, I mean Santina that’s a beautiful name. It fits you. Sorry I shouldn’t make such a personal comment.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t really look like he is embarrassed. I’m at a loss for how I should act since I have never been in a situation like this before. “Oh, that’s fine thank you very much. I guess we should be on our way.”

“Of course, let’s be off to the skating rink, I’ve only been there once as a little girl. I’ve been looking forward to seeing it very much.”

The next thing I know we glide up to Rockefeller Center. It’s very crowded. Apparently, everyone wants to skate on the small rink on this beautiful New Year’s Eve.

“Santina would you like to skate on the rink? I can arrange it for you if you wish?”

“What? Oh no, another time that would be wonderful. I’m really not dressed for skating, thank you.”

“As you wish. If you would like I will take a picture of you, next to the rink. Then we can be off to the final destination of the Empire State Building observatory.”

We arrive at the Empire State building at quarter to Twelve. We are parked at the Fifth Avenue entrance. The street is a wonderland glowing with magnificent Christmas lights and gold and silver decorations.

As we exit the car, I see there are snowflakes beginning to fall. It really seems like a wonderful dream. Amir takes my hand as I get out of the car. I forget that he is my limousine driver. I feel like a princess whose hand is being held by her prince, her Arabian prince. I allow myself to be lost for this moment in this fantasy. We walk into the lobby. It’s an amazing combination of beautiful lights and soft music from a Quartet playing in the background.

“Santina, the elevator is this way.” He escorts me to what looks like a private elevator.

“Amir this can’t be the public elevator. This looks like a private elevator.”

“Santina, it’s alright we can go this way. It has all been arranged for you.”

For me? I wonder what he means by that? Oh, he must mean for the scavenger hunt group. The elevator arrives at the observatory in what seems like a twinkling of the eye. Amir takes my hand as I step out of the elevator. The view is unbelievably beautiful. The city of New York City is ablaze in lights in every direction. I’m awed by the vision before me.

We walk over to the far wall. Amir makes a sweeping gesture with his arms. I look in Amir’s eyes and he’s looking back into mine. He leans down toward me. All the fireworks and whistles and horns are blowing, fireworks can be seen in the distance. I hear “Happy New Year Santina. It’s all for you. You have only to reach out and take it.”

My First Job

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The year is 1969. The most significant year in my life. The year I graduate from high school. This is the twelfth year that I have attended Catholic Schools. In the first eight years, I attended Our Lady of Perpetual Help Grade School, and now I’m graduating from St. Mary of the Angels Academy in Haddonfield, NJ. It’s a private all-girls school.

St. Mary of the Angels Academy Graduation 1969

Graduation photo by Hugh Carberry

St. Mary’s is a college prep high school. I took four years of Math, History, English, Religion, and four years of Latin and French. I have to say the most useful skill I learned in high school was typing and English grammar. I can still read French quite well and Latin, not so much. But I did learn self-discipline. I learn to keep my mouth shut around the nuns.

These are changing times, turbulent times. The world is changing. The United States has become involved in the Viet Nam War. A war that ultimately will take the lives of 54,000 young men of my generation.

But I, for the most part, remain blissfully unaware of what is going on in the world. The only news I hear if I bother to listen at all is the 6 o’clock news with Walter Cronkite. The NJ Bulletin is delivered to our house like clockwork every day. But I only read the comics on Sunday morning. Girls are not subjected to the draft as young men are of my generation are.

In the last half of my senior year Sister Eileen Marie the principal at St. Mary’s called me into her office. A terrifying experience for me. And one I had avoided for four years. “Susan it has come to my attention that you have enough credits to graduate. I have been informed that you won’t be going to college as some of our students are going to do. Therefore, I have arranged for you to be interviewed for a job at a dentist’s office as an assistant. I’ve spoken to your parents about it. And they are agreed that this will be an excellent opportunity for you.”

I find Sister Eileen Marie to be quite intimidating. She is an old school nun in that many of the younger nuns are taking off their veils and shortening their skirts. She never smiles and has a stern and off-putting demeanor. This is all news to me since no one discussed my future with me. Not by my parents and not by any of the other dear sisters.

My main goal in high school is to graduate, I naively haven’t considered for a moment what I would do after I graduate. I stare at Sister Eileen momentarily and then mumble, “Yes, Sister.”

“Miss Carberry, here is the address to the dentist’s office. It’s in Oaklyn. A town not too far from here. You can take the bus from Kings Highway in Haddonfield to Haddon Avenue in Heather Rd. in Oaklyn. If all goes well, you’ll be working there in the afternoons until you graduate and then start working full-time afterward. The dentist’s name is Dr. Wozniak. You will have an interview tomorrow afternoon. Here’s the information you need.”

“Yes, Sister.” As I walk out of the office. I begin to tremble. I can’t fathom what has just happened so unexpectantly to me. I gulp and stuff the paper in my pocket. I try not to think about it for the rest of the day. When I get home that day, I mention what Sister had said to me in her office today. “Mom, Sister Eileen Marie told me I have a job interview tomorrow at a dentist’s office as an assistant.”

“Yes, that’s right, Susie, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. You can take the bus.”

I look at my mother, and I’m shocked. She knew all about it and didn’t tell me.” But Mom, I don’t want to go to work in a dentist’s office. I hate the dentist.”

“Don’t be silly, you’ll be fine. I’ll give you the bus money, and you can come home by bus too.”

“What I have to go by bus by myself?”

“Of course, you’re a big girl now, everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

I stare at my mother. Dumbfounded. I repeat,” Everything will be fine.” I feel a tear run down my cheek. I go to my room, and at dinner time when my mother calls me, I yell,” I’m not hungry.” I didn’t come down for the rest of the evening. I have trouble sleeping that night. In the morning, I get up and put on my navy blue uniform and knee-high navy blue socks and shoes and take the bus to school. I have to take the bus from Main Street in Maple Shade to Federal Street in Camden to Haddon Avenue and Kings Highway and then walk about a quarter of a mile to St. Mary of the Angels Academy.

That afternoon after lunch, I walk up to the bus stop on Haddon Avenue and Kings Highway and catch the bus to Kings Highway and then walk from the White Horse Pike to Heather Rd. It turns out to be a fairly long walk. I was a little sweaty by the time I arrive. I walk up to the door that says Dr. Wozniak DDS and knocks. The office is attached to their house where I presume they live.

My mouth is dry as sandpaper. I’m terrified. I’m not sure what I think is going to happen, but I feel unprepared. I’ve only been to the dentist myself for emergencies. I don’t know anything about working there. The only job I’ve ever done is babysitting my nieces and nephews since I was about eleven or twelve.

A young woman with short, blond hair answers the door. I look at her and I don’t know what to say. She says to me, “Susan?”

“Yes, I’m Susan Carberry, is Dr. Wozniak here, I have an appointment for a job interview as a dental assistant.”

“Yes, I know I’m Dr. Wozniak’s wife, Connie. I’m going to interviewing you. Come in.”

She opens the door wide to a small room with chairs and a coffee table. And at the end of the room is a window with doors on it. She looks at me and says, “Come into the office. We’ll talk in there.”

l glance at her. I don’t know where it is. But there’s only one door in the room beside the outside door. So I walk up to and pull open the door to another small room with a desk, chair, and a filing cabinet. There are two doors in this room and an open doorway on the right.

“You can sit down at the desk, here is an application for you to fill out. There’s a pen there in that cup. I’ll come back in a few minutes and check on you and show you around.”

“Alright.” I sit down and look at the job application. I never filled one out before. I don’t have any experience. There isn’t much information for me to fill in. I write down my name and address and our phone number. I write in I attend St. Mary of the Angels Academy in Haddonfield. And I write in my graduation date. And the times I will be able to work here if they hire me until my graduation. I write down my parent’s names as people to contact in case of an emergency. I’m briefly concerned about what type of emergency might happen to me in a dentist’s office. I wonder, will someone bite me? And then I let out a chuckle. The next thing I hear is, “Are you finished, Susan?”

“Yes, I think so.”

She smiles at me and picks up my application, and reads it over in about a minute or two. She asks me, “So, why do you want to work here, Susan?”

I look at her somewhat panicked, I don’t really know how to answer. “Well, I’m graduating in June. And I’m not going to be going to college because my father says that women don’t need to go to college. Because they’re just going to get married and have children. So, it’s just a waste of money. As far as he’s concerned. And then Sister Eileen Marie the principal at St. Mary of the Angels Academy, called me into the office and told me this is what I’m going to do, and, so did my parents. So, here I am.”

Mrs. Wozniak smiles at me. Well, Susan, I think you will do just fine here. You probably don’t know this, but I went to St. Mary of the Angels Academy too. I remember Sister Eileen Marie very well. She made quite an impression on me. I was terrified of her when I was going to school there. But as I grew up, I realized she was trying to help me. And she had faith that I was going to do well in life. And she must feel the same about you because you were the first person she thought of for this job.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. When can you start?”

“When do you want me to start?”

“How about this Monday, you will have to buy a couple of white uniforms and white shoes and wear stockings. Dr. Wozniak will be training you. Let me show you the other rooms and explain some of the things you will be doing.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“So, the room straight ahead of you is the darkroom. It’s small but there is room for everything you need to do in there. You will assist Dr. Wozniak in taking the x-rays. And then you will come into the darkroom and develop them. Mrs. Wozniak shows me a room and turns a small light on in there. There is a double sink in there and a faucet. And above the sinks is a wire with dental x-rays hanging from it. “This is where you will be developing and drying x-rays. Don’t worry it’s easy. Doctor will teach you.

In the next room is small. There are dentures on the counters. I recognize them because both of my parents wear dentures. ”This is where Dr. Wozniak adjusts dentures or repairs them. They are made in a dental lab and then sent here. Dr. Wozniak makes molds of patients’ mouths and then sends the molds to the lab to create the dentures. Sometimes the dentures don’t fit the patients’ mouths perfectly, and he has to alter them slightly.”

The next two rooms are where the doctor does the dental work fillings and extractions and takes the X-rays. You will be assisting him. He will teach you all about the dental tools and which ones to put out for each procedure. And that machine over there is an autoclave you will put the instruments in there to sterilize them.’

“You will be standing in the operating rooms with him and assist him by handing him the appropriate dental tools. And then cleaning the room after each patient and setting new tools out for the next patient. And bringing them into the room when it is there appointment time.”

I stare at her with my mouth open. I feel overwhelmed by everything she told me.

“Don’t worry; you’ll learn everything a little at a time. Dr. will teach you. He knows you don’t have any experience. But I have no doubt that you will do just fine.”

“You do. I hope so. It sounds like a lot to learn.”

“It seems like that at first, but in a couple of weeks, you will be an old hand in it. And if you have any problems, you can talk to me or the Doctor and we’ll help you.”

“So, does that mean I have the job?’

“But, of course it does. Susan. I know you will do a great job. So, I expect I’ll see you next Monday at one ‘clock wearing uniform and white shoes and stockings. Here is my phone number if you have any questions.”

She starts walking me towards the door. I open the door, and she says,” Susan, it was a pleasure to meet you. See you next Monday. I step out the door, and she closes it behind me. I stand outside the door momentarily. I realize that I have taken the first step in what will be the rest of my life. I smile and start walking down the street to the bus stop.

She Was Laid To Rest

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Celtic Moon by Robert P. Culver

I received the call very late at night, long after I went to bed. Long after, I finally fell asleep. I heard the phone ringing. But my mind refused to acknowledge it. We all know that good news never arrives after midnight. And this call was no exception to that maxim.

In the morning, after my first cup of coffee, I notice the message light on my phone is blinking. I look at the caller ID. It’s my Great Aunt Maeve’s number. I can’t remember the last time I heard from her. The fact is, I thought she died decades ago. I haven’t kept in touch with that side of the family. Too Catholic, you know. Too old school. Too judgmental.

My life choices would not bear scrutiny. Not that I’m a serial killer or anything that drastic. Just that, well, let’s say I believe the ten commandments have some flexibility in them, some leeway, if you know what I mean. For instance, it’s not that bad to lie as long as you aren’t hurting anyone with that lie. It’s not that bad if you steal, as long as it isn’t hurting anyone personally. And if the money isn’t missed by anyone, then what’s the harm?

Besides, the church doesn’t believe in drinking or playing the horses or gambling at all, for that matter, unless it’s Bingo. But really, how is that any of their business anyway? What’s the problem with the occasional pint, or ten pints for that matter? Isn’t hurting anyone else, is it? No, of course, it isn’t. Get over yourself. Mind your own business. That’s what I say. Mind your own damn business.

I push the message button. It isn’t my Great Aunt Maeve. It’s her granddaughter Katie. I always had kind of a crush on her. She was a real Irish beauty back in the day. Hair down to her waist, as dark as coal and so thick your fingers would get lost in it. Her eyes, well, they were that shade of blue that looks like blue ice. Light blue, deep as the ocean. You could drown in those eyes. Her body was a young man’s dream. Sometimes I couldn’t get to sleep at all at night just from thinking about her.

“What’s that, you say? Isn’t she’s your cousin?” Yeah, sure, she’s my cousin. But not my first cousin. What’s the harm, I say? We were young, and it was all very innocent — just a kiss or two, nothing more. Oh, get over yourself.

Anyway, Katie is letting me know that Aunt Maeve has passed over to the great beyond. She tells me the funeral is in three days. And, of course, after the funeral will be the traditional Irish Wake. Well, ordinarily, I avoid funerals like the plague. But an Irish Wake well that I wouldn’t miss even if it were going to be my own goddamn wake. Especially then, I guess. She tells me that the funeral is at 10:30 on Friday morning at Holy Mackerel Church. OK, so that’s not the real name.

It’s really called St. Patrick’s. It’s in Gloucester City, NJ. Don’t let anyone ever tell you the Irish have any creativity. Every other church and child’s name is Patrick. Even after the church admitted, there never was a real St. Patrick. They just continued naming every child and church after him. The Irish lot is about as stubborn as they get; don’t let anyone tell you any differently.

Well, no doubt about it, I was going to have to fortify myself in the next couple of days with some good booze and beer. If I am going to survive a week with my family. I’ll have to be good and drunk and stay that way if my psyche will survive the inquisition that every cousin, aunt, or uncle is going to put me through. But, not to worry, I’ve had years of practice — years of training. I’m up to the challenge. Ready or not, here I come.

So here I’m on my way to the funeral. I have Radar Love cracked up as high as possible. I get off the freeway to buy a six-pack of Old Milwaukee. Yeah, I know not a beer of choice unless you like the taste of armpit, but it brings you right down to earth. And that’s what you need when you are going to spend more than a week with the dearly departed and your loved ones.

As I pull off Route 130 onto Market Street in Gloucester, NJ, I have an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. It could be nausea, could be I drank too much. But I doubt that since I have a pretty high tolerance for alcohol in any form. As I see the house at the end of the street, I realize I feel like that kid I was long ago that left home at twenty. Angry, resentful, lonely.

Indeed, I didn’t come back as a war hero or successful businessman. But hell, I’m a tin knocker. When I work, I make pretty decent money. When I don’t, I live on unemployment until the Union calls me back. That’s life if you work in construction.

I pull my 1971 El Camino next to the curb and stare over at the house. It looks the same. It’s a two-story stucco with faded shutters and a red front door with black hinges. My Uncle Hugh just loved to paint everything black and red. He was quite the character. Heavyset with those light blue eyes. And could be mean as a snake if you got on his wrong side. He was the one that caught Katie and me kissing on the couch in the basement.

The lilac bush was overgrown, and the grass hadn’t been cut in a long time.

But still, it’s the house where I spent most of his youth. My Aunt Maeve took care of me every summer. She fed me Lebanon bologna and cheese. Or sometimes fried bologna sandwiches with chicken noodle soup. Every Sunday, she made a different kind of cake for dessert. My favorite was chocolate cake with vanilla icing sprinkled with shredded coconuts. It was the only day they ate roast beef and noodles. I can almost smell it while I stand here on the porch.

I have my hand poised, ready to knock, but at the last moment, I grasp the doorknob and turn it. The door opens, and I hear a chorus of voices all talking at the same time. Aunt Aileen yells out,” it’s our Danny standing at the door like a stranger. ”Come in, come in and give us a kiss for the love of god. Has the cat got your tongue?”

“Hello, Aunt Aileen. It’s been a long time. You look great.”

“Oh, get on with you. You must have kissed the blarney stone. Say hello to your Uncle Pat.”

“Hello, Uncle Pat.” He’s sitting on an ancient upholstered rocking chair. There’s duct tape holding it together. He’s even fatter than I remember. He’s wearing a red and white striped shirt with a pocket. In the pocket are his Pall Mall cigarettes. He lost all of his hair, which was thinning even back when I was a kid. I can smell the nicotine on him from two feet away. The lampshade on the coffee table next to him is stained yellow from years of exposure to Uncle Pat’s smoking unfiltered Pall Malls.

“Well, I may have put on a pound or two. You’re a grown man Danny, but I would have recognized you anywhere. So, what have you been up to? What kind of work are you doing these days?”

“I’m a tin knocker, Uncle Pat, just like my dad. I’m sorry I didn’t come back for his funeral. I didn’t hear about it until long after. I was in the middle of moving at the time. And staying with a friend. I should have kept in touch.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. Sit down, take a load off. Your Aunt Aileen will get you something to eat. There’s enough to feed an army, as usual. I hope you brought your appetite with you. You’re a bit on the scrawny side, if you don’t mind me saying. But your Aunt Aileen will fill you out, don’t you worry. She’ll be right back with a plate.”

Danny plops down on the couch. He could swear it was the same couch he remembered from his childhood. They must have finally taken the plastic cover off. He looks around the room, and there’re some familiar faces. Older than he remembered, but still, he would know them anywhere. Danny doesn’t see Katie anywhere. Maybe she’s in the kitchen. It’s loud in here. Irish music is playing in the background. He thinks it’s the Clancy Brothers. When he was a teenager, he couldn’t stand hearing all the Irish tunes.

At that moment, he hears his Aunt Liz calling out, “Danny, Danny, my boy, where is he? Oh, there you are. Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Come here, give us a hug.”

Danny stands up and walks over to her and is crushed in her bosomy embrace. When he catches his breath, he looks up at her. Her face bears the weight of the years and all the pain she has to carry.” “Hello, Aunt Liz, it’s good to see you. It’s been a long time. You look good. Is Katie here? I haven’t seen her?”

“Oh, sure, she’ll be here in a shake of a lamb’s tail. Oh, I’ve forgotten how you two used to be as thick as thieves when you were kids. I’m so happy you came. I wish you had come back before Maeve left us. She talked about you all the time, and you were the light of her life. Why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and you can fix a plate? You look half-starved, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Danny follows his Aunt Liz into the kitchen. It looks as if time has stood still in this kitchen. It’s still painted a cream-colored stained with years of nicotine. The linoleum floor remained in the orange and brown checkered board pattern. Tracks are worn into the tile surface from forty years of foot traffic.

Danny walks over to the narrow cabinet next to the refrigerator and opens it. The ironing board is still neatly hidden within its depths. The General Electric refrigerator had been replaced by a more recent and larger one. And the chandelier which once graced the ceiling is now a fluorescent light fixture. Danny’s Uncle Hugh had an artistic streak and often replaced everyday household items with his creations.

Take a load off Danny. Danny pulls out the chair and sits down. His Aunt puts a plate down in front of him. Danny looks down, and his plate is so full there isn’t an inch of space that isn’t covered with food. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling it in. He hadn’t eaten a home-cooked meal in years. Mostly his diet consisted of fast food and bologna and cheese sandwiches, followed by a six-pack of Michelob.

When he looks up again, everyone is staring at him because his plate is entirely empty. And they all start laughing. Danny is embarrassed at first, but then he too joins in the laughter. He didn’t realize how hungry he had been.

“Well, you poor thing, are you still hungry? Do you want some dessert? We have some homemade chocolate cake with vanilla icing with coconut on top. What do you say?”

“I’m pretty full, but yeah, I would love a piece of homemade cake.”

His Aunt Liz hands him a huge piece of cake, and a cup of coffee, so strong Danny tastes the caffeine before he swallows any. After he finishes, he rubs his stomach and exhales. “ God, that was the best meal I’ve had in years. Probably since the last time I ate since the last time I was here. Thanks so much.”

As Danny looked around at all the faces at the table, he noticed there were tears on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s cheeks. At the same time, he realizes there are tears running down his own cheeks.

His Aunt Liz comes over and hugs him. “Oh, Danny, we have all missed you so much. It’s sad that losing Maeve’s passing is what it took for us to get you back. But I know that she would be thrilled to see you sitting back at her table.”

Danny looked up at her. ”Aunt Liz, I didn’t realize how much I missed all of you. Aunt Maeve was the closest thing I had to a mother. I guess I couldn’t get over all the anger I had when I left. I just wanted to block out all the angry words between my dad and me. And then he died, and I felt so guilty. That I hadn’t come back and made it right, I couldn’t face the funeral. I’m glad I come back now. It’s hard to be in the world without anyone caring what happens to you.”

“Oh, Danny, we did care. We all love you. We never stopped. OK, no more tears today. Let’s try to remember the good times we all had with Maeve.”

The next morning Danny comes downstairs from his old bedroom dressed for the funeral and feels a sudden emptiness. On some level, he was expecting his Aunt Maeve to be sitting at the table drinking her tea and reading the paper. He did hear his Uncles and Aunts talking quietly together. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

“Good morning Danny, how did you sleep? I guess your childhood bed was a bit uncomfortable for you.”

“I slept fine. I fell right to sleep and slept through the night. What time will we be leaving for the funeral?”

“In an hour. Danny, we would like it if you were one of the pallbearers, and I would like you to get up and say a few words about Maeve. You were such a big part of her life. She would have liked that. What do you have to say?”

“Well, I’m not much on public speaking, but yeah, I’d like to say a few words. After we eat, I’ll go upstairs and write down some of my memories of Aunt Maeve. I hope I don’t mess it up.”

“Danny, just speak from your heart. You never had any faith in yourself. But we do. We always did.”

“OK, I will do my best, Uncle Hugh.”

After breakfast, Danny went upstairs and started thinking about his Aunt Maeve and how much she meant to him. And how much she had loved him and accepted him just the way he was. If it hadn’t been for her, Danny would have left long before he got out of high school. His father was a falling-down drunk and used him as a punching bag. His mother had left when he was about three or four. He had very few memories of her at all.

Without his Aunt Maeve, he wouldn’t have survived his childhood. As he thought about that, he realized how much he missed by not keeping in touch with her for the past ten years. He can’t do anything about the past. But he can do something about the here and now. He starts writing.

It’s time for Danny to step up to the pulpit. He clears his throat and looks up and out at all the people who came to acknowledge his Aunt Maeve’s passing but also celebrate her life. He sees his cousin Katie in the first row. She nods at him and lifts her chin up. It’s a signal they used to use to give each other support. When they were young and, things got tough. He lifted his chin to her.

“Good morning, everyone. We are all gathered here to mourn the loss of someone dear to us, someone we will all miss. She will leave an empty space in our lives that she used to fill. But I hope we can fill that space with all the loving memories we have of Aunt Maeve.

For me, she was that safe place I could go when I felt all alone and unloved. She would cook a hot meal. She always gave me a warm and loving hug and a kiss on my cheek. She assured me that I was a person of value. And that I was someone that she loved and would always love, no matter what. She accepted me for who I was and never told me I wasn’t good enough, not smart enough, or not good-looking enough. She held my hand and warmed my heart.

My life was richer for having known her. When I talked to her, she listened. She heard and cared. She was never too busy. She was always there for me. I can see by the way you are nodding your heads that she did the same thing for each of you. We were blessed by having to know her. She was both strong and soft at the same time. I can only hope that someday I can inspire someone else the way she inspired me always to work hard and do my best. So, as we go forward in our lives, let us keep her in our hearts and minds. I know she will be traveling with me throughout my journey through life. I will always feel her by my side, and I will never be alone again.

Childhood Isn’t Always What It Is Cracked Up To Be

Snow Days

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Susie in favorite winter coat 1961- Photo by Hugh Carberry

The next best thing to a hot, summer day is a Snow Day. All winter I pray every night before I went to bed. I would get down on my knees and pray. “Dear God please would bless all my pets. And then I would list them Sweetheart, Pretty Boy. These were my pet birds. And Big Shot and Skipper and Bandit, my hamsters. And then offer Naomi, one of our dogs and Strottles, a stray cat that I loved move than life itself. All of these animals are no longer alive, but I believed that I would see my beloved animals again once I too went to heaven.

I would squeeze my eyes tightly shut and pray and sometimes beg please, please God let it snow. Other children would ask God to bless the pagan babies because that was who the nuns told us to do. I wasn’t sure what pagan babies were, but I wanted snow more than anything at all, including pagan babies being blessed.

During the winter nights in the years, I attended Our Lady of Perpetual Help School between 1957 and 1965. I prayed for snow. And during those eight years, we did get unbelievably amounts of snow. It was not unknown for it to snow twelve or more inches to fall overnight on top of the snow we received a week ago. The snow didn’t always melt in between snowstorms because it was too cold for it to melt. And I firmly believed in the power of prayer because every winter we were inundated with snow and sleet and wind so cold it took your breath away and all but froze your eyeballs.

And why you may wonder would I pray for snow? Well, the answer is simply this, Snow Days. And snow days meant if it snows enough, school will be canceled, and there was nothing I loved more than not having to go to school for a day. If we were lucky a couple of days.

I wake up and immediately look out my bedroom window to see if it snowed that night. It did. And low and behold it’s still snowing. I say a silent prayer of thanks.

I run down the steps and into the kitchen and scream at the top of my voice, “Ma, did they cancel school?”

“Yes, Susie, school is canceled. Stop screaming like a banshee.”

“Oh, hurrah, I’m going to get dressed and go outside and play.”

“What? No, you’re not. It isn’t even 7:30 yet. You’re going to go sit down and have a hot breakfast. Something that will stick to your ribs and keep you warm. And let your food digest, and then you can go out.”

“What? No, I’m not hungry I want to go out now before the snow melts.”

“The snow isn’t going to melt Susie. It’s extremely cold outside. It won’t melt. Go upstairs and put on your warm clothes and a sweater. And then you’ll eat, and then you can go out.”

I run up the steps two at a time and throw on two pairs of pants, two pairs of socks and a shirt and a sweater. I can hardly move. My dad is sitting at the table. “Why are you dressed like that, Susie?”

“Because it is snowing outside, and Mom told me to.” My dad never wears anything but a fake fur hat and a wool scarf around his neck. It doesn’t matter how cold it is outside or if it’s snowing. Hat and scarf, that’s it.

“Sit down, Susie. I have your breakfast ready. I will warm you up.”

My mom hands me a bowl of hot oatmeal. I hate hot oatmeal. But I know if I don’t eat it, she won’t let me go outside. I shovel it down as quickly as possible. It’s horrible and looks like vomit. But I eat it all the same. And my stomach is warm but nauseous.

“Thanks, Mom. Can I go outside now?”

“First, go brush your teeth.”

“What, brush my teeth?” Then I looked at my mom’s face and see she is getting a little annoyed at me. So, I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. As I come out of the bathroom, I walk over to the hall closet and grab my coat. It’s a little tight what with all the extra clothes. And then I grab the box on the shelf and look for two gloves that match. I stick them in the pockets. I cut through the swinging door from the hall to the living room and out the front door like a shot.

As I open the front door, the cold air slaps me in the face. It’s unbelievably cold. I pull my hood up over my head and tie the string under my chin tight and pull my wool scarf up to my nose. Wow, it’s so cold. I can’t believe it. My dad hasn’t shoveled the snow off the steps or sidewalk yet. So, I have to plow through. I realize I don’t have my boots on and turn around and go back into the house.

“I forgot my boots,” I yell at the top of my voice. I hear my father say, “ one day Susie is going to forget her head .”
I open up the cubby hole where we keep our boots and schoolbags and crawl in and start pulling out boots looking for a pair that will fit me. I find a pair. I think they are my sister’s, but they fit over my shoes. So, they probably won’t fit hers. And out the door, I go again. It’s a blizzard out there, but it doesn’t deter me. I plow through the snow down the steps once again. Snow goes inside the boots since it’s deeper than my boots are high. I continue pushing my way through the snow on our sidewalk and out our gate.

I turn right and head down toward my best friend’s house. She lives three doors away. It takes me a long time to get there. When I finally make it up to her house. I’m out of breath and believe it or not I’m sweating from the exertion of walking three houses away. I look at her sidewalk, and I see her sidewalk isn’t cleared yet either. I try calling her over and over as loud as I can. But she can’t hear me because of the wind. I’m about to leave when I see her waving at me through her front bedroom window. I see she is still wearing her pajamas. She probably just woke up. She is slow as molasses in the morning, and it takes her forever to get up and dressed and eat. I know she won’t be out any time soon.

I head back towards my house. I finally arrive. Snowflakes about the size of half-dollars are starting to fall in force, but I continue on my way. I decide to go to the church parking lot in the back of the church. That’s where kids always hang out when school is canceled because of snow. The front of the church and the sidewalk up to the church are shoveled. Mr. Preto, the janitor of the church and his brother, Mr. Preto, probably came out here early this morning and shoveled the steps and all the sidewalks going up to the church. So, the ladies that go to Mass every day could get to church. My mother is one of the ladies that go to Mass every day and says the rosary afterward.

I walk down the sidewalk on the Lombardi’s side of the church. The Lombardi’s are our next-door neighbors. My house is two doors down from the Our Lady of Perpetual Help Church. The OLPH School is right next to the church and rectory where the priests live.

As I make my way down towards the back parking lot, I slip and fall on the slippery sidewalk. I have trouble getting up because the sidewalk has a thin layer of ice underneath the snow that has recently fallen. My butt would probably hurt more but it’s frozen from the cold. I keep going. And low and behold I see about ten kids climbing the mountains of snow.

What mountains of snow do you ask? The mountains of snow all over the parking lot. The church owns a snowplow, and it always comes out and plows all the snow from the parking lot and piles it in mounds about five or six feet high. These are the mountains where all the kids in the town play when there is a big snowstorm. This is where I’m heading.

I see a couple of kids from my fifth-grade class, and I head in their direction. They see me and start waving at me. I wave back. After what feels like hours, I make it to the mountain of snow they are on top of it. I see one of the kids fall down to the ground. I keep watching to see if he’ll get up. And he does and he starts climbing up the snowy mound again. He makes it to the top and starts waving and yelling.

I get to the hill, and I start my climb. I pull myself up hand over hand until I get to the pinnacle. I see a hand stretched out to me. I grab hold of it. And just as I’m about to get to the top, I feel they are letting go of my hand. And down I go, I look up before I hit the ground and I see the hand belongs to one of the boys in my class that spends all his free time torturing me. I promise myself to seek revenge at my first opportunity. I start my ascent.

I finally get to the top and I see my nemesis smiling down at me. I reach up as high as I can, and I grab his hand and pull as hard as I can. And down he goes and so do I. We both hit the ground hard. It knocks the air out of my lungs, and I can’t speak momentarily. And then I look over at him, and he starts to laugh and so do I. I guess neither one of us will be King of The Mountain, this time.

We both get up and start up the hill again. The first Snow Day has begun.

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Writer's Blog by Susan A. Culver