by Carol Weston
After church, we went out for a farewell lunch at Sylvia’s. We ate delicious ribs, beans, crunchy fried chicken, corn bread, corn on the cob, and sweet potato pie. (Miguel also liked the collard greens—yuk!) And we got to meet Sylvia! She’s as nice as can be, but she’s only my height, which, for a grown-up, is short!
We also stopped by the Apollo Theater. It is a landmark, which means it can get fixed up but not torn down. Inside we saw pictures of musicians who have performed there: Stevie Wonder, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Aretha Franklin, Nat King Cole, and Frankie Lyman. Mom started singing “Unforgettable,” so I gave her a poke, but then Dad started singing, “Why do fools fall in love?” and I had to poke him too.
Finally, we walked along a historic street called Striver’s Row. It is on West 139th Street between Frederick Douglass and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. boulevards. Mom and Dad wanted Uncle Angel and Miguel to see Striver’s Row because the red brick houses were built in 1890 and it’s in Uncle Angel’s guidebook.
“Why is it called Striver’s Row?” Matt asked.
“Because striving is what it’s all about,” Dad said. “Working hard and doing your best. It’s not Achiever’s Row or Got Rich Row. Life isn’t just about getting but reaching and growing. Giving your all and giving back.”
Wow. Had the sermon inspired Dad too?
I guess we can all work harder and aim higher and think bigger.
I’ll probably sleep in next Sunday, but I’m glad I went to church and to Harlem today.
P.S. Uncle Angel and Miguel are doing last-minute shopping, and we’re about to drive them to the airport. Matt just finished making the pretend pack of cigarettes.
Dear Diary,
It was a close one!
On the way to JFK, Mom wanted to stop at the Queens Museum of Art to see the Panorama of the City of New York. Dad said that was crazy. Mom said it was not. Dad said that you have to get to the airport early for international flights, and there was no more time for tourism. Mom pleaded. Dad gave in—but grouchily.
Well, the Panorama is a huge huge huge scale model of all five boroughs. It was originally built for a world’s fair. It’s like a mini New York, with lights that go on and off. We circled it and pointed out everything we’d visited.
Draped over the World Trade Center is a red-white-and-blue ribbon laced in a loose figure eight, probably because the idea of removing the twin towers was too sad or triste (Tree Stay). But everything changes—especially cities—and someday there may be a model of the Freedom Tower.
After twenty minutes, Dad announced, “Miranda, you and the kids can do whatever you like, but I’m taking Miguel and Angel to the airport right now.”
“Me too!” I said and we all followed Dad down a gigundous elevator and walked outside to see the shining steel Unisphere, the largest globe in the world.
Uncle Angel lit a cigarette and Matt rushed over and gave him the fake pack. He said, “I made these because real cigarettes are bad for you.” Miguel translated, and at first Uncle Angel looked confused, but then he looked half amused, half touched. He even gave Matt double cheek kisses, which Matt did not expect.
“That’s where you guys are going,” Matt said, pointing to Spain on the Unisphere.
“Not if we don’t leave ASAP!” Dad said.
“What means ASAP?” Uncle Angel asked.
I said, “As Soon As Possible.”
Well, the traffic to JFK, which had been fine, turned terrible, and Dad was cranky and cursed twice and even muttered, “You should have listened, Miranda!”
The only funny part of the car ride was when Matt sneezed and Uncle Angel asked if he was constipated. Matt repeated, “Constipated??” and Mom explained to us that constipado (Cone Stee Pa Dough) means to be stuffed-up or have a cold. Even Dad laughed a little, but then went back to being mad at every single other car on the highway.
Somehow we made it to the airport and parked. Dad and Uncle Angel strode ahead, Mom followed holding Matt’s hand, and Miguel and I were last. We were all walking as fast as we could, and we accompanied Uncle Angel and Miguel as far as we were allowed. At the last minuto I said, “Miguel?”
“¿Sí, señorita?”
Deep down, I think we both knew that we liked each other but that it could be ages before we’d see each other again. We were almost out of time, so I just plain blurted out, “Is it going to be hard to stay close when we are far apart?”
“May Lah Nee, we can always be friends. Special friends, true?”
“True. Forever friends.”
“Amigos para siempre (Ah Me Gose Pa Ra Syem Pray). And we will see each other again someday. Don’t you think?”
“Sí.” I looked up into his chocolate eyes.
Suddenly, even though I hadn’t planned it, and even though I had to go on tiptoe, I kissed him—right on the forehead! It was not the kiss I had been imagining. But I liked it. I did. It was a quick kiss and I didn’t close my eyes; I kept them open so I could see his smile.
For me, the kiss was partly a handshake agreement. I wanted to seal the deal that we would stay friends forever. I don’t know if our love was real, but I want our friendship to be.
For me, the kiss was also partly a goodbye kiss. In some ways, I knew we were setting each other free. He would always be welcome in my home, but I wasn’t going to carry a torch to light the way anymore.
We caught up to Matt and the grown-ups and I said, “I hope things work out with your dad and mom.”
“Gracias.”
“What if they don’t?” I asked, then immediately wished I hadn’t.
“I don’t know, May Lah Nee. I wish it could be the way it was. But if they remain separate, then at least I still have a mother and a father.”
Next thing you know, Mom, Dad, Matt, and I were waving adiós adiós adiós to Miguel and Uncle Angel as they hurried toward their gate. Matt and I kept waving and waving long after the grown-ups stopped. Miguel was waving too. We three kept waving until Miguel finally disappeared—until he was just a dot in the universe.
I took a deep breath, turned around, then we four M’s walked back through the airport toward our car.
“Whoa! Check it out!” Matt pointed up at a dozen silvery helium balloons floating on the ceiling of the airport terminal. One said “We’ll miss you”; one said “Welcome”; one said “I love you”; one said “Bon voyage.”
They were all mixed up, which is how I feel a lot too.
P.S. In the car ride back, Mom said nice things about Miguel and Angel, and Dad did too, but he also said, “Having guests is a lot of work.” Mom and I gave each other a little look because, after all, our apartment is about to be full of more guests for Dad’s surprise party.
P.P.S.
June 26
Dear Diary,
When you read a book, the author has figured everything out for you.
But when you write a diary—or live your life—you have to figure it out for yourself. It’s like you are the author.
So allow me to introduce myselves: Melanie, Melanie, Melanie.
Lately I’ve been thinking about how many me’s there are. We all have so many selves and sides!
I’m a daughter, sister, best friend, regular friend, almost sixth grader, sort of ex-girlfriend, sort of ex-enemy, traveler, diary keeper, New Yorker, and former mice owner.
If you noticed that I said “former mice owner,” it’s because Mom said the mice always smell terrible, and Dad said, “Dogs are good because they say, ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ and cats are good because they say, ‘Relax! Read a book!’ but mice just make more mice.”
Somehow we knew we couldn’t keep them all anymore. Even Matt knew.
Not that he and I didn’t protest about it!
Well, Suze called, and I told her about our mice issues, and she said her aunt is a science teacher and could maybe take them. Then she called her aunt, and the aunt said she could give some to her summer students as pets, and she could keep the others to use in her c
lassroom for experiments, but she assured us, “not mean experiments.”
So yesterday we gave them to her. All zillion of them.
Except MouseMouse, which Matt gets to keep. And his (or her) brother (or sister) Ahoy, which Matt gave to Lily.
Mom said maybe we can get another pet sometime, but just one, not a pair. She also said change is good. Which might be true.
June 27
Dear Diary,
Matt and I played Boggle today. Here’s how he thought “kissed” was spelled: KIST. I made fun of him, so he kept crossing his eyes because he knows I can’t stand that.
Since Dad is at work, Mom and I and even Matt have been getting ready for the party. We’ve cooked, baked, bought wine (a.k.a. Love Potion!), ordered a king-size cake, and hidden things in the neighbor’s freezer. Matt and I even worked on a toast.
He asked me, “Does everyone have a midlife crisis?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How long do they last?”
“How should I know?”
Mom asked me to help her finish the Hopper puzzle since it’s almost almost almost done.
She and I were finding puzzle pieces and talking about all the friends and relatives who are coming to surprise Dad. Poor Dad still seems so bummed about turning forty this weekend that it’s tempting to tell him about the secret celebration. But I never would!
Mom said, “I see you took off your necklace.”
“I did. I might put it back on for Dad’s party. I’m just not going to wear it all the time.”
“That makes sense.”
“I was thinking of buying myself a necklace with my allowance money. A little apple from the Big Apple.”
“Nice idea.” Mom nodded. “And Lambie, I hope you know that you and Miguel gave each other bigger gifts than that necklace.”
“What do you mean?”
“You gave each other an inside view of another country. If I could give my students field trips like that, I could enrich their lives!”
“Cecily loves your field trips.”
Mom smiled, then added, “And also, Mel, a first kiss is not nothing.” I thought two things. 1. Moms remember everything, and 2. That was a double negative, so she meant, “A first kiss is something.”
It is. I’m glad mine was with Miguel.
The puzzle was almost done, and I was trying to connect two pieces that looked like they belonged together, but I couldn’t force them. Then I picked up a piece in front of me and it clicked right in.
“Love is hard for grown-ups too,” Mom said. “Oh, but guess what? Miguel’s dad, Antonio, phoned this morning while you were asleep. He called to thank us and to say that Miguel really liked New York. And also to say that he and his wife have moved back in together.”
“That’s great!”
“It is. It’s lucky when people can work things out.”
Looking down at the puzzle, I mumbled, “You know, at first I liked Miguel so much that I wanted everything to work out and nothing to change.”
“I know,” Mom said. “But everything does change. Your own dad is struggling with this. He’d like to stay in his thirties, but he can’t. Saturday’s his big birthday, ready or not.”
“We’ll be ready. We’ll make it fun for him.”
“We will. And he’ll like his forties and fifties.” Mom leaned forward. “And someday, Mel, you’ll like your second real kiss—which will be your first kiss with someone else.”
I said, “Mom!!!” but did not add, “How do you know there hasn’t already been a second kiss?”
“You don’t think I was ever eleven or twelve or a teenager?”
“Were you?”
“Careful, Cutie, or I won’t let you put in the last piece.” She handed over the prized last piece. It was an elbow—a funny bone. It belonged to the woman in the diner with two men and one waiter. None of them is talking. The painting is called Nighthawks.
“Nighthawks are birds, right?” I said. “But look—these people are trapped. There’s not even a door for going in or going out.”
“Huh. I’d never looked at it that way.”
“Maybe I’ll be an art teacher someday.”
“You could be anything you want,” Mom said.
June 27 afternoon or tarde (Tar Day)
Dear Diary,
Cecily’s back, so she came over this morning and we had everything bagels with nothing on them. And I told her everything and left nothing out. I even said that one of the best things about Miguel’s visit ended up being that I got to know New York City better.
Not that I need Miguel to enjoy my hometown. I can do that alone. Or with my family. Or with my best friend, Cecily.
I asked Cecily about her week with her dad. She said they went to Sea World. Then her cell phone rang and it was Suze. Cecily asked, “Okay if she comes over?” I shrugged. Cecily told her to join us and after they hung up, Cecily said in a nice way, “Melanie, you have new friends and I don’t mind.”
“Who?”
“Justin!” She smiled, so I did too. Then Suze came over, and suddenly the three of us were on my sofa watching TV. At least Matt was upstairs at Lily’s!
Mom looked at us and must have done the math—one, two, three—because she said, “I have to run an errand midtown. Want to come?”
“Sure,” Cecily called out.
Suze whispered, “An errand??”
Cecily whispered back, “It won’t be boring.”
I appreciated Cecily’s defending my mom, and I thought someone should tell Suze that she’s a loud whisperer.
Well, Mom got what she needed at the gift shop of the American Folk Art Museum on West 53rd Street, then asked if we wanted to “whirl through.” Cecily was willing, Suze was reluctant, and I said I’d already seen the Statue of Liberty weather vane. Mom said, “How about MoMA?”
I said, “No Ma.”
She laughed. “Then, girls, let’s cross the street and I’ll show you what’s in the Donnell Library.”
“She wants us to look at books?” Suze whispered.
“I want you to look at Winnie-the-Pooh,” Mom said, not even covering up that she’d overheard.
“The movie?” Suze asked.
“The teddy. The real Winnie-the-Pooh,” Mom said.
“There is a real Winnie-the-Pooh?” Cecily asked.
“He lives right over there on the second floor,” Mom said, pointing. Suze sighed, but Cecily and I were excited, and we all followed Mom into the library and took the elevator to the second floor.
Remember when I told you I came face to face with the Statue of Liberty? Well, we all came face to face with Winnie-the-Pooh!! And Kanga, Eeyore, Tigger, and Piglet!! The real live actual childhood stuffed animals of A. A. Milne’s son, Christopher!!!
Cecily’s mouth flopped open. “Do people know they’re here? You’d think this place would be mobbed!”
“It’s not a secret,” Mom said, “but it’s not in all the guidebooks either. New York is such a smorgasbord.”
“Smorgaswhat?” Cecily asked.
“The city is like a big banquet, a feast. There are so many temptations you can’t sample them all.”
“No offense, Mrs. Martin,” Suze said, “but I don’t see what’s so great about a bunch of old stuffies behind glass. I mean, who cares?”
I looked at the animals again, and it was as if Suze had just poisoned them:
But then I thought that I shouldn’t keep giving Suze the power to ruin things for me. I had to make myself immune to her Poison Potion.
“Who cares?!” Cecily stared at Suze. “I care! Suze, this is the REAL Winnie-the-Pooh! Read this caption. It says Winnie was given to Christopher Robin for his first birthday. These aren’t Disney Store stuffies. This is The Original Winnie!!”
Mom smiled. “I care too. This little teddy and his friends are footnotes to literary history. Even Teddy Roosevelt liked teddy bears. And as presidents go, he was mucho macho.”
“Look at poor Wi
nnie’s stitched-up paw,” I said. “Can’t you just see Christopher Robin holding it and dragging Winnie downstairs headfirst, bump bump bump?”
Suze leaned in more closely and, to her credit, said, “I guess I can kind of picture that.” I gave her a tiny smile.
We walked up Avenue of the Americas, and for a minute, it was Suze and Mom ahead, and Cecily and me behind.
“Does Suze know about Snow Bear?” I asked.
“Omigod. You kidding? No way! And don’t you tell her!”
“Never!! Your secrets are safe with me if mine are safe with you.”
“Deal,” she said. “Forever and for always.”
We quietly low-fived each other.
Dear Diary,
Matt just came in and said, “Knock, knock.”
“No.”
“No?!”
“No.”
“You can’t say no. You have to say ‘Who’s there?’ ”
“I can say no if I want.”
“C’mon, say ‘Who’s there?’ ”
I sighed. “Fine. Who’s there?”
“Winnie.”
“Winnie who?”
“It’s NOT ‘Winnie who’! It’s Winnie-the-Pooh!!”
“Ha ha ha.”
“I have another: What did Winnie-the-Pooh say when he was offered dessert?”
“What?”
“No, thanks, I’m stuffed!”
“Matt, are you done yet?”
“Yeah, but wanna play New York City Monopoly?”
I said sure, because sometimes I like to surprise us both and be a Perfect Big Sister.
Dear Diary,
Dad’s party was fun even though it was all grown-ups. Everyone yelled “Surprise” and sang “Happy Birthday,” and I could tell Dad loved having his friends over. I think he’d forgotten how many friends he has. He also loved that it was a surprise.
One of his childhood friends made a toast. He had a cleft chin, or as Matt whispered to me, a butt chin. The man said that when Dad and he were campers together, Dad always insisted on the bottom bunk, not the top bunk, because then he could run around and raise h-ll and, when the counselor returned, Dad could jump back in bed real quick.
