Then Again, Maybe I Won't

  Mrs. Buttfield is a present from my mother to Angie. My mother wants Angie to rest and not have to get up at night with the baby. Privately, I renamed the nurse The Butt. She looks about eighty and I know she doesn’t want anybody hanging around.

  Ralph pranced through the apartment with a big box of cigars. He even offered one to me.

  “Go on Kid, take it. You’re an uncle now.”

  “What are you, crazy?” my mother yelled at Ralph. “He’s thirteen years old. A cigar! You want him to wind up in the hospital?”

  My mother didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t about to smoke one. Cigars stink!

  All afternoon I kept thinking, I could be home playing basketball instead of wasting my time in a stuffy apartment in Queens. It’s really funny, the way everyone is so excited about a baby that looks like a plucked chicken. Maybe Vicki will get better looking. Then again, maybe she won’t. Maybe she will always look like that. I feel sorry for her. But why should I worry? She’s not my kid. Right?

  When we got ready to go home I told Ralph and Angie that Vicki is really neat and very pretty too. That’s what everyone else was saying so I decided to be polite about the whole thing. Sometimes it’s better to tell a little lie than to tell the truth and have everybody hate you.

  When Angie said goodbye she called me Uncle Tony and she kissed my cheek. I only let her because she just had a baby.

  The next Sunday, when Mom and Pop got ready to go to Queens I said, “I’m staying with Joel this afternoon. We might go to the movies.”

  But the Sunday after that when I tried the same thing Mom asked, “How do you think Ralph and Angie feel that you don’t want to see Vicki? Very bad, I’ll tell you that. And you’re her only uncle too.”

  “Oh … all right. I’ll go with you today.”

  When we got there The Butt wanted to check my hands before I even saw the baby. Clean hands and runny noses are the big things in Mrs. Buttfield’s life. I was about to tell her I wasn’t interested in touching Vicki and that I was only looking to be polite.

  But Ralph said he’d had enough of her and her inspections. So The Butt packed her bags and left. This made Angie cry for a long time and say she didn’t know how she was going to manage all by herself.

  A week later my mother started the maid business at home.

  “I can’t run this big house with no help, Vic. I want to enjoy my granddaughter. I don’t want to be stuck here all day cleaning the place.”

  My father was behind his newspaper and I couldn’t tell if he was really listening until he said, “So get some help, Carmella.” He spoke without taking his cigar out of his mouth.

  “You mean it, Vic?” my mother asked.

  “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, would I?”

  The next day my mother drove to an employment agency and came home with our first maid. She was from South America, her name was Gerta, and she spoke only Spanish. I thought about Millicent and wondered if Gerta would teach me to curse in Spanish.

  After five days my mother whispered to my father, “If I look at her wrong she cries. I think she’s very lonesome. I hope she’ll improve with experience.”

  My father said, “I’m sorry if she’s lonesome. But I can’t wear my shirts with wrinkles down the front.”

  “I can’t tell her, Vic. She’ll cry.”

  “Then I’ll tell her,” my father said.

  That was the end of Gerta.

  The next week my mother came home with Vera. She was from Haiti and spoke only French.

  My father said, “Why can’t you get one that talks Italian?”

  My mother said, “Oh Vic!”

  But after a few days my mother complained that Vera didn’t like to get up in the mornings and my father complained about the way the beds were made.

  That was the end of Vera.

  Pauline, LaBelle and Florie followed. Grandma took care of them. Even though she can’t talk she can just look at you and you know what she’s thinking. And she wasn’t thinking anything good about any of our maids.

  Then Maxine arrived. You could tell she was different right away. First, because she spoke English, and second, because she interviewed my mother instead of my mother interviewing her. When she saw me she said, “When I wash the floor nobody walks on it. That includes you. Understand?”

  My mother said, “Tony’s a good boy. You won’t have any trouble with him.”

  “He’ll stay out of my way?” Maxine asked.

  I thought, who’d want to get in your way?

  My mother put her arm around me. “Of course he’ll stay out of your way. Won’t you, Tony?”

  “Sure, sure,” I said. I wonder if she’ll try on my mother’s clothes, like Millicent. I don’t think so. She’s about a foot taller than my mother.

  “Well …” Maxine said, running her finger along the furniture, then inspecting it for dirt, “I’ll try it.”

  My mother sighed with relief and later she told us that Maxine has excellent references and we are going to do everything possible to keep her happy. This included all new towels for Maxine’s bathroom. In her favorite colors—purple and brown.

  On Maxine’s third day she told my mother that she had to be in charge of the kitchen. Not the old lady.

  My mother said, “Oh dear! I just don’t know about that.”

  Maxine tapped her foot at my mother.

  “You see,” my mother explained, “Mama’s always done all the cooking.”

  Maxine glared.

  My mother tried a nervous smile. “I suppose we could arrange something. I mean, why should Mama work so hard when she doesn’t have to?”

  I thought, Grandma’s going to be furious when she hears about this.

  She was furious all right. She stomped to her room, slammed the door and refused to come out. My mother banged on her door and called, “Please, Mama! You’ll take it easy for a change. You’ll enjoy it … I know you will. Just let me explain.”

  But Grandma wouldn’t open up. Maxine was in charge now and Grandma knew it. There are times when I’d like to throw something at my mother. How can she let Maxine boss her around? Doesn’t she care about Grandma? Can’t she see how she’s hurt her feelings?

  The next night my father brought home a color TV for Grandma’s room. Lately, my mother and father seem to think that presents can fix everything. And if you ask me, they think more about Maxine than they do about Grandma.

  Every night during dinner my father says, “Delicious, Maxine!” Of course Maxine stands over him until he says it. After our meal my mother says, “Thank you very much, Maxine.” Like she’s doing us some kind of favor!

  When Grandma did the cooking nobody paid much attention to it. And it was better than Maxine’s, I’ll tell you that. Maybe not as fancy looking, but better tasting. Since Grandma won’t eat anything that Maxine cooks my mother fixes her meals separately. Usually Grandma gets a broiled lamb chop for supper—on a tray in her room. Grandma won’t come downstairs anymore. She never even goes to church.

  One night I walked into the kitchen while Maxine was cleaning up. I saw her throw away all the leftovers.

  “Well, Mr. Big Eyes,” Maxine said. “What do you want?”

  “How come you’re throwing all that food away?” I asked.

  “Who’s going to eat it, do you think?”

  I thought, in Jersey City we saved everything—including cold spaghetti! I made up my mind right then to study extra hard. The way my mother and father are throwing money around I figure there won’t be anything left by the time I’m ready for college. If I decide to go I’ll need a full scholarship!

  I bought a small chess set with some of my allowance. Not a fancy one like Joel’s, but the pieces are made of wood. I taught my father how to play.

  Pop’s not as tired out as he used to be. Business at the plant is okay and things are running smooth. Every night after supper we sit in the den and play a game. Pop says chess is good because it teaches yo
u how to solve problems. He likes it so much he keeps on playing even after I have to go up to my room to do my homework. He has a make-believe opponent he calls Sam. Pop moves the pieces for both of them. Sometimes I think he likes playing with Sam better than me.

  We were in the middle of a hot game one night when the doorbell rang. It was Father Pissaro the Second.

  “Vic!” my mother called. “Look who’s here.”

  Pop stood up. “Father … what a surprise!” He looked at my mother as if to say, Did you invite him without telling me?

  And my mother looked back at him with a don’t ask me expression on her face.

  So I said, “How come you came to see us, Father?”

  “Tony!” my mother said. “Where are your manners?”

  Father Pissaro the Second smiled at me. “That’s all right, Tony. I really came to see your grandmother. I’ve missed her.”

  My mother took a big breath. Then she smiled. “Oh Father … that’s very nice of you. Mama hasn’t been feeling too well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Father Pissaro said. “Do you think I could see her? I know she’ll want to make her confession. She never used to miss a week.”

  “Well, Father, that’s very thoughtful of you,” my mother said. “Would you give me a minute to run upstairs and tell Mama you’re here?”

  “Take your time, Mrs. Miglione,” Father Pissaro said.

  I wondered if Grandma would make a fuss. And how does she confess every week when she can’t talk? Does she write it all down or what?

  “How’s the Junior Youth Group going, Tony?” Father Pissaro asked.

  “I like it a lot,” I said. “Ted is really nice.”

  “How about a drink, Father?” Pop asked.

  “No thank you.”

  “Coffee, or tea?” my father said. “It’s no trouble.”

  “Thank you Mr. Miglione, but I really don’t want anything.”

  We looked at each other for a while and then my mother called from the top of the stairs. “You can come up now, Father. Mama would like to see you.”

  After she showed Father Pissaro to Grandma’s room, my mother came downstairs. “I hope Mama doesn’t tell him anything to embarrass us,” she whispered to my father.

  “She has a right to tell him whatever’s on her mind,” Pop answered.

  “But you know how stubborn Mama can be these days. She might tell him something just to get back at me.”

  “For what, Carmella? She’s not a prisoner here. She can come out of her room any time she feels like it.”

  “Shush …” my mother whispered. “Here he comes.”

  That didn’t take long, I thought. Did Grandma tell him any family secrets? I studied his face. But I couldn’t tell anything from his expression. It was the same as before. Still, I don’t think it would be easy to fool Father Pissaro the Second.

  After he left my mother ran up to Grandma’s room. She knocked and knocked but she couldn’t get in. Grandma had locked her door again.

  This morning, before I left for school, my mother said, “I think it’s pretty funny that a boy who won’t wear rubbers when it’s pouring out suddenly carries an old raincoat around with him every day.”

  “I like my raincoat,” I said. “It’s comfortable.” I wasn’t about to explain the real reason I took it to school.

  “You have a new jacket,” Mom said. “I’d like to see you wear it once or twice before it’s outgrown.”

  “Maybe I’ll wear the jacket tomorrow.”

  “Maybe you’ll wear it today!” Mom held the jacket and shook it at me. “Put it on, Tony, and leave that old raincoat home. It doesn’t look nice for school. Besides, it’s sunny out.”

  “Oh … okay.” If I made a big scene she might get suspicious.

  So I wore the new jacket to school and worried all day about what might happen. But nothing happened. Maybe it’s a question of mind over matter.

  One Friday in November, right after second period, I met Joel in the boys’ room. He was up on the sinks singing. “There was a girl in our town—her name was Nancy Brown …” When he saw me he yelled, “Hey Tony … watch this!” So I stood there and watched as Joel ran up the row of sinks, then down it. By that time he had quite an audience and of course nobody could wash his hands. I wished my mother could have seen the Angel. As Joel sang his voice cracked. Everybody cheered. When the second bell rang Joel jumped down from the sinks and went to his class.

  That day at lunch Joel was in front of me on line in the cafeteria. He still buys his milk and apple every day. Always the same routine. But this time I saw him take his apple, inspect it for bruises like usual, then stick it into his brown lunch bag. He only paid for his milk. I really got mad when I saw that.

  After five days of watching Joel do this I wanted to shout at the cashier, “Hey, this guy’s stealing apples!” I’d yank it out of his lunch bag and shove it in the cashier’s face. “You see,” I’d say. “You see how stupid you are—even if you are in ninth grade! He’s been doing it for a week—stealing an apple a day for a week—and you haven’t even noticed!”

  Then I figured the cashier would look up at me and say, “Please tell me what to do.” And I’d tell her in this deep voice, “Call the principal, stupid!” Then the principal would pat me on the back and tell me, “What we need is more young men like you, Mr. Miglione. Honest—brave—unafraid young men!”

  But Joel would never speak to me again. Marty Endo and Scott Gold would call me Snitch. So what did I do about the whole situation? Nothing! As usual.

  I paid the cashier and carried my tray of meatloaf and mashed potatoes to our regular table. I sat down between Joel and Marty Endo. As I began to eat I got an awful pain. Wow! It nearly doubled me over.

  “What’s the matter?” Joel asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I got a pain in my stomach.”

  “You want to go to the nurse?”

  “No, I think it’s going away.” After a few minutes it disappeared and I ate some of my lunch but I didn’t enjoy it.

  The pain came back that night after dinner and I went to my room to rest. That’s when I discovered I could see Lisa’s room from my room. I don’t know why I never thought of it before. I guess I’ve been so busy pulling down my shades to make sure she can’t see me it never entered my mind that I could see her. With all my lights turned off and with her lights turned on, I can see everything she’s doing. And what she was doing was getting undressed. I forgot about my pain and concentrated on my window.

  Then Again,

  Maybe I Won’t

  There was no school on Veterans Day. Just as we were finishing breakfast Grandma walked into the kitchen. She was dressed in black. All three of us stopped eating. This was the first time she’d come out of her room since Maxine started running things. Grandma handed my mother a note. First my mother read it to herself. Then she jumped up and hugged Grandma.

  “Oh Mama … you remembered!” My mother read us the note:

  I’m ready to go to the cemetery.

  I thought we wouldn’t go this year. Somehow I figured that we’ve changed so much since coming to Rosemont we’d be able to skip the cemetery deal. But no, we were going. We go every year on Veterans Day, to bring flowers to Vinnie’s grave. He’s buried in Perth Amboy, which wasn’t a bad trip from Jersey City.

  From Rosemont it takes forever. We were all squeezed into the car. Me, my mother and my father in the front. Grandma, Ralph, Angie and the baby in the back. My mother kept turning around to talk to Ralph and Angie.

  “If only Vinnie could see her. He’d be so proud! If only he knew he had such an adorable little niece.” My mother sniffled and I knew what was coming. Every year she devotes the whole day to talking and crying and saying if only about Vinnie. I always feel like an outsider on Veterans Day.

  On the way to Perth Amboy Angie had to feed the baby. Halfway through her bottle Vicki spit up. It landed on Ralph. So Ralph passed Vickie to Grandma while
Angie tried to clean off his jacket. After Vicki finished her bottle she started to cry. My mother said she must have gas. So Grandma passed Vicki to my mother in the front seat so she could try to burp her.

  When Vicki cries her face turns bright red and she looks like she’s going to explode. Finally Angie handed my mother a pacifier for Vicki to suck. I’m glad we don’t have a baby at home. Two hours in the car is enough.

  When we got to Perth Amboy my father tried to find the same florist as last year. My mother argued with him about that.

  “What’s the difference? One florist is as good as another.”

  But my father said, “I remember him. He was a nice guy. He went out of his way to be nice.”

  “So you’ll waste the whole day looking for him!” my mother snapped.

  This went on for twenty minutes. Finally my father found the florist he was looking for. We all got out of the car to stretch our legs. My mother and Angie talked on and on about what kind of flowers to buy this year. Grandma kept pointing to yellow chrysanthemums but my mother said they reminded her of football games and that she preferred something all white, in a graveyard container.

  We piled back into the car with me holding this huge arrangement of flowers. Last year it was only a third as big.

  When we got to the cemetery I carried the flowers to Vinnie’s grave and stuck the container into the ground. I stepped back and brushed off my hands. My mother bent down and sort of fluffed out the flowers. Then she cried. “Oh Vinnie … Vinnie … I miss you so much,” she said. She covered her face with her hands.

  Grandma kneeled and kissed the grave. She does that every year. It makes me feel awful. I hate it. Why can’t I feel the way they do? Why can’t I remember things about Vinnie and cry too? My father just stared at the grave and rocked back and forth on his feet. Angie held the baby close and whispered to her. She’s telling Vickie about Vinnie, I thought. About how he died for his country and all that. About how brave he was and how he understood everything my father did in the basement in Jersey City.