Written by Max Epley
Mark turns the oven on at two and throws a pie in half an hour later. It’s for the staff. At five till three you can smell it from Miss Avery’s classroom. Jimmie and Charlie have their desks cleared by then. They look at each other and nod like they’re in on something too cool for words. Sometimes Charlie makes a face at me before he and his brother bolt. Jimmie isn’t so mean, but he isn’t so nice either.
I stuff my papers in my bag and run down to Antonio’s after the bell rings. The doors are open even though the restaurant isn’t, indifferent to the riffraff that might run in off the streets. I stand at the length of one of the doors to look in without being seen. The twins are at the counter.
-Yeah, Charlie and his brother say in unison. They don’t have the swagger like when they’re bragging about their uncle in the mafia.
-You being good to your old woman? Mark is spreading flour over the counter.
-Yeah, they say in unison again, like little puppies in matching jumpsuits.
-All right. Scram kids.
The twins make a v-line for the door, and I step behind one side praying they go to the other. They do, hitting the gas and rounding the corner in gay anticipation. I peer in the place again. Mark is pulling dough out, and three waiters are sitting around a table with Cokes.
Grandma is sitting on the stoop with Maria smoking a cigarette when I get home. She nods to me and Maria tussles my hair. Such a cute boy you have, she says.
-Why are you late from school? Grandma looks old. She wears bright colors and bright eyeliner and lipstick and black spandex pants. Everyday. Maybe it’s her age, or maybe it’s her daily pack of smokes that have separated her skin from her bones. I tell her I’m not late, and she tells me to sit with her and Maria. She takes a puff of her cigarette and blows the smoke up out the corner of her mouth, making an ugly face.
-This neighborhood is changing, she says. I remember when I was a girl here this whole block was doctors. That house was a doctor, that house was a doctor, that house was a dentist, she points down the row, and that house was a doctor. Now I don’t know anyone here.
-Mmmhmm, Maria remembers.
-Mmmhmm. Uncle Ben and Uncle Nick used to take me out shopping every Saturday. They said I could buy whatever I wanted. She waves to Miss Butterfield walking by. How are ya? I sneak inside and run upstairs to my room.
The next day at school Charlie and Jimmie are talking about Antonio’s. The scar on his face is from a knife fight. You should’ a seen the other guy. They are impressed by their story. Once I followed them home after some older kids beat them up, and they cried to their mom. She held them like they were babies. I felt sorry for them, but it hurt the next day when they hit me with sticks. Take care, comb your hair, Charlie yelled after me while I was running away. I wanted to punch him in his stupid mouth.
On Wednesdays the twins get picked up by their dad. I take my time packing my bag when the bell rings. The classroom files out quickly, but Cindy lingers at the door with questioning eyes. Her friend told me she likes me.
I blow past Cindy. Down a flight of stairs. I count 12 of them. Out the double doors where a streak of sun hits my eyes and cuts across my face. Fall air feels good, except when you run too fast and get a headache. Steady pace, I remind myself.
Antonio’s doors are closed today. I can tell from a block away. And when the doors are closed, they are always locked. Disappointment and relief dumb me over and I walk past. Wait. I knew I heard someone coming out! Without a second thought I slip inside.
It’s dark and cool. The waiters are chatting at their table while Mark spreads flour over the counter. The place isn’t the same when I’m here with Ben’s family. Unsure of what to do, I walk to a wall and look at the pictures hung there. Frank Sinatra. Sicily. This is stupid. I have to do something, and if it’s to run out the door, I can never come back. Instead of taking a deep breath, I turn around and walk straight up to Mark.
-What do you want, kid? He’s working on a piece of dough and doesn’t look up at me.
I don’t say anything.
He stops his work and raises his eyes. The scar is there, on his cheek bone, but it isn’t threatening.
-A Coke.
His reply is short of a laugh, but he gets me the Coke.
-How much?
-A dollar. He’s back to work.
I put five quarters on the counter and tell him to keep the change. He makes that snorting sound again and rocks is head back and forth. Things move slowly between us, like time is partial to the people here where it doesn’t give a lick for anyone else. I concentrate on keeping up.
Mark slides the pile of quarters back to me.
I don’t make a move.
-If you’re just going to stand there, he says, you might sweep the floor.
Mark turns the oven on at two and throws a pie in half an hour later. It’s for the staff. At five till three you can smell it from Miss Avery’s classroom. Jimmie and Charlie have their desks cleared by then. They look at each other and nod like they’re in on something too cool for words. Sometimes Charlie makes a face at me before he and his brother bolt. Jimmie isn’t so mean, but he isn’t so nice either.
I stuff my papers in my bag and run down to Antonio’s after the bell rings. The doors are open even though the restaurant isn’t, indifferent to the riffraff that might run in off the streets. I stand at the length of one of the doors to look in without being seen. The twins are at the counter.
-Yeah, Charlie and his brother say in unison. They don’t have the swagger like when they’re bragging about their uncle in the mafia.
-You being good to your old woman? Mark is spreading flour over the counter.
-Yeah, they say in unison again, like little puppies in matching jumpsuits.
-All right. Scram kids.
The twins make a v-line for the door, and I step behind one side praying they go to the other. They do, hitting the gas and rounding the corner in gay anticipation. I peer in the place again. Mark is pulling dough out, and three waiters are sitting around a table with Cokes.
Grandma is sitting on the stoop with Maria smoking a cigarette when I get home. She nods to me and Maria tussles my hair. Such a cute boy you have, she says.
-Why are you late from school? Grandma looks old. She wears bright colors and bright eyeliner and lipstick and black spandex pants. Everyday. Maybe it’s her age, or maybe it’s her daily pack of smokes that have separated her skin from her bones. I tell her I’m not late, and she tells me to sit with her and Maria. She takes a puff of her cigarette and blows the smoke up out the corner of her mouth, making an ugly face.
-This neighborhood is changing, she says. I remember when I was a girl here this whole block was doctors. That house was a doctor, that house was a doctor, that house was a dentist, she points down the row, and that house was a doctor. Now I don’t know anyone here.
-Mmmhmm, Maria remembers.
-Mmmhmm. Uncle Ben and Uncle Nick used to take me out shopping every Saturday. They said I could buy whatever I wanted. She waves to Miss Butterfield walking by. How are ya? I sneak inside and run upstairs to my room.
The next day at school Charlie and Jimmie are talking about Antonio’s. The scar on his face is from a knife fight. You should’ a seen the other guy. They are impressed by their story. Once I followed them home after some older kids beat them up, and they cried to their mom. She held them like they were babies. I felt sorry for them, but it hurt the next day when they hit me with sticks. Take care, comb your hair, Charlie yelled after me while I was running away. I wanted to punch him in his stupid mouth.
On Wednesdays the twins get picked up by their dad. I take my time packing my bag when the bell rings. The classroom files out quickly, but Cindy lingers at the door with questioning eyes. Her friend told me she likes me.
I blow past Cindy. Down a flight of stairs. I count 12 of them. Out the double doors where a streak of sun hits my eyes and cuts across my face. Fall air feels good, except when you run too fast and get a headache. Steady pace, I remind myself.
Antonio’s doors are closed today. I can tell from a block away. And when the doors are closed, they are always locked. Disappointment and relief dumb me over and I walk past. Wait. I knew I heard someone coming out! Without a second thought I slip inside.
It’s dark and cool. The waiters are chatting at their table while Mark spreads flour over the counter. The place isn’t the same when I’m here with Ben’s family. Unsure of what to do, I walk to a wall and look at the pictures hung there. Frank Sinatra. Sicily. This is stupid. I have to do something, and if it’s to run out the door, I can never come back. Instead of taking a deep breath, I turn around and walk straight up to Mark.
-What do you want, kid? He’s working on a piece of dough and doesn’t look up at me.
I don’t say anything.
He stops his work and raises his eyes. The scar is there, on his cheek bone, but it isn’t threatening.
-A Coke.
His reply is short of a laugh, but he gets me the Coke.
-How much?
-A dollar. He’s back to work.
I put five quarters on the counter and tell him to keep the change. He makes that snorting sound again and rocks is head back and forth. Things move slowly between us, like time is partial to the people here where it doesn’t give a lick for anyone else. I concentrate on keeping up.
Mark slides the pile of quarters back to me.
I don’t make a move.
-If you’re just going to stand there, he says, you might sweep the floor.
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