Breaking Brooklyn (9 page)

She was so beautiful. She had thick, black,
curly hair, and emerald green eyes. Her skin was smooth, with round
cheekbones that accentuated her soft, warm, smile. She was
absolutely breathtaking. All these years later the image of her at
ten is seared into my brain. I even remember what she was wearing.
Brooke made her simple dress with pink flowers look stunning. As
she walked up to the teacher in her white, open-toed flats, she
glided like a figure skater on ice. I was so fixated on her that I
saw no one else in the room.

I was abruptly brought back to Earth when the
teacher introduced me to the class. Color rushed up my neck and
into my face like a thermometer. I suddenly noticed all the kids in
the room staring at me from their wood topped desks with shiny
chrome legs. The chalkboard in front of the room had the alphabet
displayed across the top in bold colors.

Not being a shy kid, after I was introduced to
the class, during our bathroom break, I splashed some cold water on
my face. I walked over to the beautiful girl and introduced
myself.

"Hi, my name’s Jack. What is your
name?”

"I know your name,” Brooke giggled. “The
teacher just introduced you, silly." I was so nervous that my legs
were shaking.

“
I’m Brooke.” Her smile and soft
eyes pierced straight into my soul. I was in love. Yep, ten and in
love, or so I thought. Numb with excitement, I couldn't stop
thinking about her. I had never wanted something so badly in my
life.

"We need to know everything about this girl.
Like, what was her favorite color? Does she like boys? Has she ever
been kissed?" The little voice in my head began to
question.

My eagerness caused Brooke to slowly withdraw,
which broke my heart. But she tolerated me because I was
interesting and mysterious.

Being around Brooke was the only thing that
made me happy. She was my hope, the inspiration that kept me
getting up every morning.

I even remember riding my bike to the McNamara
flower shop at the back of our apartment complex to buy her a rose.
I had saved my lunch money so I could surprise her. Anonymously, I
slipped it into her mailbox.

When I saw Brooke the next day, she never
brought it up. Not knowing if she got my rose drove me crazy! So I
decided to sit down and write her a letter. I poured my heart out
with emotion, pulling words from my head I didn’t even know I knew.
I wrote out everything I wanted to say. It was pure
poetry.

The next morning before school I gave Brooke
the letter. She didn’t open it right away. I wanted her to open my
letter and read it as I watched from across the hall. I could
picture her soft face blush as she took in my words. Instead,
Brooke put the letter in the back pocket of her blue jeans. She
stood with her friends, laughing and enjoying the few moments they
had left before the school began rang. My anxiety grew with every
tick of the clock. The anticipation was killing me.

“
Jack, are you alright?” Ms.
Richardson asked as she tapped me on the shoulder.

Startled, I replied, “Oh yeah, it’s time for
our reading session.”

When the school bell rang I realized I was out
of time. Brooke still hadn’t opened the letter.

This next part of the story was told to me by
Brooke years after we were married. She explained that she hadn’t
realized what I had given her. When she finally pulled my letter
out of her pocket she opened it and began to read (“My dearest
Brooke…”). She couldn’t help but laugh because my letter was so
over the top. We were only ten years old. I was already talking
about marriage!

When Brooke’s friends heard her belly laughs
they wanted in on the joke. Like a good friend Brooke showed them
the letter. My love note was passed from kid to kid. The laughter
grew louder and louder in the classroom. Some of the kids even
started quoting me and acting it out.

“
Oh, Brooke, I love you! One day I
want to marry you and have a family! Hahahaha!”

When Mrs. Trident heard the commotion she
marched down the aisle, like a dope-sniffing dog to find out what
was going on.

“
Brooke, we don’t pass notes in
class, young lady. You should know better. Because it is obvious
you don’t, I’m going to post this note on the bulletin board for
all the kids to see. That should teach you a lesson!”

As you can imagine, I was mortified! The next
morning there were kids gathered at the main bulletin board reading
all about my feelings for Brooke. There was nothing I could do.
Kids pointed, laughed, and called me Romeo. I was so embarrassed.I
wished for the floor to open, dropping me into another
universe.

That’s when I felt Brooke’s eyes on me from
down the hall. When I looked up she flashed me a shy smile, making
everything instantly better. Later in life, she told me that she
found it very attractive that I was so crazy about her.

Cindy

Chapter Eight

“Children begin by loving their
parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive
them.”
~
Oscar Wilde

Cindy Napier’s Diary

November 14, 1987

Jack is 8 years old now and I'm struggling to
keep him from running wild. I work at the Knights of Columbus as a
cocktail waitress and Jack is home alone. My mother has offered to
keep Jack, but I'm not about to let her dig her claws in him. He's
my son, not hers.

I'm very upset that my father cannot stay
sober enough to watch him for a few hours at night. He says he
loves me, but I can never rely on him. All he does is drink now
that he’s unemployed. When his friends come over he gets so drunk
he asks me to flash my tits for them. I only do it to shut him up.
What kind of father does that? His friends are starting to notice.
I overheard one of them say, "I think Bob's got a thing for his
daughter." If they only knew.

My father hasn’t paid the rent in months. Now,
the landlord is threatening to evict us. I don’t know what we are
going to do.

November 20, 1987

Jack brought home a live turkey the other day
and was storing it in our basement without telling me. I know this
because I found the damn thing at 6 am when it started gobbling.
The sound was so loud! When I woke I had a wicked hangover. I’m
pretty sure my father did too. Actually, I’m surprised he made it
home from the Alley Cat last night.

At first we had no idea what was making the
noise. Then my father looked in the basement and sure enough there
it was, a full sized turkey in a cage. Jack ran downstairs claiming
he won it in some kind of art contest. That kid sure has a wild
imagination! I have no idea where he got such a pet, but it’s not
the first time he has brought home a stray. Although, a turkey is a
new one for me.

Jack gets so attached to his stray pets it
makes it hard for me to get rid of them. I'm struggling to take
care of him, let alone a bunch of wild animals.

March 1, 1988

Jack really did it this time. He befriended a
stray cat that's been hanging around the back door. He named him
Tom, probably after the cat in the cartoon “Tom & Jerry”.
Jack's been feeding and giving it milk every day. I even caught the
damn thing in bed with him. When I threw the Tom out the back door
Jack begged and pleaded with me to let him keep him.

He was so sincere and those little tear-soaked
blue eyes tugged at my heart. I agreed to let him keep feeding the
cat as long as he didn't bring him into the house anymore. This
arrangement was working well until the Tom came up missing. Jack
was beside himself. He was starting to panic. I didn’t understand
it, but I truly felt bad for him. He was clearly in love with
Tom.

Then one morning two police officers stopped
by to question me about a stolen cat. When I went up to Jack’s room
to ask him about it, Tom was in bed with him. I was
furious!

Then all hell broke loose. Molly, one of the
neighbors, accused Jack of breaking into her apartment and stealing
her cat. First of all, the cat was a stray and not hers. But Jack
did open her window and take it back. I know he didn't know what he
was doing, but it was still considered breaking and entering. When
the police questioned my father things went from bad to worse. Next
thing you know, Child Protective Services was taking Jack into
custody. I wanted to fight it but we are on our way to being
evicted anyway. I’m not about to let my mother take him. So Jack
going to a foster home is not such a bad thing. This will give me
time to figure out how to pay the rent. Maybe I can even get a
roommate now.

Chapter Nine

“Until one has loved an animal a
part of one's soul remains unawakened.”
~Anatole France

Jack Napier - Day 20

As a child I held little trust for adults -
kids either, for that matter. I found the most loyal and honest
friends to be animals. So I brought home a lot of stray
pets.

Tom was my first cat. He was a black and white
billicat that had mostly white fur, dotted with irregular black
spots. There was even one on his neck that resembled a bow tie.
Combined with the big spot on his back, he looked like he was
wearing a tuxedo. I thought that was so cool.

Tom was always looking for a little kindness,
a handout, a bit of food he could pull out of the garbage. The
night I found him I snuck him into my room so he could sleep with
me. When my mom found out she tossed him out the back
door.

I could relate to his lonely howling as my
mother shut the door, abandoning him into the lonely darkness. Tom
craved affection and so did I. My furry friend loved to sit on my
lap purring as I tickled the black spot on his tiny head. Hearing
him purr, I felt a ray of heat fill my chest. We spent hours
sitting on the side of the railroad bank looking up at the stars.
Though I was an outgoing kid, I was very much a loner. Tom was my
only real friend at the time.

My mom had no problem with me adopting a
neighborhood cat as long as I didn’t bring him into the house. I
could live with that rule for a while. I fed Tom Star-Kist tuna
from a small can and poured him a bowl of milk every morning. The
more I fed him, the more he came around. I loved seeing his eager
little face in the morning when he walked into our yard. I knew he
was looking for me, and that made me feel loved. I guess it was a
bond between two loners. He needed me and I needed him.

I liked all the neighbors with the exception
of one person, Molly Baker. Molly was the same age as my mother and
carried a thick black book that was bound by worn leather. She
would read from it out loud to herself as she walked through the
neighborhood at night. Molly had frizzy black hair the color of
charcoal with a large, irregular mole on her nose. Draped in black
clothes she resembled the wicked witch of the west. Being eleven
years old, I truly believed she was casting spells as she read out
loud from her book.

Molly was not fond of me. I could never figure
out why. I think she was envious of my popularity in our small
apartment complex. She would intently watch everything from her
apartment window where I suspect she kept a diary, recording
everyone’s actions. How else would she have known our business so
well? It was rumored that Molly (a widow) was never able to have
children. I imagine that’s why she was so bitter.

One day Tom didn’t show up for his usual meal
of tuna and milk. I waited, and waited, getting more and more
worried. Something felt very wrong to me. Desperate to find my
friend I took off looking for him. I searched all over town,
checking everywhere we had ever been. I couldn’t find him anywhere!
Thoughts of Jim entered my mind. I couldn’t stand to lose another
friend.

After a week of searching I was starting to
wonder if Tom got hit by a train or a car. Maybe he had been
attacked by a dog and was lying in some alley suffering. These
thoughts kept me awake at night. I couldn’t concentrate in school,
and I didn’t feel hungry at all. I kept looking with more intensity
and determination than ever, but still, no Tom.

Then, on my way home from school one day, I
happened to hear a scratching noise as I passed one of the
apartment buildings that sat in the very back of our complex. My
heart filled with excitement when I saw my long lost friend. Tom
was just as excited to see me, scratching at the window like he was
trying to open it. I checked to see if it was unlocked, and to my
surprise it was. I opened it and let my friend out. We made a quick
getaway. When I got Tom home I snuck him into my room. I held him
tight all night.