Worlds Apart (17 page)

“The truth is we are not fully decorated. Actually, we are not decorated at all. We used to celebrate Christmas in a big way with a tree, and presents, and lots of decorations. But my mother passed away just before Christmas Eve, and we have not celebrated since.” I glanced downwards, and thought that I was probably coming across as a sad case. I did not want to give her that impression, and I immediately looked up and changed the topic.

“Look at the golden sculpture below, near the rink.” I pointed to the stunning gold statue and she smiled.

“That’s Prometheus, from Greek mythology. Do you remember what he is famous for?” she asked.

I laughed. “I am going to impress you with this one! Prometheus was famous for giving fire to the humans. He really angered the gods by doing this, and was severely punished. I think that he was chained and attacked by a bird.”

“Not bad, David. Not bad. But, his punishment was to have his liver eaten by a large eagle every day. A slow and painful punishment.”

“So what happened to him?” I asked.

“Eventually, a hero came along, killed the eagle, and broke the chains,” she giggled. “That’s mythology for you…a hero always comes along.” We gazed down at the grace of the ice skaters. “I’m still waiting for my hero to come along,” Delancey caught herself daydreaming. “It almost looks like the ice skaters are dancing specifically for Prometheus, like in his honor.”

“I wonder how much the sculpture is worth. You know, because of the gold? I hear its 24 carat,” I remarked casually.

“I think it’s priceless, and not because of the gold, but because of what it means to millions of people and tourists that see it every year. Could you imagine how empty Rockefeller Center would be without it?” she asked.

“You’re right, but you can’t pay the bills with sentimentality. I think it must be worth at least 10 million dollars.” We walked closer to the tree. Several large crows gathered, eating scraps off the floor.

“How about some hot chocolate? You look so cold!” I said with a smile.

Delancey’s hand reached across my face and wiped a tear from my eye. Her hand was so warm.

“That’s from the cold winds,” I said.

She smiled. “I would love some hot chocolate.”

I ordered two hot chocolates, and we sat in a nearby coffee shop and warmed up.

“I think you should bring Christmas back to your house,” Delancey suggested.

I looked at her, and kept drinking my hot chocolate.

“If it was me, I would do it. Decorate, and all. I bet it would bring cheer to your father and brother.” When she spoke I felt assured by her words.

“It’s different. YOU could do it. But, and don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s one of the advantages of being a girl and a daughter. It’s perfectly normal for you to do things like that. If I did it, I’m not sure how my father would perceive me. He’s a real tough guy, and he probably would think it’s feminine for his oldest son to decorate.”“Don’t give me that crap. You are such a sexist! You think its woman’s work.” She hit me on the shoulder.

“I’m not a sexist, but you don’t know what it’s like to be a boy. It’s not that easy, to bring Christmas back, and to decorate. Things are not that festive in my house.” I sipped my hot chocolate, ignoring the fact that it burned the insides of my mouth.

“I guess you don’t have the courage to try to bring a little happiness back into your family’s life. I wonder what your mother would have wanted.” Delancey stared at me as she finished her hot chocolate. We were warming up.

“You know, if it was me, I would want that…someone to go the distance to do what it takes. I think every girl is looking for a guy like that no matter where or what the circumstances,” Delancey smiled.

I accompanied her home, although she insisted that it was not necessary. We took the subway cross-town and to the Upper West Side. We walked to her building. A uniformed doorman greeted her. The doorman told her that her father was already home.

“I had a really great time,” I said smiling uncontrollably.

“So did I.”

“Let’s do something again soon,” I belted out eagerly. She handed me a sheet of paper, with her phone number on it. We embraced and I headed home.

I was on cloud nine, distracted from my studies and my homework. I heated dinner up, and we sat down and ate. Harry noticed it was the same meal as yesterday. My father said, “When you’re hungry, everything tastes good.”

After dinner, my father walked over to the wooden cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon. This always had an immediate relaxing effect on him, and he looked at us, and asked about school. Harry spoke for a few minutes about his high school band and about his football team. Harry was athletic.

“Don’t waste your time on music; study something where you’ll be able to find a decent job,” my father bellowed at Harry. I wondered if Harry remembered that my father was once a talented guitarist, many, many years ago. It was my father who had taught me to play guitar. Harry seemed saddened and sullen.

I thought about bringing up holiday decorations, but decided not to. My father was never in a good mood this time of year. The holidays changed his personality dramatically for the worse.

It had been six years since my mother passed, and my father had never been out with another woman. I once heard my grandmother asking him if he would remarry, and he answered that it wouldn’t be fair to “the boys.” He always called us “the boys.” We had a small house with thin walls, and I always overheard everything said. My grandmother sometimes told him that “the boys” needed a mother and that he needed to move on with his life. My father always said, “Later, when the boys are older.” The holidays were always tough on us, but for the first time, I realized it must be tougher on my father.

When I went to work, I noticed that The World Financial Center was decorated like a holiday gem. Christmas trees were everywhere. Large, fully decorated wreaths hung from the ceilings. Bright red and yellow poinsettias lined the lengthy marble staircase in the Winter Garden. Holiday music was playing throughout the building. It caused my mood to change, and I felt festive.

After my shift at the café, I saw Reggie the security guard talking to a woman. Reggie was holding a box. The woman was the head of events for the World Financial Center, and she was throwing out a box of Christmas decorations. She had tried to give it to Reggie, but he could not use it. He asked if I wanted it, and I hesitated.

I thought about Delancey, and about what my father would say. What would my mother have wanted? I decided to take the box home with me.

It was not easy carrying such a large box on the trains, and up the subway stairs. I carried the box a few blocks from the subway to my home, stopping intermittently for a break. The box was heavy.

Harry was already home and his face lit up when he saw the Christmas decorations. We pulled all the items from the large box including small artificial wreaths, ribbons, bells, garlands, and more, and decorated the house. After we were done, we both looked at each other in awe. This was truly something different for us, and we felt the same uneasiness when both of us wondered how my father would react. The hours passed in silent anticipation.

My father came home and looked around in silence. He managed a forced smile. He went into his room, and did not come back out, except once, for the bottle of bourbon. The decorations made an impact, and he looked sad and happy at the same time.

The next morning, he surprisingly made us an early breakfast. I ate the pancakes before I went to work. As I was leaving the house, my father walked me out, and said, “Sometimes you have nothing and everything…at the same time.” His demeanor had changed to one a little brighter.

Mike was also late, as usual. The work day went fast. Many tourists stormed the World Financial Center. Christine suggested that I go with her to buy presents for my family. I was in the holiday spirit, making money, and felt like spending.

I went with Christine to Hester Street, in Chinatown, and met Eddie Lo there. Eddie was quite the salesman, showing me many different items and offering me a special discount. Here I was hanging out with Eddie Lo, the coolest guy I knew. I was exhilarated.

I bought gifts for my family. They had designer labels in them from famous brands, brands I could not afford. I wondered if they were fakes, but Eddie said they were the real thing. Eddie gave me a big discount on top of the incredibly low price, and I went home and wrapped all the presents the best I could.

Christmas finally arrived. In the past, my father gave us cash, a modest amount that he could afford. But this year was different. We had presents to open for the first time in a long time. Harry was impressed with the new leather jacket I bought for him. My father reluctantly opened his gift, asking how I could afford these presents. I explained about Eddie Lo’s discount. He and Harry were very happy. It was a new experience to watch my father’s face as he opened his new coat. His face lit up when he tried it on. My father remarked that it was likely stolen merchandise. “I paid for it at a store and have receipts to prove it,” I blurted.

At the end of the evening, I called Delancey, but her answering machine picked up. I left a message wishing her a Merry Christmas.

Chapter 9

The next day was the Senior Ski Trip in upstate New York. I stayed awake the entire night, nervous about being away from home for the first time, but also eager to try skiing. I had packed my underwear, sweatshirts, and jeans. I did not own any ski clothing, and wouldn’t even know where to buy it.

My father was asleep when I left the house on a freezing cold Sunday morning. It was a rare day that he slept in.

I carried a large, overstuffed duffle bag as I boarded the subway from Astoria. I bought the
Daily News
at five am. December mornings were painfully cold, and I felt a shiver in my bones. Subway service was slow. Hardly anyone else was on the platform. In the newspaper, there were several articles about a Pan Am plane that had gone down over Lockerbie, Scotland. There was a bomb was on the plane. This made me think about the bus trip, and my imagination took over and wondered what would happen if there was a bomb on the ski trip. For a moment I had second thoughts about going, but I shook it off and told myself that I was just being silly. This was not the occasion to be pensive.

At the Queensboro Plaza station, two hoodlums entered the train car from the morning darkness. Although the subway car was empty, they decided to sit directly in front of me. They weren’t looking for conversation. Sometimes the nervous energy in my stomach goes into over drive in a bad situation. This was one of those situations.

The men had hoods covering their faces, and large, puffy, extra long goose down coats. The doors closed and the train starting moving into the tunnel. I was in the car with the conductor. I’m not sure if they knew that, but I’m guessing they probably didn’t care. One of them raised his head, exposing his silver-capped teeth and a large scar on his face.

“You going somewhere?” he asked.

“School,” I said. My voice was firm, my tone was even. I wasn’t afraid.

The other one looked up and said, “You must be dumb to have to go to school on Sunday.” They both started laughing. Then they moved and sat on either side of me.

My duffle bag was heavy, maybe 30 lbs. I wasn’t going anywhere without it; I needed this bag for the ski trip. The guy on the left grabbed my arm. The other one said, “Gimme your wallet.”

I tried to stand up, but they pulled my arm down. No sign of the conductor.

Both thugs started laughing. I did not know what was so funny. Did they have a gun?

“Gimme your wallet!” he shouted.

“All I have is my train pass and student ID.” My tone was now best described as nervous. I also had fifty dollars for the trip, hidden in my shoe.

They burst into more laughter. They were laughing so hard, I started laughing too.

When they saw me laughing, they fell on the floor and rolled over in uncontrollable laughter. I was laughing so hard watching them laugh, that tears were coming out of my eyes. The three of us kept laughing for a few more seconds.

“We’re just playing with you,” one of them said. “Why aren’t you scared, we could have killed you. But I guess it’s not your time.” They got off at the next stop, and said, “Stay in school young man, or you’ll end up like us.” They kept laughing as they exited the train. One of them dropped a large jagged edged knife and bent down to pick it up. He looked up and smiled, and then the doors closed.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t afraid of death, but that was stressful.

The conductor came in, looked at me and said nothing. I’m not sure what just didn’t happen, but I was glad that it was over. I was lucky after a lifetime of not being lucky in similar situations. Maybe my luck was changing. I sat on the careening train in the same seat for the rest of the ride. It was still very early on a Sunday morning; the hoodlums were probably high on crack.

I arrived at school and boarded the bus. The bus headed north on a three hour drive. Most of the kids were talking, goofing off, or listening to music on their walkman. One kid had head phones that looked like he may use them for earmuffs. I closed my eyes and thought about how lucky I had been this morning. I could not figure out why I laughed, but was glad that I did, because it made a big difference.