'74 & Sunny (22 page)

After my mother told Ro to wash her hair in the sink, Gino explained to me how easy it was—“Practically a snap,” he said—to use soda cans instead of curlers. With my mother's hair finally set, Gino used Rosalie's wet hair to explain: “First you give a real good comb-out,” he said. “Then you part the hair in the middle and clip the sides out of the way.”

“Oh, Gino,” Lorraine said. “You sound like a real hairdresser in a fancy salon.”

“Oh my God . . .” I said.

“Then you start in the middle, from the top of the head to the back,” Gino continued, grabbing a Fresca can and wrapping her hair around it. Then he kept it in place with
a rubber band before he moved on to the next curl and can. “It's easy, A.J.” He giggled. “You could even do this. It's a lot easier than diving.” That got a good laugh from all the girls. And it got me to walk away, take a long, hot shower, and clear my head.

When I dried off and went back downstairs, I saw that the party in the kitchen had ended and a small group had assembled by the steps of the pool. On warm summer nights the best relief from the heat and humidity was taking a late dip in the pool with all the citronella candles lit and the light in the deep end perfectly illuminating the pool so that you could see all the dents our heels made in the mushy vinyl at the bottom. Before I pushed through the dining room screen door and dived into the pool, I hung back to watch what looked like a tender scene unfolding in the shallow end. Rosalie was on the steps of the pool. She was holding her son, my two-year old nephew, Jackie. He was fearless of the water and loved to walk to the third step, where the water was up higher than his diaper. I watched as Jackie cackled at his accomplishment and his chest heaved with excitement at the cool temperature of the water and the gentle splashes that shot up and rained down to rest on his curls.

Then my mother, even with a mountain of soda cans still on her head, looked so elegant as she softly swam up to Gino on the steps and pulled him in close against her favorite flower-patterned one-piece. If my father had a way of realigning the gravitational pull of the entire day if he raised his voice
to the right level, my mother's nuances and quiet encouragement could change your outlook on life in no time at all.

“How is my beautiful nephew?” she said softly into Gino's ear. “Thank you so much for my beauty parlor treatment. Oh . . . you spoiled me!”

Gino blushed a little as he pushed off to meet her at the foot of the steps. “Oh . . . you're welcome, Aunt Lilly. I was happy I could do that for you.”

“You know something? I saw your face on the first day you got here and your aunt Lilly could tell, I don't think you had any idea what the hell you were getting yourself into, did you?”

“Yeah. No,” Gino said. “I really didn't know. Especially after those first few days!”

“Well,” my mother went on, “those two can be real ball-breakers—my husband and my son. But they only wanted what was best for you, honey. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“But, listen to me, sometimes Frick and Frack are more bark than bite. I wish they wouldn't yell so loud and get so goddamn passionate about everything. I mean, my son thinks he's the policeman of the world! I know you know what I'm talking about.”

“Yeah,” Gino said. “I think I know what you mean.”

The two of them shared a laugh and floated across to the other side of the shallow end, closest to where I was standing—hiding behind the dining room's screen door.

“Well, you might have heard your mother and I getting a little loud the other day,” she said.

Gino cocked his head and leaned in a bit closer as my mother lowered her voice to a whisper.

“Let me tell you something, your mother and your father love you very, very much. You know that.”

“Umm-hmm,” Gino said, staring down at the water.

“But sometimes it's not so easy raising a young boy at different times in his life. You know your cousin A.J., he was a real friggin' project, let me tell you.”

“A.J. was, huh?” Gino laughed.

“Oh my God. Last year we didn't know if he'd finish the fifth grade,” she said. “He was a bundle of nerves, full of twitches and stomachaches, and we didn't know what the hell to do with him.”

“I didn't know anything about that,” Gino said, slightly smiling. “He acts like he's always together and everything.”

“Ha!” My mother laughed. “Your uncle Al and I were pulling our hair out—‘What are we gonna do with this kid?' ”

“What'd you do?”

“Well, we just asked for help, Gino,” she said. “We went to Aunt Mae, Arlene, Ro, Jack, NuNu, and Frankie, anyone we could think of. And little by little, with everybody pitching in here and there, we got him on his feet and past a very, very tough time for him.”

“What do you think was wrong with him?” Gino asked softly.

“Sometimes boys have a rough go of it, you know? It has to do with how old you are, who your friends are, if your family is listening to you. Don't you feel that way sometimes?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn't think A.J. got that way,” Gino said.

“Let me tell you, boy oh boy, was your cousin on the ropes! He didn't know if he was coming or going.”

“And he's better now?”

“I think so, yeah,” she said. “But it doesn't mean he won't need help down the road one day. Everybody needs a little help getting through life every now and then. And I think your mother and father brought you to us at the perfect time in all of our lives.”

“Yeah, Aunt Lil, that makes sense,” he said.

“Are you happy you're here, or are you ready to go home?”

“Well, I love being here. But I do miss seeing everybody at home,” Gino said. “I'm anxious to tell them how much fun I had. How I learned to clam and catch crabs and kill slugs and grab earthworms . . .”

I broke up the warm embrace my mother and Gino were sharing by sticking my head out the door and finishing his sentence. “But you still can't dive!”

“No,” Gino yelled to me. “I'm doing that too. Watch!”

He gently pushed his way past Rosalie and Jackie and bounced up the steps. Then he streaked past me on the white concrete slabs that separated the house from the pool before jumping onto the diving board in the deep end. He came to
a complete stop at the very edge and let out a nervous giggle. “A.J., I'm gonna do this,” he said defiantly.

“Then do it,” I said. “Just bend your knees, squeeze your ears, and lean forward.”

I remember I held my breath the exact moment I saw Gino do the same. But this time when he bent his body forward, there was no moment of panic or hesitation as he got into position. He shot the water a look of determination and began a slow push forward that meant as much to him as it did for me. I watched Gino slice into the still water and perfectly dive into the pool without so much as a splash as his body slipped underneath. I'm sure he could hear all our cheers eight feet down. It looked like a baptism of sorts, where he was washing away some of the summer's shame, the frustration, and especially the unknown. I always said being in water made that boy feel equal on some sort of other level.

17

SHINING STAR

A
t some point, I grabbed a calendar off the wall and started doing some math. I'm not sure if it was because I was keyed up that my first year of junior high school was approaching or disappointed that summer was coming to a close. It could have even been I was just plain curious about what the coming days would be like without Gino by my side. I flipped a few pages, did some quick math, and saw that Gino had been with us for almost an entire summer vacation. Labor Day was a week away, and I knew Uncle Larry was set to pick him up and whisk him back to Jersey that weekend. I was a little uneasy with that. There was no way around it: I was gonna miss having him around.

Normally, whenever a relative or close friend had spent any extended time with us, it was customary to throw some
sort of going-away dinner for them. Nothing too huge, mind you. But, in addition to the usual big dinners my mother cooked up, we always carved out time to make a cake or a big fat
pizza rustica
pie the day the person was leaving. I'm not sure when that started, but I don't remember a time when that didn't exist. Hell, we never needed any excuses to eat more food or have more fun around the table anyway. But then it was the Friday before the holiday and I hadn't heard a thing about anybody doing anything special for Gino's departure.

I quietly approached my mother while she was busy paying some bills at the kitchen table. That was always a delicate time because she never used a calculator and we never had enough money.

“Ma, what are you doing?”

“Bouncing checks left and right,” she said. “What's the matter?”

“Uncle Larry's coming to get Gino on Sunday, right?”

“No. He called. He's gotta work Sunday,” she said, licking her fingers to turn the pages of the checkbook. “So he's coming tomorrow.”

“
Tomorrow!”

“
Yeah, tomorrow morning,” she said. “What's the problem?”

“Well, it's just that Gino's been here, like, eighty days . . .”

“What'd you look at, a calendar?”

“No, really, Ma. It's about eighty days, give or take,” I explained. “Are we, uh, doing something for him?”

“What do you want me to do? We opened our door for your cousin for the whole summer. You want me to bake a cake too?”

“Well, yeah,” I said. “Some kind of big dinner or cake or something. You know, like we usually do.”

She sat up in her chair and spun the checkbook at me. “Here, look,” she said. “If a trip around the world cost five dollars, we wouldn't have enough money to get off the block!”

“Come on, Ma, I'm serious,” I said as she gave me a look. “Well, then, what are you making for dinner tonight?”

“Your father feels like tuna fish,” she said.

“
Tuna fish!
That's not even
cooking
. What's wrong?”

“If you don't want tuna fish, I got peppers and eggs,” she said, folding the checkbook closed. “We never eat meat on Fridays.”

“Can't we make an exception?” I begged. “Who the hell are we kidding? We're not even religious.”

“Watch your mouth,” she said, lighting a cigarette and walking out of the room. “Tuna or eggs. You'll live.”

It wasn't like my mother to be so matter-of-fact on the subject of dinner, but I said all I could on the matter. Outside of appealing to Lorraine and Ro, there was little I could do. I was more disappointed in what Gino would feel come dinnertime. Not that he was a huge eater or anything, but even he would know such simple dishes were not the norm for our family. Especially on the eve of his leaving. Still, I couldn't
resist running upstairs to our bedroom and pulling his attention away from PBS.

“For some reason, all we're having is tuna fish for dinner tonight,” I said.

“Okay,” Gino said.

“That's all,” I said. “No fish, no cutlets, no pasta, nothing.”

“That's fine. With me packing and all, I don't think I'm gonna have a huge appetite anyhow.”

“Did you know you were leaving
tomorrow
and not Sunday?”

“Yeah, my father has to work Sunday, so he called this morning and said he's coming tomorrow.” He went back to watching TV.

“And you're okay with that on such short notice?” I said.

“Yeah, I guess. What can I do about it?”

“
Jesus
, what's wrong with everybody?” I said.

It took up a big part of the day, but eventually I simmered down and tried my best to make Gino's final full day somewhat memorable. We spent the afternoon shooting baskets at the hoop before a dozen or so friends wandered over to play ball and say good-bye to Gino. That's the way it was growing up in a new development of homes back in the 1970s. I don't recall any summer day when I wasn't a part of ten to fifteen boys looking for some hell to raise. It wasn't like that for Gino back in Succasunna. And as the summer wore on, he became as spoiled as I was, literally acting bratty or disappointed whenever a dozen or so friends
didn't materialize within a half hour of us walking outside the front door.

“Don't look now,” he said, “but here comes Coogan.”

“Okay. Don't worry about anything, I'll handle it,” I said.

Gino wasn't sweating it too much, but he couldn't help but wonder why Coogan was headed for us with a smirk on his face after what went down in his foyer earlier that summer.

“You think he'll start anything?” he asked.

“After the scene my father made, he'd have to be out of his mind to even think about it.”

We braced ourselves for the worst, until it was clear that all Coogan wanted to do was fall back in good graces of us. “Hey, man,” he shouted from the sidewalk. “Lemme take a half-court shot.”

“You suck from out there,” I said as I rolled him the ball.

Gino and I followed the arc of his shot and watched it clank off the top of the backboard. “
Brick
,” I shouted as Gino laughed to himself.

“Big whoop, I hate basketball anyway,” Coogan said.

To Gino's credit, he ran to fetch the ball, and Coogan followed him before finally addressing him for the first time. “Hey, man, how much longer are you gonna be here?” he asked.

When Gino explained he was leaving the next day and that tonight was actually his final night, Coogan looked a bit depressed. “No shit? I was gonna invite you guys to go fishing for bluefish on our boat Sunday.”

“Really?” I said. “How does your dad feel about that?”

“It was his idea,” he said. And then his expression gave way to the real embarrassment he was feeling. “Dude,” he said to Gino. “It was my brothers' idea, that whole sidewalk thing. I didn't want any part of it. They're too scared to come by and apologize to your face. But I will for them.”

For some reason, I never felt comfortable watching a guilty party grovel and apologize for some dumb thing they had done. I felt my father's anger was enough to even the score. Listening to a heartfelt apology made me squirm.

“It's cool, Coogan,” I said, kind of cutting him off. “It's in the past. I didn't think that was something you dreamed up.”

And just when I was willing to let it go away, Gino spoke up. “Yeah, A.J. said he knew it had to be your dumb brothers anyway, because you probably know how to spell
queer
.”

That comment left me happily stunned, but it also melted Coogan into a bundle of awkward expressions and forced laughter. “Hey, you're okay with me, Gino,” he said. “Sorry you're leaving now that we're finally getting to know each other. But I'm sure we'll hang out more the next time you visit.”

“Yeah, he'll be coming more often from now on,” I said.

After a few minutes more of shooting hoops and playing several games of H-O-R-S-E, Pete D'Ascoli and Richie Tischler spilled out of Pete's garage and raced their new skateboards up and down my driveway.

“There they are . . . the Benza boys!” Peter hollered. “What are we doing today?”

Gino looked at me, a bit overwhelmed with his warm greeting. “I don't know,” I said. “What do you guys wanna do?”

“Well, I sure as hell don't think Gino wants to play kickball, do you, Gino?” Richie deadpanned.

“Yeah, um, no thanks.” Gino nervously laughed.

When the Rossitto family ran out of their house, looking to join in the fun, I felt it was necessary to tell everyone about Gino's sudden exit plan.

“This is Gino's last night,” I said out loud. “He leaves tomorrow morning. For good.”

“For good, like
forever
for good?” Pete said.

“No, man. Just for this summer. He starts school next week like we do,” I said.

Pete and Richie hopped off their boards and began throwing shadow punches at Gino's midsection. “Well, that sucks,” Pete said. “I was just getting used to you always being around.”

“Yeah, and I was starting to think maybe not everyone from New Jersey is a douche bag.” Richie laughed as he mocked pulling his junk out of his zipper. “You're cool with me,
WEE
-no.”

“It's Gi-NO, Richie
TIT
ler,” Gino said.

As the bunch of us laughed, Richie quickly folded up Gino's body and playfully pinned him to the grass. Maybe my cousin didn't know it at the time, but I remember thinking that's as close as he's ever going to get to those guys show
ing their love and respect toward him. However awkward and trying the past two and a half months had been, it was all melting away under the early-evening sun on my front yard.

Before the group of us could put together any kind of organized plans for a fun-filled last night, my father's car raced down the block and turned into the driveway as all us kids scattered to different parts of the porch.

“Hey, it's Uncle Al the kiddie's pal,” Richie shouted.

My father rolled out of his Mustang while tucking a conspicuous shopping bag under his left arm. He then called for Pete to pass him the basketball before tossing a one-handed hook shot right through the net from thirty feet away on the lawn.

“Up your ass from the grass,” he said, while marching into the house and kissing my mother in the foyer. A few seconds later, she appeared before the screen door and told Gino and me to get ready to wash up and have dinner with the family.

I said good-bye to the gang before turning to Gino. “Some friggin' dinner,” I said.

After we were done washing up, Gino and I went back to our room, where I gave him a little hand putting things away in his luggage. He was kind of quiet, even when I joked that I wanted to stash a
Playboy
magazine in his bag. But I did manage to tell him how happy I was to see him finally turn over a new leaf. “Yeah, I guess I did,” he said. “I know I tried to.”

He wasn't lying. When Gino's departure started to become a reality, he seemed to want to get involved with everything
around the house—he was happy helping my mother and sisters shop for food, giving my father a hand making pizza, helping me make more free throws, and even baiting his own fish hook with live bloodworms. He had come a long way from those earlier moments of the summer when he would rather veg out in front of the TV, hit the sack early, push food around his plate, or suffer long crying jags alone on the cold bathroom floor.

“Did you make all those changes because you realized you were gonna miss us once you left?” I asked.

Gino sat on the bed and took a breath. “I was definitely afraid to come here,” he admitted. “You always seemed comfortable with yourself. You're into sports, you're funny, and you're smart. I've always felt like a pudgy, awkward kid around you. But not toward the end of this summer.”

Gino's intelligence and sensitivity for a ten-year old amazed me at times. I felt like he was ready to be fucked with, so I said: “Sounds like you got the hots for me, cuz.”

“Oh God, no!” he screamed, and his laugh had never been more genuine.

We walked downstairs, I had Gino walk a glass of Scotch over to my father and we found our seats at the dining room table, along with Aunt Mary, Rosalie, Jack, NuNu, and Frankie. Little Jackie sat in a highchair between his mom and dad. We began bullshitting about this and that when my mother walked out of the kitchen carrying loaves of hot Italian bread and a giant bowl of tuna fish with mayonnaise and
chopped hard-boiled eggs. I put up a little protest before I ripped off a piece of bread and begrudgingly dumped a forkful of tuna on my plate. I took a bite and grimaced. My disgust was obvious to Lorraine, who couldn't help but hide a little laugh behind her hand.

“Stop it, A.J.,” my mother hissed. “Just eat.”

Despite Gino kicking my foot under the chair, I just couldn't keep my mouth shut.

“Am I the only one who's pissed off we're eating tuna fish?” I announced.