by Luke Loaghan
Svetlana laughed. I asked her what was so funny.
“You know what you are? You are a dreamer, a naive dreamer. You probably day dream about your future and see yourself making all this money in business. Business is risky…but if you go to medical school or engineering school, then you are almost guaranteed a good job with a good salary in the future. Why take all this risk and end up with nothing? Why go to Stanton to be a round peg in a square hole?” She looked at me expectantly.
“You know, this is America, and not Russia. We don’t have to play it safe, because risks can be taken with great rewards. If I wanted to have no opportunity to make it big, then I would move to Russia.”
“You’re all talk. If you mean what you say, then you would pursue a career in music. You have talent; you just don’t have courage,” she smirked.
“Like the courage you had to pursue Mr. Zoose,” I smirked back.
I wasn’t sure how she would react, but when she stormed off, I knew she did not take it well. I may have come across a bit condescending. I may have come across as another product of the American propaganda machine, and another patriot during the Cold War. But I probably came across as a jerk. She walked to the exit, looked back at me, and seemed surprised that I wasn’t following.
I paid the bill, and walked toward her. She had tears in her eyes. I had never made a girl cry before. I apologized twice. She took my hand, and we embraced. Svetlana leaned in and kissed me. When I opened my eyes, the entire restaurant was staring. We had created a scene.
I was astonished to see Delancey sitting nearby with her friends. Tears welled up in her big, sad eyes. She had been there the entire time. I felt awful; the last thing I wanted was to hurt her. Later that night I tried calling Delancey, but there was no answer.
High school baseball season would soon be underway, and I needed to interview the coach and some of the players. I liked to write about how they trained, and what hours they kept. The academic workload at Stanton was challenging for everyone, but especially for the school’s athletes.
Julio Sease (or Yulee, as he was known) was taking batting practice. Not only was he the best hitter on the team, he was also the best pitcher on the team. Everyone knew who Yulee was, and everyone knew that his girlfriend was Penny, a gorgeous senior.
Yulee stood six feet six inches tall. His forearms were thick; veins popped up when he squeezed the bat. His wrists were twice as thick as mine, and ball after ball seemed to fly effortlessly into the outfield. A machine pitched baseballs at 90 miles per hour. Swing after swing was like watching perfection at work. Yulee’s stance was perfect; his follow through was exact, and the way he turned his waist so that his navel rotated with his enormous swing, generated more torque than any baseball player I had ever seen. The baseballs ricocheted deep into the outfield each time he connected. I was in awe.
“Yulee, any decision on college?” He had gotten the nickname Yulee in freshman year when his poor handwriting led a teacher to read his name that way. Everyone laughed, and the nickname stuck.
“I’ve been accepted at Annapolis and State schools. I have a visit scheduled for Annapolis this weekend. I should make a decision soon.” He spoke without missing a single pitch. His concentration was flawless, and I could see the reflection of the baseball in his eyes as his pupils dilated. I wondered if he was taking steroids or if he was the real deal.
John approached me; we were going to take the subway home together. Yulee took a break and John picked up the bat. John stepped into the batter’s box, and missed the first two pitches. By the third pitch, he was hitting the ball further than Yulee had. Pitch after pitch went flying into the outfield and beyond. I was amazed at John’s natural ability. After two dozen hits, John gave the bat back to Yulee and walked away.
“Who was that guy?” asked Yulee.
“That’s John, he’s a friend of mine.”
Yulee was planning to major in history.
“How do you know you want to be a historian?” I asked.
“Actually I don’t. I’d like to be a high ranking member of the Navy. Your friend is a pretty good hitter.”
I looked at the bulging veins in his biceps, his muscular build, and enormous calves, again wondering if Yulee was natural.
“What’s your point of view on the growing number of high school athletes taking pills to make them better?” I asked.
“I know why they do it. They want to get scouted; they want to look good. They want to get scholarships. Off the record, it’s mostly the football guys, but I’ve seen guys on the baseball team using the juice. It’s not something I would do. I don’t need it.” I believed him. I ended the interview and thanked him.
John and I walked toward the subway. There were more Chinese gangsters than usual today. They were watching the students of Stanton leave the building.
John asked about Svetlana. I told him that she was not my girlfriend.
“That was some scene, kissing her in the restaurant. I think Sam is a little jealous,” John said.
“John, how did you know that I kissed her at Junior’s?”
“People talk. High school is a magnetic field for rumors.” John was right.
“That sounds like Sam; he’s not really capable of being happy for other people. He just wants whatever I have.” I had come to expect it from Sam.
“Did you ever play baseball?” I asked.
“Just some pick up games in elementary school.” John shrugged.
“I think you really missed an opportunity there. You could’ve been better than Yulee.”
“So what? What’ll it get you anyway? Baseball is for the birds. If Yulee doesn’t get a scholarship, then what? The chances of making the pros’ are slim. My dad says it’s a waste of time,” John said with a tone of regret. “It’s too late anyway. I’m graduating soon.”
If John had had supportive parents his life would’ve been so different. If he’d had parents that didn’t call him stupid, his life would’ve been so much better. He may have earned an athletic scholarship. He would have had a lifetime of high school memories, made new friends, and his development would have been shaped differently. I wasn’t physically gifted, but John was, and it was a shame for him to not utilize that potential.
Yulee was right to ask who John was, because he was an unknown. I would hate to come back for my twenty year reunion and not have anyone remember who I was. I would hate to be an unrecognizable loser.
Chapter 16
On the subway, a disheveled person was sleeping in the corner seat. His face was obscured, but his hair and clothing looked familiar. It was Sal. I shook him. He did not wake immediately, but I kept shaking him until he came to.
“Sal, what are you doing here?” I asked. He smelled like a homeless person.
“David. Where am I?”
“You are on the subway.”
“What day is it?”
Sal was completely out of it. I asked where he lived, but he did not know. I told him to check his wallet. His home address was in Brooklyn. I took him home by subway. Sal provided no answers explaining his condition.
His mother opened the door, elated to see him. She explained that he had left home a week ago and no one had heard from him. She felt that he may have had a mental breakdown.
She gave Sal soup; it looked like minestrone. He ate as fast as he could. He had not eaten in many days. Then he went to shower.
“Why do you call him Sal?” his mother asked me.
“That’s his nickname because he looks very Italian. Speaking of which, Carus doesn’t sound like an Italian last name,” I said.
“It was originally Carusonelli. Our family’s last name was abbreviated and Anglo-sized when they came over from Italy. My grandparents were held at Ellis Island for a few days and the name change occurred then. Many immigrants from other countries experienced something similar.” I thought about my grandfather’s name and was glad I had filed the name change.
Sal seemed more alert after the
shower, but was still confused.
“David, I’ve been exploring the astral plane, and went much further, and got lost. It’s so dangerous, David. I think I was over there for maybe a day.”
When he said, “over there,” he was not referring to anything of this world. Sal appeared ten years older, gaunt, and perhaps ill. I followed him into the basement where I saw a lot of scientific and medical equipment. He explained that he’d found broken equipment, fixed it, and used it for his experiments.
Some of his equipment was sophisticated. He removed several key components, and placed everything in a large duffle bag.
“Take this, and hide it somewhere. I get the feeling my mother is going to have me committed. I need to stop going to the other side. I have to try to regain my mental faculties. All the important stuff is hidden at Stanton. They will never find it.” Sal handed me two duffle bags and ten notebooks.
“Hide these.” One of the pages had flipped open, and I saw one of Sal’s design specifications for a large electromagnetic coil with a large metal extension attached to a copper headpiece. Sal had labeled it “The Leviathon.” The contraption was serpentine in design, configuration, and appearance.
I carried his oversized duffle bags home with me, and threw them in my basement.
Harry had made dinner. Old mail was on the table, including the results of the SAT scores.
I continued to second guess going to state college. I thought about my father, and how much easier things would be if I stayed home. I was full of self doubt.
John had scored higher than I did. Carlos said he did not receive his scores yet. I dreaded calling Sam, but I did anyway. Sam had a near perfect score, as expected. I started feeling like a loser. I needed to stop comparing myself to others. Sam had a different education system in England, and his parents were both doctors and had sent him to an expensive SAT prep course. I didn’t have those benefits.
My father handed me a phone message. The message said to call back tonight, no matter how late; it was urgent. I did not recognize the number, but called it nonetheless.
“Hi, this is David, I’m returning your call from earlier today.”
“Are you the same David who played guitar for the Grim Reapers at the Kettle of Fish?” the voice on the other end said.
“Yes.”
It was Woody; the manager for the Grim Reapers. Woody explained that they had lost the band’s guitar player to a drug overdose. He wanted me to go to a studio in the city the next day. The band was recording a demo and they were really in a bind. He gave me the address.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
Maybe my SAT scores were not up to par, but my guitar playing certainly was.
Chapter 17
The April rains fell like a monsoon. The tree-lined streets of downtown Brooklyn were now soaked in water, and the street corners quickly flooded. Puddles grew into ponds. The brownstones were a darker color that day. Water changes everything, even the color of stone. In New York, the rain doesn’t keep people away.
I was anxious about recording the demo, and as soon as school was over, I rushed over to the subway, guitar in hand, and headed to the westside of midtown. The rest of the band was already there.
I reviewed the music and the lyrics, and practiced for about 15 minutes. That’s all I needed and I was ready to go. Woody said I was a natural. We had to do the song over and over again, and I sang back up. Finally, at nearly eight o’clock, we cut the demo. It sounded great.
On my way out, Woody asked if I would like to join their band.
“I was planning on going to college,” I said.
“We play colleges also. This may not go anywhere, and if it doesn’t no problem. But you are very talented and you should give it a shot. If you want to quit at anytime, it’s no problem.”
“I’ll think it over,” I said.
Woody gave me three hundred dollars and his business card. I was thrilled.
I went to work at the café that weekend. Christine came back to work that weekend, and surprisingly, Shesha was the new manager, arriving a half hour early, and preheating all the ovens prior to my arrival. Shesha arranged for Mike to be fired.
“What’s happening to Eddie?” I asked Christine.
“He’s in trouble and hiding out. That rival gang from the pool hall is looking for him.”
The weekends were getting busier. There were more tourists and workers visiting the World Financial Center. More investment bankers were working Saturdays, and they were drinking more coffee.
At the end of the day, Detective Ganz was waiting for me.
“How did you know that I worked here?” I asked.
“I’m a detective, remember?” Ganz snorted. “When was the last time you saw Eddie Lo?”
“Why, did something happen to Eddie Lo?” I asked.
“You tell me.” Ganz glared.
“I haven’t seen Eddie Lo in a week,” I said. I was careful with the words I chose, because I did not want to give too much information, and at the same time, I did not know how much Ganz already knew about Eddie Lo.
“And where did you last see him?” Ganz shouted, poking me with his cold fingers. Ganz used intimidation and various tones of voice, shouting, staring, or speaking softly. It was effective, until I realized what he was doing.
“Why are you asking me about Eddie Lo?” I yelled back.
“We cannot find him. He’s been hiding out….likely in Queens, with some relatives. I’m just trying to get some information here. Now where was the last place you saw Eddie Lo?”
“I saw Eddie Lo at a pool hall, last Tuesday.” I looked Ganz right in the eyes. He seemed to be reading my every motion and gesture.
“Your friend Eddie Lo is very popular, especially with rival Chinese gangs. It’s for his own good that we find him, before some one kills him. Call me if he turns up.”
“What about Juan Perez?” I asked.
“Nothing, he’s a model citizen and he’s been accepted to Harvard. You should be more like him.” Ganz drove off in a hurry.
I went home and told Sam that a detective was asking questions about Eddie Lo. No one had contacted Sam, but he agreed to call Carlos to warn him. Carlos became an integral part of the shooting in the pool hall that day when he chose Eddie’s side.
Sam and Carlos wanted to talk in person. We agreed to meet at my house and then go to Central Park.
I wondered if Eddie thought I was a coward for not standing by him, like Carlos had done. I replayed the event in my head, and I could see Eddie pulling out his gun, and Carlos next to him. I felt disloyal; I felt cowardly. I did not have a gun, but I should have done something.
Ganz knew that Eddie Lo was in the pool hall. Maybe he also knew that someone fitting my description had been there playing pool.
By the time I walked out of the shower and got dressed, Sam was already in my living room. Sam was very polite and respectful toward my father. Sam always let it be known to everyone that he intended to go to medical school and practice medicine just like his father and grandfather. This never impressed me, but it always impressed my father. Not many kids at our age were as decisive as Sam.
My father was sitting on the couch, looking a little banged up. He had been assaulted and robbed early that morning while he was driving his cab. A few teenaged boys came out of nowhere and pulled him out of his cab. He was punched, kicked, and robbed of every dollar he had made that day.
My father would not be able to work a few days. Harry had a sullen look on his face. I wondered how close my father might have come to getting shot or stabbed. The thought of losing our father was unbearable. New York was the murder capital of the world, with more than twenty two hundred murders the year before, and close to one hundred thousand robberies. My father was part of a statistic. I was just sick and tired of things like this happening. My father worked very hard, did things the right way, and just deserved better. Money was tight and now it would be scarce.
Sam was in the room, when my father said, “This is why I’d like you to stay home for college. If something happens to me, you are the oldest son and you will be the man of the house. If something happens to me, you and Harry will need each other.” I was angry that his statement made sense. Harry was crying. My father was bruised and cut in several spots.
I asked Sam where Carlos was.
“He’s outside, talking to someone,” Sam said. “Someone with a fancy blue car.”
It was like Lewis met Clark, or maybe a little more like when Smith met Wesson. Carlos was outside talking to Brass. Carlos was wearing his Stanton gym tee-shirt, and they were smiling and shaking hands. The sky blue Cadillac was parked on the sidewalk. Brass looked like the cat that had just swallowed the canary.
He approached me, and we walked a few feet away to have a private conversation.
“I came here because I know you don’t want to sell weed or steroids or speed. But what about guns? You can make a lot of money, and you would be helping your fellow students and teachers keep from getting killed. What do you say?” Brass had his arm wrapped around my shoulders.
“I’m not interested.”
“No problem, I completely understand. I like your friend Carlos for the job anyway.”
Brass insisted he would find the guys who had assaulted my father and get revenge. He said that I didn’t have the guts to find the guys myself.
Sam, Carlos, and I took the subway to Central Park and entered on 60th street. We’d been to Central Park many times, but this day would be different. The year before, Sam had tried feeding the ducks Alka-Seltzer tablets to test whether the duck’s head would explode from the gas created by them. However, the ducks never came close enough to eat the tablets. Sam said it was done in the name of science, but I knew otherwise.
The park was dirty. Garbage cans overflowed, and the sweeping Manhattan winds blew trash throughout the park. There were not many people in Central Park that day. The April rains had left the park muddy with puddles the size of small ponds. We could not find a decent spot to talk. The three of us made our way far north to an area of Central Park we had never entered before. We found ourselves at the theatre. Like I said, water changes everything.
