When I was all ready my mother inspected me. She even looked inside my ears and checked my fingernails about twenty times. I offered to take off my shoes and socks so she could look at my toenails too but she didn’t think that was very funny.
“You’ll remember to shake hands and say sir!” she reminded me.
“How could I forget that?” I asked.
“We drove into the city and met Mr. Fullerbach at his club. I expected him to be very big, with silver hair and powerful hands. But he turned out to be short and pudgy. My father is much taller and looks more like J. W. Fullerbach as I’d imagined him than J. W. Fullerbach really looks himself. Besides being three-quarters bald, Mr. Fullerbach has a twitch in his right eye. I tried to hide my surprise at his appearance. I shook hands and said, “I’m very happy to meet you, sir,” in best Rosemont style.
“So this is the youngest Miglione! Right, Vic?”
“That’s him, J. W.,” my father said.
“Well, Tony,” Mr. Fullerbach said. “Your father’s a very smart man. But you know that, don’t you?” He put an arm around my father’s shoulder. “Did you know since your father sold me the rights to his electrical cartridges we’ve moved up seventeen points on the market?”
I smiled.
“What do you think of that, Tony?” Mr. Fullerbach asked.
“It’s very good,” I said, “sir.”
“Yes, it’s good all right!” Mr. Fullerbach laughed. “Right, Vic?”
“Right, J. W.”
When we sat down to lunch I didn’t know what to order because the menu was all in French. But Mr. Fullerbach told the waiter to bring three steaks medium rare, so I didn’t have to worry. If you ask me my father was just as relieved as I was.
Mr. Fullerbach attacked his food. He washed every mouthful down with water. His glass was refilled four times just during the steak. We had vanilla ice cream for dessert. Mr. Fullerbach didn’t ask us if we wanted it, he just ordered. I’d have preferred chocolate chip mint, but I ate my vanilla. Mr. Fullerbach reached over and patted my hand. “Some day, Tony … some day I hope you’ll join the company too. After college of course.”
“Of course,” I said, “sir.”
“Yes, that will be nice. You’ll join us just like your brother Ralph.” He waved his spoon at me. “I haven’t got any sons of my own you know.”
Ralph! I thought. What’s he talking about? What does he mean about Ralph joining the company? That’s crazy! I couldn’t wait for lunch to be over. I wanted to be alone with my father. I wouldn’t dare come right out and ask about Ralph in front of Mr. Fullerbach. But after lunch they each smoked a whole cigar and had two brandies. I couldn’t even look at the brandy. Just the smell was enough to remind me of last week and Joel’s party. I excused myself and went to the men’s room.
Finally Mr. Fullerbach said goodbye and we thanked him for the delicious lunch and at last I was alone with my father on the expressway back to Rosemont.
“What did he mean about Ralph?” I asked.
“Ralph is going into the business.”
“How can he do that? He’s a teacher! What about his job?”
“Oh, he’ll finish out the school year and start over the summer.” My father never took his eyes off the road.
Why? Why? I wanted to scream. Ralph isn’t even scientific. Everybody knows that! I wanted to grab the steering wheel and pull up the emergency brake and stop the car with a huge jerk. I wanted to yell at my father, Go ahead and tell me the truth. Ralph’s selling out. SAY IT … SAY IT!
I managed to avoid Ralph for a month. I said I was too busy to go to Queens on Sundays—I had homework to do. When I heard Ralph was going to drop over I’d drop out—to the library, to Joel’s, to the movies.
Then I found out Ralph and Angie were looking for a house in Rosemont—that the apartment in Queens was getting crowded—that Vicki needed a room of her own. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get away with pretending my brother didn’t exist. The next time he came over I decided to stay home.
“Hi Kid,” Ralph said, trying to box me. “Longtime-no-see!”
“I’ve been busy,” I said, stepping away from him.
“Did you hear we’re looking for a house?” Ralph asked, picking up Vicki and holding her up to the ceiling.
“I heard.”
“Did you hear I’m going in with Pop?” Now he shook Vicki up and down trying to make her laugh.
“I heard.” Vicki didn’t laugh. She started to cry.
“Well, Kid … you don’t sound very glad.” Ralph put Vicki back in her infant seat. “You’ll be able to see us every day if you want to … like the old days!”
Who cares? I wanted to yell. Who cares about seeing you every day! I felt like grabbing Ralph and shaking him. I wanted to ask him where was The Wizard. To yell, Hey Ralph … you stink! You’re a sellout. You’ve gone soft—just like Mom—just like Pop—just like Angie!
Instead I said, “Excuse me please.” And I ran upstairs to the bathroom.
I had awful pains.
On my way up the stairs I heard Ralph ask, “What’s with the Kid?”
A year ago he wouldn’t have had to ask. He’d have known!
In the bathroom I considered leaving Rosemont to make my own way in the world. I could probably go to Jersey City and get my paper route back. But that was dumb! I’d never do it. It was just a thought. Anyway, I don’t want to live in Jersey City again.
When I calmed down enough to unlock the bathroom door I went down the hall to Grandma’s room. I haven’t been in there for at least two weeks. Sometimes I forget she even lives with us. I stood there for a while, thinking that me and Grandma have a lot in common. We’re both outsiders in our own home.
I knocked on the door and called, “Grandma.” When Grandma opened it and saw me she turned off her TV. Then she sat down in her chair and held her hands out to me. I went to her. I started to cry. I kneeled down and buried my head in her lap. She stroked my hair. For a minute I felt like a little kid again. Grandma used to hold me like that when I fell down or when I was scared.
Then Again,
Maybe I Won’t
It didn’t snow once in March. I was hoping it would. Joel got a toboggan for his birthday and he said the next time it snows we can try it out at the country club. Their golf course has plenty of hills. Now it looks like we’ll have to wait until next winter.
I keep remembering last March and all that rain. My mother sent my winter jacket to the cleaner early this year. She got me something new called an in-between coat to wear instead.
After school me and Joel, Marty Endo and Scott Gold started hanging out at The Bon Sweete Shop. If the weather is too bad for bikes we can walk. We always sit at the same table and always have the same waitress. She has this wild red hair and she chews gum. Her name is Bernice. She doesn’t like us—you can tell. But she has to wait on us just the same. She stands there with her hands on her hips, cracking her gum and asks, “What you kids gonna put away today?”
Usually we have milkshakes. Sometimes Marty Endo has a hamburger and a milkshake. He has this thing about hamburgers. I mean, he really loves them! First he smells the meat. Then when he’s done smelling it he eats it, making these little noises the whole time. He calls them his happy noises.
One reason Bernice doesn’t like us is we’re sloppy. Somebody always spills something on the floor. The other reason is the tip. Joel thought up this idea of leaving Bernice’s tip in the bottom of a milkshake glass. Every day we put it in a different glass, so she has to hunt for it. One day we didn’t have any change except pennies. So we chipped in ten pennies apiece and put them in the bottom of Joel’s chocolate milkshake glass which wasn’t quite empty. Bernice really hollered when she saw it. By that time we were paying the cashier and getting ready to leave.
Bernice ran over to us and grabbed me by the collar. She’s pretty big and I had to look way up to see her face.
“You lousy little kids! I oughta
tan your hides! I oughta …”
“Get your hands off my friend!” Joel said. “Or I’ll call the manager.” He sounded like he meant it—no fooling around.
Bernice growled, “You’d like that wouldn’t you! You’d like to see me get fired! What do you little rich kids know about earning a living? You think it’s funny to make me fish around for a few lousy pennies? Well, let me tell you something. I need that money. And there’s no place you can stick it that I won’t reach in to get it! Your crummy forty pennies buys me a loaf of bread. Did you ever think of that!”
All this time Bernice still had me by the collar and I thought I was going to strangle. But as soon as she finished her speech she let me go. We got out of The Bon Sweete Shop in a hurry.
After that we never sat at a table in Bernice’s section and we left our tip on the table—not in a milkshake glass. None of us ever mentioned the incident, but I know I thought about Bernice buying that bread with our pennies for a long time.
One afternoon I needed some notebook paper so I stopped into the corner store next to The Bon Sweete Shop. Joel was with me. I decided as long as I was in the store I needed a new ballpoint pen too. My old one leaks on my fingers and smudges a lot. The pens were displayed in a mug, practically in front of the cash register. While I was deciding what color pen to buy Joel picked two out of the mug and put them in his pocket. I think he took one ballpoint and one felt tip. They each cost 49¢. Joel didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at anybody. He just smiled his crooked smile and kind of hummed a little tune.
I was furious. I mean really furious! I wanted to punch Joel in the nose. I wanted to mess up his angel face—to see the blood ooze out of his nostrils and trickle down his chin. I wanted to look him in the eye and say, “I’ve had it with you, Joel! You stink! Who do you think you’re fooling? You think I’m afraid to tell the manager, don’t you! Well, I’m not!” Then I’d beckon with my finger and call, “Sir … sir …”
“Yes, young man?” the manager would say, running toward me. By that time I’d have Joel by the back of his collar the way Bernice had me that day. “I’ve caught one of those shoplifting kids, sir,” I’d say. “If you’ll check his pockets you’ll find two pens. A blue ballpoint and a black felt tip.” The manager would check and pull out the pens. Then he’d call the police. The police would arrest Joel and drag him off to the Juvenile Detention Center. My picture would make the front page of the Rosemont Weekly.
Soon after I would be beaten up in the boys’ room and left bleeding on the cold floor. My attackers would never be caught and I would live in fear forever.
When we left the store Joel was still smiling but I was doubled over with pain. I must have caused quite a commotion. I think I fell onto the sidewalk clutching my stomach and a lot of people gathered around me.
Joel was the one who phoned my mother from the corner store. My mother rushed me to Dr. Holland’s office. He admitted me to the North Shore Hospital.
* * *
I ended up in the children’s ward and was the second oldest person there. The oldest was a boy of fifteen who had his leg in traction and told me he’d be like that for two months and that he’d never ski again as long as he lived. He told me this from his bed across the room. At that time I was flat on my back being fed intravenously through a vein in my foot, which didn’t hurt but wasn’t exactly fun either.
Of course this wasn’t the first thing that happened. What I remember first is my mother bending over my hospital bed moaning, “Tony … Tony …” the way she says, “Vinnie … Vinnie …” on Veterans Day. So right away I figured I was dying.
The first two days my mother stayed with me all the time. Then Dr. Holland suggested she come only during regular visiting hours so the hospital routine wouldn’t be upset.
I have three doctors. Dr. Holland, who promised me I’m not going to die yet; a specialist named Dr. Riley, who’s in charge of my intestines; and a psychiatrist named Dr. Fogel, who says that I’m not crazy, because when I heard he was a shrink I thought I was. And I wasn’t the only one. My mother nearly had a fit.
She said, “There’s nothing wrong with Tony’s mind. He’s not crazy. And I don’t want any psychiatrist asking him a lot of questions. They’re the ones that make you crazy with their crazy questions.”
My father said, “Carmella, Dr. Fogel is going to help Tony with his problems.” He was much calmer than my mother.
“What problems? A thirteen-year-old boy doesn’t have any problems! These doctors just want your money, Vic. In Jersey City this would never have happened. He’s got some gas pains. That’s all.”
“Mom!” Ralph said. “You’re making matters worse by discussing this in front of Tony.”
My mother looked at me. “So now I’m crazy too!” She gave a funny laugh that sounded more like a hiccup. “Maybe I need Dr. Fogel,” she said.
“I like him,” I told her. “And I’m not crazy!”
“Of course you’re not,” my mother said. “What a thing to say. Don’t even think about it.” With that she got up off the foot of my bed and made a face at my father and brother like it was their fault I mentioned such a terrible thing.
I stayed in the hospital ten days. I slept an awful lot. Probably because they fed me so many pills. A lot of tests were done on me too. Sometimes they lasted all morning. I had to drink barium again. My insides were X-rayed. I had four separate blood tests—two from my arms and two from my fingers. I wasn’t allowed to eat anything but soft, mushy foods like boiled eggs and Jell-O.
Mom, Pop and Ralph came to see me every day. Angie came every other day. I received eleven pairs of pajamas. One pair from my Aunt Rose and Uncle Lou. One pair from my twin uncles and aunts. Two pairs from Mrs. Hoober. Two pairs from Angie and Ralph. Four pairs from my mother and one pair from Marty Endo and Scott Gold.
I got six books, four games and two bunches of flowers—one from my homeroom class with a card everybody signed—and one from my Youth Group. I also got a pair of knitted bedroom slippers from Grandma—they itched my feet. And a photo album from Maxine. Maybe she thought I could put my X-rays in it. Joel sent me a card and included a pen in the envelope. I think it was the felt tip one he stole. Corky wrote me a letter.
* * *
Dear Tony,
I am very sorry to hear that you’re sick. I hope you’ll be better soon. I really mean that. I miss you a lot. Homeroom isn’t any fun when you’re absent. I really mean that, even if you don’t care about me. Because even if you don’t I still care about you. And I mean, REALLY! Because I think you’re swell. And that’s the truth.
I hope when you get better you’ll come to a party I’m planning. I don’t know when it will be. Maybe not until the summer. But I’m planning it anyway. Except I wouldn’t even have it if you weren’t better or if you won’t come. Because I think you’re the nicest boy I know and that’s the truth. So please get well soon and I really mean that.
Love and things,
Corky
(Kathryn Thomas)
I didn’t tear up her letter. Maybe some day I’ll feel like reading it again.
The best visitor of all came on the sixth day—Lisa. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her walk in. First I thought she was there to see somebody else. But she came right over to my bed. She ruffled my hair and pulled up a chair.
She said, “Joel couldn’t come because he’s too young. You have to be at least fourteen. So I’m here in his place. He sent you this.…”
She handed me a brown bag and I took it. Inside was a paperback book full of clips and underlinings.
“He’s been working on it just for you.” Lisa smiled. “But I think you’d better hide it … maybe under your pillow or something.… Here, let me …” she said, bending over and slipping the book under my pillow. She was so close I could smell her. She smelled really nice … like spring.
Right then was the perfect time for me to tell Lisa that I love her. That I’ve been watching her since Thanksgiving. That
I’m really older than she thinks because I started school three years late since my real family are gypsies who roam the world. I was adopted by the Migliones who brought me to Rosemont. And even though we’re the same age (almost) I’ve had so much experience—much more than her—that we’d be perfect together. When I get out of the hospital we can run off and never be seen again. We’ll live on some deserted island and all we’ll wear is flowers.
I must have dozed off while I was thinking these things because when I woke up it was dark and Lisa was gone.
A few days later Dr. Holland told me that all my tests were fine and that my pains were functional, meaning not caused by anything physically wrong. He was turning me over to Dr. Fogel who could help me get well.
When I came home from the hospital it was spring vacation so I had the week off. On Tuesday I went to Dr. Fogel’s office. My mother didn’t come in with me. She dropped me off outside and said she’d be back in an hour.
I only saw Dr. Fogel once in the hospital, but he seemed pretty nice. And I wasn’t scared about my appointment because he told me when I come to his office we’ll just talk.
His nurse took my name and showed me in. Dr. Fogel was sitting behind his desk. “Hello Tony,” he said. I wondered if I was supposed to lie down on his couch. In the movies that’s what people do.
So I asked, “Where should I sit?”
He said, “Any place you’re comfortable.”
I chose the chair next to his desk and waited for him to start. He smiled at me.
“I’m glad I’m out of the hospital,” I said. “I don’t like being sick.”
“Nobody does,” Dr. Fogel said.
“Yeah … well, I really got mad at this guy I know because he took some pens from the store and he didn’t pay and I didn’t know what to do. And I’ll tell you something … it’s not the first time either. I mean, maybe I should report him. When I don’t know what to do I get sick sometimes.”