©
2024 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.
Author's note:
These stories are written in Literary Past Tense. Literary Past Tense describes how most of us use past tense in our stories. That is, most past-tense stories are written as though the events are happening now. Even though we're using the past tense forms of verbs, within the story itself, events are happening in the present, which explains present tense verbs in some descriptions.
All Aboard Andi's Dream
Chapter 8
The Brothers Jarecki
Eleven-year-old Paul Jarecki trudged home from school in the freezing rain. Ever since their dad mortgaged their house to prop up their failing auto lot boldly named Jarecki Motors, they were living on the edge. Then they lost the house and had to move to Tiorunda. Tiorunda was a housing project that started as housing for Wright Field, an old Army Air Corps base that became Buffalo International Airport and is as low class as you could get.
The house they lost wasn't much. It was over on Eller Ave. on the east side of Buffalo. Eller avenue and every street in all directions were filled with tall but skinny houses cramped so close together you couldn't get a full-size car between them. He hated that house; it was like living in a hallway. He also hated Tiorunda; it was like living in a slum with a nice park in the middle. Paul wanted to live with his mom's parents, Grandma and Grandpa Smolak in Gowanda. It didn't matter that Grandma Dorta couldn't speak English; Gowanda was pretty.
Paul hated being smarter than everyone he knew. He was eleven years old and had been advanced two grades to eighth grade and he felt like he was reading baby stories and doing elementary math. Paul knew he was going to go to high school next year and maybe skip another grade there and be driven further away from kids his own age. He walked as fast as his rain soaked shoes would take him. Paul was soaked and freezing and had nothing to do. He finished all his homework before his last class was over and stacked everything neatly in his locker because he knew...
"Hey Shrimp!" called Albert Crowe, the biggest bully in the school. Albert stole Paul's lunch, and Paul was starving and was in no mood for this now. Paul kept walking with his back to Albert, which infuriated the big dummy. While Paul had advanced two years in school, Albert was held back in second grade, twice. Paul's mom said it was wrong to call kids like Albert stupid. It was best to call them
głupi
. (
GÅ‚upi
is Polish for stupid)
"Hey Polack! I'm talking to you!" shouted Albert, but Paul kept walking.
Suddenly Paul was hit from behind and was sent sailing through the air. He landed face first with a splash in a deep puddle. "YES! THE HIP CHECK! The Polack was checked into the boards!" shouted Albert, trying to imitate Rick Jeanneret, the voice of the Buffalo Sabres. "Unopposed! Crowe with the shot! HE SHOOTS! HE SCORES!" shouted Albert as he kicked a pile of snow on Paul's head, then ran off with his minions, laughing.
Paul was soaked to the skin and was lying on top of his empty book bag, which was now full of water. That's why he left his homework in his locker. This little act plays out every day after school and Paul was used to it. He picked himself up, hating himself for being a punching bag. He didn't want to go home. There was nothing to eat there, nothing but tap water. Not even any sugar to mix into the water. He finally got to the big slab sided "four-plex" apartments and realized that he didn't have a key. Dad gave the key to Mrs. Benedetti for when she watched the Jarecki boys.
Each gray building had four cramped two story, two-bedroom apartments. "It's where the poor people live," thought Paul, which depressed him even more. He was sick of being the smallest kid in his class, even though he was tall for eleven. He hated being a walking punching bag, and he hated being hungry every day.
The sound of John's crying reached Paul as he rounded the corner. John was his baby brother, four years old. John was cute as a button, but right now he was crying his eyes out and his tears bored into Paul's heart. Four years ago, mom and dad handed seven-year-old Paul a tiny squirming, squawking bundle they named John. Paul wasn't impressed until their eyes met and he felt drawn to the little guy, and John felt drawn to him. Paul and John stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever, and fell in love. Big brother Paul could always calm down John and their parents called Paul John's babysitter, but Paul and John knew better than that. He was John's guardian angel made flesh. Paul was John's Big Brother, and he wore that mantle with pride.
Paul found poor mournful John standing in the rain in his yellow rubber raincoat and he looked soaked. He didn't have his rubber rain hat and his jet black hair was plastered to his forehead. Paul's problems and pain disappeared, and he ran to his little brother's aid. "What's the matter?" asked Paul, but John cried harder. He grabbed the doorknob to their home and pulled and twisted. They were locked out of the house. Mrs. Benedetti probably passed out again.
"Hungry," said John through his tears.
"What did she give you for lunch?" asked Paul.
"Nuffin," cried John, and he pointed to the bench in front of their apartment. She had locked him out and told him to sit on the bench. She's done it to Paul, too.
"Did she give you any breakfast?" John shook his head no. "No cereal? No toast?" John started crying harder. A window opened in the apartment next to them and a woman leaned out and said, "He's been squalling there all day."
"Did you call my folks? Did you call the cops?" asked Paul.
"He ain't my kid," she said and slammed the window closed.
"Come on," said Paul and he left his book bag on the bench next to the door and led John by the hand. "I know where to get free food, but you can't tell anyone. They'll make us move to Lackawanna."
Lackawanna was a dying steel town filled with unemployed, bitter, hard drinking steel workers. The steel mills were all closed, the union bosses took their money and ran, and the only thing that was made in Lackawanna anymore was nightmares. At Cleveland Hill Middle School, "Lackawanna" was synonymous with "Hell."
"Ok," said John.
The poor little guy was starving. Mrs. Benedetti didn't feed either of them breakfast and she didn't feed John lunch either. She sent him outside and locked the door so she could become better acquainted with a bottle of rye and was left uninterrupted.
Paul could go all day on one meal. In fact, with Mrs. Benedetti watching them, he hadn't had breakfast in weeks, and lunch was always stolen by Albert Crowe or his minions. But John was four. He couldn't go all day without food. In fact, Paul was feeling weak himself.
Holding his little brother's hand, Paul led John a few blocks to Genesee Street, a big, busy four-lane road that Paul was forbidden to cross with John. John automatically stood on tiptoes and reached up to push the crossing light button, and it was almost out of his reach. "You can do it," said Paul as he held John up to the button. The cute little guy pressed it and broke into a huge, happy grin. "You did it!" gushed Paul.
"Uh huh!"
When the light changed, Paul led John into forbidden territory. They crossed the street with moments to spare, and they had just stepped onto the sidewalk when the light changed and traffic started moving. "Come on," said Paul. "Do you like sketti?" John nodded his head vigorously. Icy rainwater splashed from his long raven hair as he nodded his head.
Paul led John through a restaurant parking lot and in the back was a battered old jade green dumpster. He moved John next to the dumpster so no one would see and then opened the lid and climbed in. "Paw?" asked John. Paw was how he pronounced Paul.
"Shush! I'm right here," said Paul as he rooted through the trash until he found what he was looking for. He's done this before, trying to deliver papers while he was so hungry he was shaking, but he saw good food being thrown in this dumpster and he helped himself. He knew in his heart he was stealing, but he was so hungry. Paul was sure there was probably some food there waiting for him. Sure enough, Paul found a large treasure trove of uneaten spaghetti. He popped above the rim of the dumpster and leaned over...
Anna Maria "Mama" Giardino was on the prowl for her husband Donatello Giardino. He's always disappearing to have one of those nasty black De Nobili cigars. He's usually right out back, but she didn't see him anywhere. She stepped outside and looked around for Donnie, but didn't see him in his usual spot. Then she heard a sound by the dumpster, and, in the waning light, she saw a tiny boy standing in the freezing rain voraciously eating a handful of spaghetti. "
Madre di Dio...
Mother of God!" Momma gasped and crossed herself. Such a thing doesn't happen in America! She burst into tears as a second boy popped up from the dumpster with a handful of pasta and leaned over to hand it to the tiny boy.
"No! Don't put that in your mouth! You boys come here!" cried Momma as she dashed across the parking lot.
"John run!" cried a terrified Paul. "They'll put us in the home!" No one knows exactly what 'the home' was, but everyone at Cleveland Hill Middle School knew for sure that the home is where you go until there's room for you in Attica prison. Paul couldn't run because he was trapped in the dumpster and John wouldn't move. "Johnnie! Run!" But this was the first solid food John had in over 24 hours, and he was not giving it up.
"No! That's nasty!" said Momma as she lifted Paul out of the dumpster. He was so light! Then she led the both of them by the wrists into the restaurant, where Donny waited for her. John still had a fistful of spaghetti clenched in his fist and several noodles hanging off his trembling chin.
"Here, you sit down," said Momma. "Why were you doing that?" she demanded.
Paul was terrified. He has never been in trouble, so he doesn't know how to deal with it. "I was just trying to feed my brother," said Paul.
"Hungry," whined John.
"I know baby," said Mama Giardino. "Where are your parents?"
"Working," said Paul, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry!" he burst out. "I didn't mean to steal but John was so hungry and we were locked out..."
"Sahwee!" cried John, and he burst into tears.
"I can't pay you, but I can work," said Paul as he panicked. "I can work hard, don't send Johnnie to jail, please." On Thursdays, he delivers The Shopping News, a free local paper full of ads. He puts ten at each local business on Genesee street and one at each home in Tiorunda. For that, he gets a few dollars a month. Paul isn't averse to hard work.
"Who is watching you?" asked Donnie, who was standing behind Momma. Both were middle age and had dark hair and Italian accents.
"Mrs. Benedetti.
"Serafina Benedetti?" asked Momma.
"Maybe, Mom calls her Sara. She lives in our building. Is she going to jail with us?" said Paul, trying to hold back the terror. John cried even harder.
"Hungry!"
"No one is going to jail, except maybe
la puttana
," spat Momma.
