Chapter 51
Ron smiled as he saw his students enter. Their disheveled youth amused him. He felt kindly towards them. “So, good morning. I hope the weekend was good but good or not it’s over and time to go back to work.” He paused. He stared at them. They gazed back, proud and young and waiting to be filled. “Your responses were good. Some of you have learned how to write. That was satisfying to see. The others of you who do not, catch up. This is an honors English class. If you don’t know how to write, I’ll help you to find a more suitable placement. Otherwise, get to work.”
He passed on their essays complete with comments. He said, “Take a moment. If you have trouble with my handwriting let me see it. I didn’t take time writing those comments because I wish them disregarded. Your grades will be a reflection of how you perform on tests. But your learning will be a conversation between the two of us. Please read my responses to your papers.”
He waited and watched. They read. His heart missed his girls and their shyness coupled with their sometimes brazen approach. These guys deserved his best. He didn’t intend to short change them. One by one, their heads raised and let him know that they had read what he’d written. He surveyed them. “Questions?”
Mark Simon said, “What does suspend disbelief mean?”
“It means that literature requires imagination and that if you keep what you think weighted down by the hard facts of life that you will find it much harder to dream.”
He let that sink in.
Paul Panini said, “I don’t think that too much of that is any good.”
Ron tried to absorb that. It was an unexpected comment. He liked that it surprised and challenged him His mind reached back. Something that Lashly had taught him. “Balance is everything, Paul. But one person’s balance is another’s tipping point.” The look on Paul’s face told Ron that he didn’t understand, but Ron did.
Edward Lang said, I didn’t find William Bradford boring. I thought that the poem was boring.” The poem that Ron read that first class went:
We The First People
I’m proud to belong to one of the original clans
Whose Ancestors occupied all of these lands
Before we were “found” by some wandering seaman
Who knew just where he was and we became “Indian”
Talk to me of our victories, and I will listen
Tell me about our history, a tear will glisten
Stories of how life use to be, bring a rueful smile
Drums and flutes will find me dreaming all the while
In order to “save” us, they killed us
Our peaceful cultures were “dangerous”
And they thought they could just ravage us
But by fighting back, we became “savages”
Call us lazy indeed – we’re not driven by their greed
To gather “materials” about them
But my question is
How did we exist
For hundreds of centuries without them?
— Unknown
Ron picked up the book and read it again. He knew now that poems were like songs. The more that you heard them, the deeper their effect would be. “Why does this bore you, Ed?”
“When you read it, it didn’t. When I read it, it did.”
Ron thought hard about that. He had the sense that the information was important, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. When the class ended, he walked down to the teachers’ lounge with it still on his mind.
His department chairman was Sam Felice. Sam was hunched over a book and eating an egg salad sandwich at 10:30 in the morning. Ron slid in across from him.
“Hi, Sam.”
Sam looked up and wiped his mouth. He had dark hair and glasses that had slipped down his nose. He pushed them back. “How’re things Ron?”
“Kid just stopped me with a question.”
Sam laughed. “You’re letting them ask questions already?”
Ron grinned. They’d had many conversations about teaching. Sam was serious about it and Ron respected him. “Yeah well, it’s my honors class. You get them next year. I figured that I’d get all their questions out.”
They shared a chuckle and Sam said, “What did he say?”
“He said the poem wasn’t boring when I read it but that it was when he did.”
Sam smiled. “Did you tell him that it was because he didn’t know how to read?”
That comment hit Ron hard. They knew words but they weren’t sure how to hear them. He nodded. “Thanks Sam.”
Ron drank coffee while Sam finished his sandwich. “How’s the football team?”
“We lost on Saturday.”
“I know,” said Sam. “But how does it look?”
“Like we are 0-1,” said Ron.
Chapter 51
There were two lunches at Jersey Catholic. The cafeteria was vast and crammed full of long lunch tables that were set in identical rows spanning both the length and width of the room. Once you were down, getting up was a navigation. Ron sat with Phillip from Our Lady of the Forlorn.
Phillip said, “Seniors are allowed to smoke at their table.”
“Really?” said Ron. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I forget,” said Phillip. “But if one of us gets caught at their table we’re in big trouble.”
“I got no reason to be over there,” said Ron.
“No, but good to know, isn’t it? I mean suppose one of them invited us over there just to laugh at us when we get in trouble?”
Phillip was right. Anything that they could figure out about the way that things really were could be helpful. It would be like that until they had things figured out.
To some extent, seniors were allowed to pick on the freshman. It was considered a rite of passage. The younger kids stayed away from them and the seniors were always on the lookout for some easy fun during lunch. They had gone through it. Now it was their turn to be in charge. They’d looked forward to this for three years.
“You going to play football, Phillip?”
“I’m gonna try. Tryouts are tomorrow.”
Phillip and Ron were about the same size. They had been the best two players when their friends lined up. They were never allowed on the same team and now they would be. “We’ll both make it,” said Ron.
“I don’t know. I heard there are a hundred guys who want to play and the team only carries forty.”
That rumor was true, but it was hard to tell what was true from what was just a story. They ate quickly. Looking around at the noisy throng of guys and in the distance seeing the cloud of smoke that hung over the senior table in the low ceilinged room. From the corner of his eye, Ron watched one of the seniors walk passed. His mouth dropped open. The guy looked like he shaved every day. Ron had never shaved but he wanted to. Phillip shaved about once every two weeks. Ron wondered if that meant that he was less of a man.
Ron got his books from his locker with a feeling that he had gotten through the first morning and could see the pattern. It was simple. Shut up, stay put and do your work. That message was loud and clear.
History was taught by the first lay teacher that Ron had seen. He was a slight man with thin hair and a redeeming hairline. He appeared to be in good shape. He smiled at them and said, “My name is Mr. Connor. This is World History.” He paused for a moment and looked over the class. “There sure are a lot of you. Take your jackets off fellas, it’s too hot for this.” He stopped and removed his own jacket across the back of his chair. His students did the same thing.
Connor peered out into the class. “Are any of my runners here?”
Everyone looked around. Ron hadn’t known that Connor was a coach. Two hands went into the air. One was the red haired kid who sat in back of Ron. He’d been one the kids who had to stand during Algebra. Ron thought I guess that’s how it goes. You can be a jerkoff in the morning and distinguished in the afternoon.
Connor spent the rest of the class talking to them about why he felt history as worth knowing. “The President’s knowledge of history probably saved us from annihilation during this Cuban thing. He knew that the Bear had more growl than bite.” Ron wasn’t sure who the Bear was but he did like the easy way that Connor seemed to be running his class. They didn’t take out their books until the end when he provided them with an assignment. It was five pages of reading. Ron flipped through the pages. There were more words to a page on these books then there had been in the books that they used in grammar school. He took that to mean that he was growing up. He flipped through the pages delighted when he saw pictures that took up large parts of the page.
There were two of his classmates standing at the door waiting for a teacher to arrive to start the next class. Brother Cecil looked down at them from the doorway.
Tim DeFalco said, “Brother, can I use the bathroom?”
Cecil had arrived early and some of the students still had their jackets off. Brother Cecil had a baritone voice that spread out from his mouth like a rumble. “What a wonderful greeting. I walk into the room and the first thing that is said to me is ‘can I urinate.’ He eyed DeFalco. “I surely hope that you have the capacity to urinate. What is your name?”
Tim face was now fire engine red. “Tim DeFalco, Brother.”
“Do you think that you can urinate, Mr. DeFalco?”
“I don’t know, Brother, but I need to.”
“The proper way to express yourself is to ask ‘may I use the rest room?’ Saying can I use it implies that perhaps you don’t know how. I assume that you know how, or am I incorrect?”
“No Brother.”
The class had gotten back into their jackets as they watched DeFalco suffer. Ron could see that his hand kept starting to reach for his penis to squeeze it and try to hold it back, but he kept checking himself and stopping. Brother Cecil saw it too. “Hurry up, DeFalco, but I’m not waiting for you.” Brother Cecil turned to the class and said, “Welcome to our study of Christianity.”
Ron couldn’t help it and began to laugh out loud. Brother Cecil shot him a harsh look and Ron attempted to stifle his laughter. But the sight of Tim resisting the urge to try to squeeze his penis shut combined with the enjoyment that Cecil took in the exchange had him laughing and he couldn’t stop. He bit his lip hard. Cecil was walking towards him. “May I ask exactly what was so funny?”
Ron couldn’t help it. “Sure you can,” he said and the giggles erupted again.
Brother Cecil rocked back on his heels and slapped Ron hard across his face. His giggles vanished into shock. Ron’s eyes widened as they looked up at him. “I hope that I’ve been able to help you,” said Brother Cecil.
Ron couldn’t resist the urge to bring his hands to his face. It wasn’t fury or fear that raged in him. His reaction was mixed. He’d stopped laughing. His face hurt. The rest of the class faded back in his mind. He floated for that instant. “Thank you, Brother,” he said and lowered his eyes.
Cecil smiled. “What is your name?”
“Ron Tuck.”
“Where are you from?”
“I live about three blocks from here.”
“Not the first time that you’ve had your face slapped then?”
“No Brother.”
“Let’s make it the last time that I have to do that.”
Brother Cecil continued with his introduction.
Chapter 52
After the JV game on Monday, the coaches gathered to watch the game film of the varsity’s loss. If The varsity played at home, the JV played away. Some players participated in both games. It was a lot to ask, but Ferry wanted to give them a taste of victory and although it wasn’t really a second chance, it could be something. Paul Pamenteri was the head JV coach. Artie was his assistant. Artie also had the advantage of being able to do fast and good tapings and acted as their trainer. Ron broke down the film with Ferry and the starters who were beyond playing in a JV game.
Ron had expected Steve to rail, but the coach silently let the film run through most of the first quarter. Then he stopped it. “Watch here,” he clicked it forward again. “See this? We run the hell out of this dive to both sides. Let’s make it even better.” He let the film run. The players were viewing it intently. They either liked or hated seeing themselves but it was never a neutral reaction. Ferry stopped it again for the pass plays to the flat. Ron felt a rush of pride. Those were plays that he’d suggested. Well almost. Ferry had asked him about the flats and he’s been correct.
“Those are the things that we can build on men. We can run and we have a quarterback who can play catch with a wide receiver. We also have a pretty tough defense.”
Ron thought Steve Ferry was masterful and his respect for him deepened. It had been the first game of the year. They had been outflanked by a new defense. Maybe it was new. For now, Steve was giving that the benefit of the doubt. Ron tried to absorb that.
“Let’s stretch and jog a couple of easy laps and call it a day, boys.”
They sat in the coaches’ room with two pizza boxes in front of them and watched the game film for the second time. This time Ferry stopped it after each play and dissected what he saw. Ron watched as he ran it forwards and then backwards…in slow motion. Each play was dissected. Ron took notes. So did Paul. Artie tried to stay awake and ate one entire pizza by himself.
“We did pretty well up front,” said Ferry. “But we aren’t all coming off the ball at the same time. Artie, see how the left side is just a half step behind?”
“I see it,” said Artie.
“Time for more sled work,” said Ferry.
Artie grinned. He loved to ride the seven man sled. And you could feel the slightest variation when the players didn’t fire out together and put a shoulder into it.
“Paul, watch the quarterback’s feet.”
Ferry ran the play again. They all watched the quarterback. “He’s taking extra steps. It’s slowing the play down and the running back has to hesitate before he gets the ball.”
“I didn’t see it on the field,” said Paul. “I see it now.”
“I didn’t see it on the field either.
Larry Viola did not join them for this film work. He sat in Brother Howard’s office explaining his idea. “I think that pre-game rallies would help our attendance. It would get people to the games earlier and the concessions would sell more. Our students would feel like they were more part of the team.”
Brother Howard puffed on his after dinner cigar and listened. He could see the benefits. “What about your scouting?”
“I can still get to the games and three of the teams that we play have their games on Friday nights, so that won’t be a problem.”
Brother Howard rubbed the ash off into his ashtray. “What did Steve say?”
“He said that I wasn’t a cheerleader. But I am Brother. I’m a cheerleader for this school and you know that.”
“I do,” said Brother Howard. “I’ll speak to Steve. Our next home game isn’t until a week from Saturday, so you’ll have time to put something together.”
Larry Viola preened. This was going to be fun. He thought about whether it was a good time to bring Artie up and decided that it wasn’t.
“If this works out the way that you think it will, there will be a little something extra
for you Larry.”
Viola smiled. “Thank you Brother, but you know that’s not why I’m doing it, don’t you?”
“Everybody has to live, Larry.”
Chapter 53
The day seemed to stretch on forever. Mr. Wisnewski was their English teacher. He was tall, slender and had dark brown hair. What was striking about his appearance was that he taught in a long black, cap and gown style robe that was zippered up tight and revealed only the knot of his tie and the white, starched collar of his shirt. He spoke in clipped tones. He did not allow them to remove their jackets
The clock did not seem to be moving. Ron’s mind wandered. Wisnewski did not seem to ever look at his students. He kept his eyes fixed at a point on the rear wall up over their heads. He didn’t smile or ask for questions. When it was finally over, Ron felt like cheering.
Out as his locker, he noticed that several of the guys were hanging their blazers in the locker. That seemed like a good idea. At least he wouldn’t have to wear the thing to and from school.
Ron went home that night, ate dinner with Marjorie and George. They asked the obligatory questions about how his first day was. He didn’t tell them that he had been slapped in the mouth. He wanted to forget that it had happened. Besides, he wasn’t a baby. He could take it.
After dinner, he read. He was lying on his bed with a transistor radio playing Surfer Girl. His door was closed to blot out the sound of the TV and their voices. His eyes felt heavy. Then he was asleep with his book still open and still dressed.
The next day felt like a copy of the first. It was just as hot. It was just as interminably long. Gym at the end of the day felt like freedom. His mind was focused on the tryouts. He wouldn’t even have to change and he would be right there.
The freshman coaches lined them up on the track which was in back of the school and had once been a parking lot. The Brothers had dug up the asphalt and planted grass. The lot was surrounded by a pointy tipped, ten foot high, iron fence.
Ron’s belly felt like it was fluttering. He wanted this so badly. The coaches showed them how to stretch out their legs and arms. There were five coaches watching. They were going to run sprints, four across. Two coaches were at the starting line and three were at the finish. When it was Ron’s turn, he was placed in the lane closest to the school. He looked at the other three guys who also looked nervous. Coach Jensen said, “Ready,” He paused and then said in a louder, more urgent voice, “Go!”
Ron ran. He tried to run faster than he had ever run before. People were watching. He felt himself pulling ahead. When he crossed the finish line, Coach Peters said, “Good job.”
A few minutes later they had him lined up with another group. At “Go!” he felt himself flying. His arms pumped. The heat of the boring day in a jacket was behind him and he was putting as much distance as he could between it and him. This time it was a tighter finish, but he was still first. He felt Coach Peters’ eyes on him and then Peters turned to the other two coaches. Peters pointed at Ron and called him over. “Can you go again?”
Ron almost shouted his reply. “Yes, Coach.” He trotted back to the starting point. Peters signaled to Jensen to put him right on the track. Ron ran as hard as he could. This time he was second, just behind a lanky kid who really could fly.
Coach Peters called Ron over. “What’s your name, son?”
“Ron Tuck, Sir.”
“Ron, you’ve got some size and speed and endurance.”
Ron blushed.
“Do you love football, son?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Do you know how to use those shoulders?” Ron was confused and didn’t know how to answer. The coach waited for a reply. Were they going to cut him already? He won the first two races. Did you have to win three to make the team?
“I’m asking if you know how to block and tackle Ron.”
A light lit up Ron’s face. He smiled. “Yes Sir.”
“Wait over there.” Connors pointed to a spot on the grass on the field. Ron trotted over and sat down. Soon there were three other boys sitting with him. They watched the rest of the sprints. Then the other boys were taken into a group with Coach Jensen and Connors walked over to them with Coach Timlin.
“Well boys, got a little surprise for you. The sophomore team is a little light this year and we’re moving you three up. Go with coach Timlin and we’ll get you suited up.”
Ron’s heart sang an aria. He watched as Coach Jensen sent some of the other boys home and then started a second round of sprints.
The locker room that the football team used smelled of sweat and sweat soaked clothes and equipment. The Varsity had already been practicing for a week. Ron was fitted with a helmet. Coach Timlin picked up from a pile of neatly stacked helmets. It was a hard plastic and had a facemask with two bars running horizontally from ear to ear and two short, vertical bars that connected them. It was much heavier that the helmets that he had tried on in sporting goods stores.
Timlin said, “How’s that feel?”
Ron was almost giddy. “Heavy.”
Timlin grinned. “You’ll get used to it.”
Next they moved to shoulder pads. Timlin fitted him like a tailor. When the pads were on, he raised both of his fists and slapped them down hard on Ron’s shoulders. Except for the pressure of the contact, Ron hadn’t felt a thing. They shared a grin. Hip pads, thigh pads, knee pads, pants and a jersey went quickly.
“Get dressed and let’s have a look at you,” said Timlin and walked off to start with the next kid.
Ron stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He loved what he saw. He was still standing there when Peters walked into the locker room with a fourth kid. Now he had a team.
Phillip and Ron went to their lockers together. “I don’t know why they picked me out,” said Ron.
“You’re big and you’re fast,” said Phillip.
“I wish they picked you too,” said Ron.
“I’m glad they didn’t pick me, Ronnie.”
“Why?”
“They guys they picked you to play with are older and bigger and faster, and they’re gonna make you pay.”
“I figured that,” said Ron.
Chapter 54
Mr. Tuck picked up the literature book and skimmed passed Bradford.
“So now we know what it was like to get here,” he said. “And what they found after they arrived. For the most part they had nothing to go back to and so no choice.” Ron thought about his girls at Our Lady of the Forlorn. They would have understood exactly what he was saying. But they had also moved on with their lives and he had done that too. He felt a pang.
“Ben Franklin is something else. He may very well have been the most accomplished man in the world by the time that he died. People don’t talk about him the way that they talk about De Vinci, but they should. He had a wider sphere of influence.”
He had their attention. He walked to the window side of the room and sat on the combination heater and counter that spanned the length of the room. “Let’s start with this,” Ron read, “Observe all men, thyself most.” He repeated it and looked out to them. “Five words, easy enough. What do you think?”
The class looked down and read it again. They looked up. Mr. Tuck was waiting. Teachers normally hated silence in their classrooms. It gave them the uneasy feeling that nothing was happening. Usually they could wait a teacher out.
Ron was silent. Then he read it again. “What do you think?”
“Ok,” said Mark Simon. “I get it. Be aware of the people around you and what they do, but pay closer attention to what you do.”
Ron smiled. “Why?”
Chris Fortuna said, “What you do is more important.”
Mr. Tuck smiled at Chris. “Because?”
“Because you do it,” said Chris.
“Seems simple right? But is it? Is Franklin hinting that we need to both be aware of our environment and how we interact within it, but that personal growth increases from self-knowledge? Did that idea also lead him to take part in the Revolution?” It was a simple concept but he wanted them to see it. Who you were and what you did should be the results of self-awareness. “Now,” said Ron. He picked up the book and read, “Fish and visitors stink after three days.”
The class laughed and Ron laughed with them. He knew that if he repeated this line that they would just laugh again. “What do you think this means?”
Bobby Taylor raised his hand. “Well I know that my mom won’t even cook fish in the house. Either she buys it already cooked or they cook it outside.”
Ron thought about that. He wondered why. “And what does that have to do with visitors?”
The class was quiet. Ron paced back and forth rolling chalk between his palms. It clicked against his ring.
Chris said, “After a few days, you get tired of having them around.”
Ron nodded. Now back in the 18th century, it had more practical meanings as well. No refrigeration and so it was important to eat things fresh. They also didn’t know a lot about hygiene, and so visitors would probably not have bathed. That is one of the things that made Franklin uniquely American and popular. There was both wisdom and practicality in what he said and wrote.”
Back in the teachers’ room Ron huddled with Sam. “I want to skip over some of this stuff and go more in depth with other pieces,” said Ron.
“It’s your class,” said Sam.
“Yeah, I’m just concerned about the finals. But I figure that I did a couple of Native American things I’ll do Jonathan Edwards Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, doing Franklin now, I’ll mix in some of Jefferson and Thomas Paine, but then I want to skip right to Poe and do a bunch of his things.”
Sam’s eyes got a little wider. “That’s a big skip, but I know why.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “The writing sucked and I’ll lose them.”
Father Tom Orecchio was sitting there listening to their conversation while he puffed his cigarette. There was something about Ron’s mannerisms and his patterns of speech that he found familiar. “Where you from, Ron?”
Ron looked up, surprised by the question and lit a cigarette. “Newark,” he said exhaling.
Orecchio smiled. “Whereabouts?”
“Broadway, Lincoln Avenue.” Then it dawned on him. “You from there?
“First Ward,” said Orecchio nodding.
Sam said, “So I guess the message here is to never let either of you get really pissed off at me.”
Tom Orecchio and Ron Tuck shared a grin. That was always the reaction from people who didn’t grow up there unless they grew up in Paterson or Jersey City. Father Orecchio said, “It’s not that we’re that tough, just that vicious.”
“Where’d you go to school Tom?” There was a slight pause. Ron had never called him Tom before, neither had anyone else.
“St. Rose’s grammar school, then Jersey Catholic.” He noticed a tension in Ron’s face.
Then Tuck said, “I went to Jersey Catholic too.” He added, “For a while.”
Chapter 55
The next day’s practice was hard. After classes, they changed into their uniforms, carried their cleats and walked the mile up to Branch Brook Park. It was a huge park, more than 360 acres big, and it skirted the border of Newark. Ron felt that the park was designed to keep Newark caged in. He walked up 2nd Avenue with the other players. The sophomores didn’t talk to the freshman that had been added to their team. They were embarrassed to have them there.
The team stretched and Ron smelled the freshly cut grass. When he lay on his back and did leg lifts, he stared up at the sky and felt like his helmet was a cocoon. He felt relaxed and yet tense at the same time.
Coach Connors said, “OK men listen up. You all know we have some new players. They didn’t ask to be here. We picked them because we thought they could help us. They are on the team and I expect them to be treated like everybody else.”
A large red headed kid named Allen muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Yeah, like shit.”
Connors heard the comment but didn’t respond. Ron tried not to laugh. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” Connors explained the drill. He lined the team up facing each other about ten yards apart. There were twenty-six of them. Thirteen on a side. “On my whistle, squad on my left runs like they have the ball. Squad on my right, you tackle them. The idea is to run straight ahead guys. Ron was on the left. He could do this. He felt determined. In front of him was Allen, who was bigger than Ron. For a second Ron felt fear. Then he tugged on his face mask and thought, fuck it.
He ran straight at Allen. The impact was not like anything that he’d ever felt before. He felt that he’d run into a car and then he left his feet and came down on his back with a thud that made his head spin. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still spinning. He heard Coach Connor’s whistle and his voice say, “Ok, pop up.”
Ron wasn’t sure that he could move but then he found himself on his feet wondering how he’d gotten there. Now it was his turn to deliver a blow and he couldn’t wait to wipe the smirk that he say on Allen’s face right off. The whistle blew. Allen ran with a galloping churn of his legs. Ron tried to aim himself at Allen’s waist but it was covered with his churning legs. He reacted by going low. He cracked into his knees and wrapped his arms around and hung on tight. He thought this is what it feels like to tackle a moose. Allen went down hard. Ron didn’t feel dizzy this time. He felt completely alive.
Coach Connors walked over to them. “That was two good hits men.” He looked right at Ron. “Do you know why you got creamed?”
Ron shook his head.
“You gave him too big a target. You let him get into you where you were soft. You need to run low and pump your knees higher.”
Ron nodded. He wasn’t sure that he could change the way that he ran, but he would try. At the whistle, he ran hunched and pumped his knees high. It felt like it slowed him down. He felt Allen grab at his ankles and he pumped harder and then fell flat on his face. There was grass sticking out of his facemask when he got up. He didn’t care. He wanted to smack into the moose again.
As they walked back to the school, every part of him ached. He was smiling. He stripped off his jersey and shoulder pads and sat in front of his locker. Allen and two of the other sophomores came over to four freshman and said, “You take your showers when we’re done.”
They waited together. One of the four had stripped naked and sat with a towel draped over his thighs. Ron felt the ache spread through him like ease. It took the edges away. He could relax. He didn’t mind waiting.
By the time they’d finished showering there were position assignments on the bulletin board. Ron was listed at linebacker and guard. He understood. He wouldn’t get to run with the ball anymore.
Having the ball in your hands or even touching it was so much more special in football than in any other sport. You held the ball. You squeezed it tight. You didn’t let go like your life depended on it. Ron walked the three blocks to his house. He’d have to be able to steal the ball.
Marjorie was waiting for him. She smiled when he came through the door. She didn’t tell him how hard it had been for her to get home from work and that Harry Tuck had detoured in order to make sure that she got there ok. She was working downtown in a clothing store now. She saw a chance at some advancement. She could sell. But the manager wanted her to learn credit and she saw him more than once leering at the fullness of her breasts and her behind. She didn’t mind.
She saw her son and the slight bruise on her chin and the way that he seemed to glow. “How was your day?”
Ron grinned. “I don’t know. I got knocked down a lot but I got up and I loved it.”
Marjorie said, “What about school?”
“I didn’t get into trouble,” said Ron.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s different there.”
“Why?”
Part of Ron wanted to tell her that they made you afraid to do anything but what they wanted you to do. He fought the urge to tell her. “I’m one of the little kids again,” said Ron.
Marjorie smiled and stroked her fingers lightly over the bruise. She rarely touched him. She preferred to look at him. She felt him pull back, like his father.
She took her hand away.
“Do you want to go for a ride?” she said.
“I’m supposed to read.”
“You can read later,” she said.
They drove north back to Broadway. She stopped the car in front of their old basement apartment in the five story building. Ron tried to look into the windows and see who lived there now. He wondered if those people were anything like he was.
Marjorie turned the corner and headed the car up Montclair Avenue. They parked in front of number 89. It was his Aunt Dottie’s building. She gave them iced tea that was fresh brewed. That told Ron that she had been expecting them. The ache was almost gone. He missed it. He realized that he was hungry when he saw the plate of homemade corned beef hash on his plate. He launched into it with gusto. The women ate more slowly and smiled as they watched him devour the food.
After dinner, they sat in the living room. Ron sat on the floor and tried not to touch anything. Dorothy sat in her fan backed chair. Marjorie sat on a couch with an enormous, white, goose-down cushion that would take an hour to re-fluff. The evening light hardly filtered in through the drapes and they turned on a lamp that had a Chinese design. He gazed at the centerpiece which was also Chinese and depicted a lone fisherman waiting for a fish that he would never catch, but eternally hopeful.
Dorothy said, “A man that works hard is an asset. It hurts when you can’t talk to him.”
“I know,” said Marjorie. “Sometimes when I talk to him, I wish that I hadn’t.”
Ron was silent and listened. He stared at the fisherman and felt wisdom in his gaze.
“Has he hit you?”
“No, but he’s punched things to avoid it.”
“That shows that he knows how to hold back,” said Dorothy.
“I don’t love him.”
“So what? You think I love the old fart that I’m married to?”
Aunt Dottie met Ron’s eyes and let him know that he wasn’t allowed to laugh. He’d wanted to and she knew it. But he couldn’t and her look was communicating that in the sternest terms. Ron held it in and it passed. Marjorie hadn’t seen it. She was absorbed in the thoughts of a loveless marriage.
“I have an idea,” said Marjorie.
Dorothy listened.
“I want to put him into so much debt that he can’t even think about gambling again.”
Dorothy was genuinely surprised. “How?”
“I want to buy a house and get out of Newark.”
Ron’s heart was beating very fast as he listened. He wanted to be on the island with that Chinese fisherman, and the dwarf tree and the moss and the water. He might as well be there as out of Newark.
Marjorie continued. “There’s trouble coming here. This isn’t going to be a good place to live anymore. I want to take you with me.”
At first Dorothy bristled and then she smiled. “We’re getting too old for keeping up with this.” She spread her arms upward to indicate the 22 apartments over her head.
He knew that something had happened and that his life was changing in some unexpected way, but he didn’t understand it. The light was soft but the air was heavy. He breathed in the scent of her carpet. Ron looked up and she was gazing back at him. How he loved her and everything that she was. If they could all live together, he could be happy.
Dorothy said, “That could be a long way off. A lot could happen between now and then.”
Marjorie nodded. “But that’s my goal.”
Ron’s eyes lifted to his mother. He could see determination and fear.
Chapter 56
The meeting between the Bombascos and The Bragos happened at Marjorie’s house. Harry Tuck was also invited. They sat around the table in the dining room. They were there to discuss numbers. Ron and Celeste were nervous. It was his first wedding and her third. Her parents had been here before and were embarrassed at the prospect of being here again. Marjorie had waited to be sitting at a table like this forever. But not with them.
George served drinks. Mario and Anna took Scotch on the rocks. George was shocked when Marjorie said that she would have some wine. Ron had what Marjorie did. Harry took Scotch straight up. Celeste had the wine. George fixed himself a Manhattan and sat down.
Marjorie tried to smile. She clasped her hands together on the table and said, “So they want to get married.”
There was nervous laughter around the table. Mario said, “God only knows why.”
Marjorie frowned. They should feel grateful at the chance of having her son who was making the biggest mistake of his life. “Yes, I’ve wondered why as well.”
Eyes were on Ron and Celeste now. They sat there looking down at the table and then Celeste spoke. “I didn’t expect to have your son come into my life. I’d lost hope that he was out there. But he’s here now and I can’t help but love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
Anna just closed her eyes. How had she raised such a fool to believe in true love at her age? “We don’t have a lot and we’d like to keep this small for obvious reasons.”
“What are they? said Marjorie.
The two women eyed each other and just when Ron wished for it, he thought he saw his Aunt Dottie come into the room. He blinked and squinted and she was gone. She would have known how to handle this. But she was dead and wasn’t coming in the door anymore.
“Celeste has been married before, twice.”
Marjorie’s face was grim. “My son hasn’t. Why should he have to pay for your daughter’s mistakes?”
“We’ve all paid for Celeste’s mistakes,” said Anna.
Celeste wished that she could shrink down to nothing and just disappear.
“We’re straying from the point,” said Harry. “Marjorie was married once before. I was married once before. We know that not all marriages work out. No one needs to pay. I thought we were here to discuss this wedding.”
Celeste smiled at Harry. Marjorie capitulated. Anna sulked but did not respond. In the back of her mind, she hoped that if she started a big enough fight that Ron and Celeste would call the whole thing off. Marjorie has been a willing participant and things would have escalated. But this Harry guy had thrown a pail of cold water on that and now she was stuck, but only for a moment. “I understand that you had the privilege of meeting my grand-daughter. Isn’t she beautiful?” said Anna.
“She’s cute,” said George.
Marjorie’s head snapped towards him. He never opened his mouth at the right time and he never, never said the right thing. “She alright,” said Marjorie.
Anna and Mario recoiled like they had been slapped in the face. Their Angel was being called ‘alright.’
“I think that she’s a very special little girl and so very smart,” said Ron.
Anna nodded. He’d better say that or she was getting up and walking right out of here this instant.
“We’d like to get married at the end of March,” said Ron. “I’ll have Easter vacation and so I won’t need to miss any time from work.”
Marjorie said, “Are you both really sure that this is what you want to do? I mean there is more involved here than just the two of you. There is a child to think about. And all the expenses that come along with her.” She turned to her son. “Where are you going to get the money to support a wife and child? A few years ago, you were taking cans out of our pantry so that you could eat in the summertime.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to want to disappear as he saw Anna and Mario exchange a look and both shake their heads.
Celeste started to say that she was going to get a job, but Harry spoke up first. “We were poor when we got married,” he said to Marjorie.
“That was different,” she said. “Everybody was poor then.”
That had been true of Mario and Anna too but they weren’t about to wash those dirty clothes in front of these people.
Marjorie stared at Harry and then said in a defeated voice, “I think we can give them $5000.”
Harry said, “I can do that too.”
Mario and Anna had decided on $2000 but Anna said, “We’ll help all we can, but we don’t have that kind of money. Maybe we can go $3000.”
Mario spoke before thinking. “I thought that we decided on $2000.”
Anna wanted to kick him in his shins until he bled. She hated that he never minded looking cheap.
George said, “I can also get all of the printing of invitations done for nothing.”
Marjorie smiled. He finally said something useful. She would make their wedding favors at her ceramics shop, but she wasn’t going to say that just then.
Ron and Celeste smiled at each other. They had a budget and an uneasy truce, but they had make progress.