try to wrap my
head around my surroundings.
“I swear you are psychic just like your
mom,” she says.
“No, Aunt Grace. Caller ID.” I don’t
know how many more times I‘ll have to say that before she gets it. Furthermore,
my mother wasn’t close to being psychic, and I don’t know why Aunt Grace says
that.
“You need to come right away.” She
sounds suddenly desperate.
I look at my watch. “It’s six p.m.”
I’d rather have my eyelids turned inside
out and propped open with toothpicks before I drive to her neighborhood just
before darkness closes in. My heart is heavy once I realize where I am.
“Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas
anymore.” I frown looking out the window next to the bed.
“What? Who’s Toto?” she asks.
“No one.” The words fall meekly out of
my mouth.
The first phase of dread, loneliness and
depression sets in. I knew it was inevitable. My Hyde Park high seems to have
deflated like a soufflé.
“I need you. You know I wouldn’t ask if
I didn’t.” She pleads.
“Why do I need to come right now?” I ask and continue, “What’s so important?”
“I can’t talk about it over the phone.
Can’t you please come?” She is convincing.
I reach for my running shoes and put them
on. There is no reason to push for more information because I know I won’t win.
Wilson is outside watering the front
lawn. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” His eyes peek over his sunglasses.
“Getting toothpicks,” I shout, then stop
and turn around. “You have any toothpicks?”
He pats his pockets. “Nah, fresh out.”
He continues watering the wisteria vine with a questioning look on his face.
I flash him a smile, and jump in my
car—only to zoom back to the other side of the tracks.
A haze looms over the city. That’s one
thing this city hasn’t cleaned up. My eyes water and my nose itches. The valley
of allergies is what everyone calls the Ohio valley. I fell prey to it when I
was younger and now.
I say a little prayer of gratitude for
Daylight Saving Time. I have at least an hour before dark.
Uncle Jimmy is sitting on the stoop
watching the traffic go by. “Hi, Uncle Jimmy.” I smile looking for a nod, or a wave,
or something to show life.
He doesn’t look up. His gray thinning
greasy hair is plastered to his head. With a hint of annoyance, he asks, “You
gonna be stopping by all the time since you live here?”
“Lucky you. You never know which way the
wind might blow me.”
I want to tell him to shave his ass, but
I don’t think he would like that. Besides, Uncle Jimmy never fit in with us Italians, as he puts a stress on the I . He always rolled his eyes at our big family
functions. Italians love their families.
We had to ignore his comments out of
respect for Aunt Grace. She was good at reminding us. “Now, now, Jimmy doesn’t
know any better,” she’d say. “He’s an orphan.”
“Umph.” Is all he can muster up? Never
once can I recall a time when he was even a bit positive.
I burst through the door. “Aunt Grace?”
I find her in the bedroom. She’s there, wearing a long curly red wig.
“Hi, Aunt Grace.” I hid my laughter,
looking at her real hair matted down the side of her face.
“Like it?” She twirls her fake hair
around her finger.
“Feisty.” I smile because she looks like
one of the hookers who work on this side of town. For all I know, she stole it
off one of them.
“Good. Because that’s the way I am
feeling.” She is preoccupied, staring out the window. She sits like a bird
perched on the window-sill. “I guess you’re wondering why I wanted you to come
over.”
I look around the room. There doesn’t
seem to be any emergency. The apartment is not on fire and the cockroaches are
still running around. Everything is in order.
“Antonio is going to be in the area
selling those knife sets.”
I slump to the bed. She’s back to
playing match-maker.
“I want to invite you two over for tea.”
Her
head around my surroundings.
“I swear you are psychic just like your
mom,” she says.
“No, Aunt Grace. Caller ID.” I don’t
know how many more times I‘ll have to say that before she gets it. Furthermore,
my mother wasn’t close to being psychic, and I don’t know why Aunt Grace says
that.
“You need to come right away.” She
sounds suddenly desperate.
I look at my watch. “It’s six p.m.”
I’d rather have my eyelids turned inside
out and propped open with toothpicks before I drive to her neighborhood just
before darkness closes in. My heart is heavy once I realize where I am.
“Toto, I don’t think we are in Kansas
anymore.” I frown looking out the window next to the bed.
“What? Who’s Toto?” she asks.
“No one.” The words fall meekly out of
my mouth.
The first phase of dread, loneliness and
depression sets in. I knew it was inevitable. My Hyde Park high seems to have
deflated like a soufflé.
“I need you. You know I wouldn’t ask if
I didn’t.” She pleads.
“Why do I need to come right now?” I ask and continue, “What’s so important?”
“I can’t talk about it over the phone.
Can’t you please come?” She is convincing.
I reach for my running shoes and put them
on. There is no reason to push for more information because I know I won’t win.
Wilson is outside watering the front
lawn. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” His eyes peek over his sunglasses.
“Getting toothpicks,” I shout, then stop
and turn around. “You have any toothpicks?”
He pats his pockets. “Nah, fresh out.”
He continues watering the wisteria vine with a questioning look on his face.
I flash him a smile, and jump in my
car—only to zoom back to the other side of the tracks.
A haze looms over the city. That’s one
thing this city hasn’t cleaned up. My eyes water and my nose itches. The valley
of allergies is what everyone calls the Ohio valley. I fell prey to it when I
was younger and now.
I say a little prayer of gratitude for
Daylight Saving Time. I have at least an hour before dark.
Uncle Jimmy is sitting on the stoop
watching the traffic go by. “Hi, Uncle Jimmy.” I smile looking for a nod, or a wave,
or something to show life.
He doesn’t look up. His gray thinning
greasy hair is plastered to his head. With a hint of annoyance, he asks, “You
gonna be stopping by all the time since you live here?”
“Lucky you. You never know which way the
wind might blow me.”
I want to tell him to shave his ass, but
I don’t think he would like that. Besides, Uncle Jimmy never fit in with us Italians, as he puts a stress on the I . He always rolled his eyes at our big family
functions. Italians love their families.
We had to ignore his comments out of
respect for Aunt Grace. She was good at reminding us. “Now, now, Jimmy doesn’t
know any better,” she’d say. “He’s an orphan.”
“Umph.” Is all he can muster up? Never
once can I recall a time when he was even a bit positive.
I burst through the door. “Aunt Grace?”
I find her in the bedroom. She’s there, wearing a long curly red wig.
“Hi, Aunt Grace.” I hid my laughter,
looking at her real hair matted down the side of her face.
“Like it?” She twirls her fake hair
around her finger.
“Feisty.” I smile because she looks like
one of the hookers who work on this side of town. For all I know, she stole it
off one of them.
“Good. Because that’s the way I am
feeling.” She is preoccupied, staring out the window. She sits like a bird
perched on the window-sill. “I guess you’re wondering why I wanted you to come
over.”
I look around the room. There doesn’t
seem to be any emergency. The apartment is not on fire and the cockroaches are
still running around. Everything is in order.
“Antonio is going to be in the area
selling those knife sets.”
I slump to the bed. She’s back to
playing match-maker.
“I want to invite you two over for tea.”
Her
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