Sally Boy (23 page)

“This is good. I’ll get out here.” Sal
peeked at the fare meter. It read six dollars and ten cents.
Pulling out a roll of bills from his pocket, Sal handed the cabby a
ten dollar bill. “Keep the change, mister,” he said politely.

“Thank you, sir.”

Duffel bag in hand, Sal stepped out of the
cab and the vehicle pulled away. He stood in the middle of the
street for several moments savoring the feeling of being home and
reacquainting himself with the old neighborhood. Sal smiled as he
looked up-and-down the block. Boys played stickball in the street.
Young girls jumped rope, and played hopscotch along the busy
sidewalk. The familiar mouth-watering aromas of the restaurants and
bakeries were still present. Inhaling deeply, Sal relished the
bouquet of Italian cuisine. “It’s like nothing changed at all,” he
whispered to himself.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Sal
proceeded to the front entrance of his father’s apartment building
and climbed the steps to the third floor. Standing before his
father’s door, Sal remembered his contested departure several years
ago. Sal knocked and listened as footsteps approached the door. He
saw the knob turn, and the door slowly opened. The moment Peter
laid eyes on his son, his face lit up like fireworks on the fourth
of July. “Madonn da mi! Salvatore, is that really you?” Peter
shouted with elation.

“How you doing, Pop?” Sal smiled.

“Welcome home! God, I’ve missed you!” Peter
rushed his son and hugged him tightly.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“Come in! Come in!” Releasing Sal from his
bear hug, Peter ushered him inside. “Sit down, Salvatore,” Peter
insisted as he pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.

Setting his bag on the floor, Sal took a
seat. Excitedly, Peter hovered over him like an over-protective
grandmother. “You want something to eat? Something to drink? What?
What can I get for you?”

“I’m good to go, Pop. Why don’t you just sit
down?”

“You sure.”

“I’m sure. Just sit down. Okay?”

“Why didn’t you call me? I woulda picked you
up from the airport,” Peter asked as he sat down next to his
son.

“It’s okay. I took a cab.”

“So how’ve you been?”

“I’m okay. I’m doing pretty good.”

“You sure you’re okay, Salvatore?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask me that, Pop?” Sal
asked defensively.

“Your eyes...you look different to me.
That’s all.” Peter had seen this look before: in the hard stare of
the young soldiers he served with in World War II, and in the
chilling glare of his sociopathic Mob associates.

“I’m just tired. It was a long flight.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Forget I said anything.
You wanna take a nap or something?”

“I think maybe I will grab a little
sack-time. If that’s okay?”

“You know where your room is.”

“You sure you don’t mind, Pop?”

“I don’t mind. Why the fuck would I mind.
It’s your room. Actually, this works out pretty good. I gotta take
carea some things, anyways. It oughta take me couplea, two, three
hours. When I get back, I’ll heat up some manicottis and wake you.
Then we can eat, and catch up. Awright?”

“Manicottis?” Sal said, surprised.

“The old ladies...they still drop off food
and take carea things around here for me.”

“Okay, Pop. That sounds good.” Sal picked up
his bag and started down the hall toward his old bedroom.

“Salvatore, the sheets was just washed.
Everything’s clean. The old ladies, they took carea everything for
you. Awright?”

“Okay, Pop.”

“Salvatore?”

Sal stopped, “Yeah?”

“It’s really good to have you home.”

“Thanks Pop. It’s good to be home.”

Entering his room, Sal set his bag down on
the bed. He opened the duffel bag and dug through his belongings
until he found the framed picture that he had securely wrapped in
several t-shirts. The photograph that had crisscrossed the world
with him, kept him safe from harm and meant so much to him.
Unfurling it, Sal stared at the picture. “We’re home. Can you
believe we made it outta that place?” he whispered sweetly.

Carefully, he set the photo back on the
nightstand in the spot it had occupied for years while he was
growing up. Removing his uniform, Sal neatly laid it on a chair
next to his dresser. He got into bed and propped several pillows
under his head. After finding a comfortable position, Sal closed
his eyes and quickly drifted off into a deep sleep. Sal dreamt that
he was a little boy back in Sicily.

Young Salvatore played with his mother in
the front yard of his grandparents’ home. Marie chased after her
son, playfully teasing him in Italian. “I’m going to catch you,
Salvatore! I’m right behind you.”

Salvatore’s Mama and Papa sat on the porch
merrily laughing at their antics. Finally, Marie caught her son
from behind and threw her arms around him. Still locked in an
embrace, the two fell to the ground laughing. Marie tickled
Salvatore’s tummy and his adorable high-pitched giggle made Marie
laugh, too. As they lay in the tall grass, Marie gazed deeply into
her son’s eyes and said softly, “I love you very, very much,
Salvatore.”

“I love you too, Mommy.” Salvatore flashed a
mischievous smile and then he burst into laughter. Rising quickly,
he ran away from his mother. “You can’t catch me!” He taunted as he
raced across the yard.

“Oh yes, I can. I’m going to get you.” Once
again Marie chased after her son. “I’m right behind you, Salvatore.
I’m gonna get you.”

As Marie started to gain on him, Salvatore
made a beeline toward the outhouse. The moment the boy turned the
corner, his dream transformed him into a seventeen-year-old kid
fleeing for his life down a dark, damp Bronx alley. Mikey and
Anthony ran along with him from a group of shadowy figures. Looking
back over his shoulder, Mike yelled to his friends, “C’mon, hurry
up! They’re right behind us!”

As they reached the end of the alley, the
three boys found a ten-foot-high brick wall before them.
Frantically, they tried to scale it, but to no avail. There was no
escape and nowhere else to run. The mob of shadowy figures rushed
them, howling like wild banshees.

“We might as well fucking go out swinging,”
Mikey shouted fists up.

Panicked, Anthony ranted, “I’m gonna die?
Ain’t I, Sally Boy? I didn’t do nothing! Why do I gotta die? I
didn’t do nothing!”

“I can’t move my fucking arms! I can’t lift
my arms!” Sal cried out in frustration.

Seeing Sal struggling, Mikey yelled,
“Anthony, grab his fucking arm.”

Taking hold of Sal’s arms, the two strained
to raise them, but the limbs wouldn’t budge from his side. Mikey
could only shake his head. “I can’t fucking believe you, Sal. Just
when we needed you the most you won’t even try to help us.”

“I can’t lift my fucking arms,” Sal hollered
back, still fighting to raise them.

A strange peace suddenly came over Anthony’s
face. Turning to Sal, Anthony stated very understandingly, “That’s
awright, Sally Boy. I don’t blame you. You had to do what you had
to do. Right?”

Confused by his friend’s statement, Sal
screamed, “What the hell are you talking about?”

The hostile rabble came in fast and hard,
pinning the three boys up against the wall. Two large figures
seized Mikey’s arms, rendering him helpless. Another figure pulled
out a long knife and repeatedly stabbed Mike in his chest. Blood
shot from Mikey’s torso covering him and the ground.

“Mikey! Leave him alone! No!” Sal shouted in
horror.

Two other figures took Anthony and pushed
him face first up against the wall. A pistol was put to the back of
his head and a shot rang out. “Anthony, no!” Sal cried as he
watched in shock as his friends body fell to the ground.

The angry mob tossed Sal around like a rag
doll, beating and kicking him until he was almost unconscious. Then
inexplicably they stopped and collectively stepped back. Winded
from the scuffle, Sal stood breathing heavily. A shadowy figure
emerged from the crowd carrying a sawed-off shotgun and pointed the
weapon directly at Sal’s face. Intently, Sal stared at the trigger
finger. Clearly Sal could see blood rush from the digit as pressure
was slowly applied. As the finger tightened, Sal yelled,
“Noooo!”

“Salvatore, wake up! Wake up!” Peter shouted
as he shook his son.

Opening his eyes, Sal found his father
sitting on the edge of the bed, still clutching his shoulders. “You
awright?” Peter asked, sympathetically.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Sal wiped the sweat from
his brow.

“You was having a bad dream. That’s
all.”

“I know, Pop.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I...I don’t remember.”

“You hungry?” Peter asked, doubting his
son’s answer.

“Yeah.”

“Awright. Go wash up. I’ll put the food on
the table.”

“Okay, Pop.”

Sal staggered into the bathroom and splashed
some cold water on his face. Gazing up into the mirror, he softly
mumbled, “That was one fucked up dream.” After drying his face and
hands on a towel, Sal headed toward the kitchen. To his pleasant
surprise, the table was already set with piping hot manicotti,
fresh Italian bread, grated cheese, and two glasses of wine.

“Madonn! When did you become so civilized,
Pop?” Sal teased.

“I’ve been seeing this really classy broad
for a while now. Maybe something rubbed off.”

“You ain’t going soft on me?”

“That’ll be the fucking day. Sit down,
wiseguy.”

“That’s my, Pop,” Sal said, laughing.

Peter carefully spooned several manicottis
onto Sal’s plate and covered them with sauce. Placing two on his,
Peter added some sauce, grated some cheese onto the manicotti, and
they began to eat. “So what was it like for you over there,
Salvatore?”

“What do you mean, Pop?” Sal asked as he
grated cheese onto his food.

“What the fuck do you think I mean?”

“It was the same for everybody.”

“You didn’t answer my question,
Salvatore.”

“What do you want me to say?” Sal sipped his
wine. “It was a bad time for everybody.”

“Ain’t you gonna tell me nothing?”

“What could I tell you that you don’t
already know? You know what it was like.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“What about all the letters I sent you?
Didn’t you get ’em?”

“Yeah, but I never opened ’em, Salvatore. I
was still mad at you.”

“That’s okay, Pop. Don’t worry about
it.”

“So what do you wanna do? Now that you’re
home, I mean. You wanna stay here? I won’t mind if you wanna move
back in.”

“Maybe, for a little while, but I really
gotta find my own place.”

“I understand. But you know you can stay
here as long as you want, right?”

“I know, Pop. Thanks.”

“What about work? You wanna come to work
with me. I could talk to Don Bruno.”

“Ming! That’s a really nice offer. But I
think I’m gonna take it slow for a little while. You know, catch my
breath and figure out some things. I got some money saved up.”

“Your friend, Anthony DiGregorio, he’s
working for the Mirragios now. Did you know that?”

“Nah, I lost touch with everybody.”

“I don’t know what happened to the other
one.”

“You mean, Mikey?”

“Yeah, I ain’t seen him around lately.”

“I ain’t worried about him. Mikey could
always take carea himself. He’s probably doing better than all of
us.”

“What about clothes? I got some really nice
suits that just fell offa truck. If you want ’em, they’re
yours.”

“Thanks. It’ll be nice to wear something
besides green.”

Peter sipped his wine. “Salvatore, if you
need anything else, all you gotta do is ask. You know that,
right?”

Sal smiled, “I know.”

“Now let’s get down to the important stuff.
Tell me about the broads. What was they like over there? I bet they
was fucking beautiful, huh? I always had a thing for those Chinese
broads.”

“They wasn’t Chinese, Pop. They was
Vietnamese.”

“I know, jerk-off. I meant the Oriental
broads.”

Sal laughed, “It’s good to be home,
Pop.”

“Ah, shut the fuck up,” Peter remarked
playfully.

* * * * *

After an exhaustive search, Sal found a
furnished apartment on the East Side of the Bronx in the Bedford
section, not too far from his old Arthur Avenue neighborhood. The
apartment needed to be painted, and the carpets shampooed, but it
had potential. It had one bedroom, a small kitchen with a stove, a
bathroom with a tub, and a living room. After conferring with his
father and getting Peter to agree to help fix it up, Sal decided
this would be his new home. Less than one month after arriving home
from, Sal signed the lease agreement and moved in.

Once again the kindly Italian grandmother’s
played a part in Sal’s new life. They insisted on helping and they
did a wonderful job converting his apartment from a minimal shelter
to a very comfortable and attractive home. They shopped for the bed
linens, towels, curtains, and some quality pots and pans. They
filled his refrigerator with wholesome food and stocked the
cabinets with the common necessities for a functioning household.
To show his appreciation, Sal generously compensated the women for
their efforts and Peter couldn’t resist slipping them some extra
cash on the side. It wasn’t that Sal didn’t take care of them, it
was just Peter’s way.

Having selected the best shade to accent
each room, Peter managed to supervise the entire painting of the
apartment without ever picking up a brush. Talking much of the time
Sal worked, they tossed back a few drinks and reminisced about
Sal’s childhood. They laughed, recalling the antics he had pulled
along with the other neighborhood characters, especially Mikey and
Anthony. This time together allowed Peter and Sal to reconnect and
helped their relationship to blossom into one of mutual respect and
appreciation for one another.