Part 1.

A Cleveland Childhood

We had just come to the end

We had just come to the end of the long flower garden that left my head dazzling with color and every kind of scent. At first the white sign seemed out of place, then it thrust its words at me, "All was Beautiful until you came". I was riding my bicycle back home up and down the streets, then over to the Library. I must have been 8 or so. He was tall and handsome, about 16. At one point, he said to me, "You know there is a word in there," pointing to the library, "that says what you are!" I had no idea, till he took me and found the word "homosexual", pointing his finger, as long as the finger in a da Vinci painting. But I thought, "All was beautiful until you came."

Terry and I both rang

Terry and I both rang Ray's back door bell. We had all agreed the night before that on Easter Sunday we would each wear a small flower in our lapels. Out came Ray with four large daffodils on his thin lapels. We all got as far as the alley behind the bowling alley. Ray went into a wild rage, tearing off his sports jacket, throwing it to the ground, jumping on it over and over again. He went home and his mother chased him around and around the dining room table with a broom.

The company had arrived

The company had arrived; the air became mixed with different perfumes. The end table lamps on both sides of the sofa were lit. The hurricane lamps on the buffet in the dining room were lit, also the one in the niche descending the stairs. Each bedroom upstairs had its own dresser lamp; they too, were properly lit. A voice from downstairs said, "Where is Bobby?" As I reached over to grab the banister, I died on each stop as I walked down.

From the neighbor's garage

From the neighbor's garage to her back door there were sixteen small square slates of stone to walk on. I would watch many times from our garden when Mrs. Costello would park her car, then walk those sixteen squares to her back door. Each square she stepped on, she would raise her eyebrow. I sat in front of the mirror and practiced it for days. I finally mastered it— but we didn't have the stone path.

I had just come to the end

I had just come to the end of Van Gogh's life, sitting at the long oak table in the library. A tall stocky army officer walked over to the middle-aged librarian sitting behind her desk. The back of his uniform was draped in long pleats on both sides. He talked without looking at her, leaning forward, only placing his finger tips on the top of her desk. Finally he looked at her, at the same time stretching the corner of his mouth as far as it would go. As the last words came out, the tips of his fingers grew as white as snow.

She was at the other end of the hall

She was at the other end of the hall in her bedroom among her Apple Blossom, Lily of the Valley, Lilac and Paris colognes that were all carefully displayed on a tray of gold leaf, lime-tinted glass mirror. One brassiere strap up, the other one hanging half-way over the back of the fan chair, her handmade garters tossed over that old chair she re-upholstered last spring. The Venetian blinds were all pulled down and closed tight. One nylon lying on the floor, the other one about ready to come off. She leaned forward and crossed her legs, fan-spread her little toes, running her little pinky up and down, between each toe with quick little smells in-between. At the bottom of the stairs the old man sat watching TV with his hands in his pockets, scratching away at his balls.

I grew up six blocks from a small factory building

I grew up six blocks from a small factory building, surrounded by rather large woods (Kuhlman Woods). A good part of it was used from "six-foot solid wooden boxes." Most were stacked one on top of another. The boxes were in a maze, arranged with narrow paths, which led, many times, to a dead end. The boxes came from the factory and were filled with "World War II Airplane Parts." As kids, we used to love to park our bicycles outside of the woods and go climb up onto the boxes, jumping from one box to the other one, or playing Tarzan. One time, when I happened to be alone, which was rare, a girl appeared out of nowhere. I guessed she saw my bicycle parked outside of the woods. After we became acquainted, she told me she studied "ballet." I said, "What's that?" And before I knew it, she went up on half point, into an "Arabesque", then a single "Pirouette", a lovely "Attitude", and a slow "Penchée" right on top of all those war boxes. I was astonished! I never saw anything so beautifully executed with the human body. She invited me to her parents' home. I told her I wanted to learn how to dance. Then she told me, moving her graceful hand toward me, "Whoever turns my ring 32 times gets to kiss me." And the sleeping beauty came to life.

The ballet Russe de Monte Carlo

The ballet Russe de Monte Carlo was in town. You could always tell what rooms the dancers had in the Auditorium Hotel by standing outside and looking up to the windows that hand colored tights hanging in them to dry. A big party was given for the Ballet Russe dancers and the students from the Serge Nadejdin School. Serge Denham was standing at the entrance — all in black — announcing the dancers as they came in. Irina Borowska was the star that night for her debut in "Unicorn". Lobster, champagne, and caviar were served. The next time I saw Borowska, she was standing in a perfect square pattern on the linoleum floor, circled by a few cigarette butts, behind the white line waiting to sign for her unemployment check.

Math was my worst subject

Math was my worst subject in the 9th grade. My teacher, Ms. Richard, was cool; she was a smart dresser and read Vogue and had a figure to match. I can still smell that hand lotion she used on her hands. Just the way she moved her hands back and forth was fascinating- She could have been in the Peony Pavilion Opera. The school had a reputation for tough Italians, I remembered my brother saying. He always made friends with them. Not me; I stood my ground. One time, one called me a fairy. I told him, “It takes one to know one!” One time in class I remember Ms. Richard said to a tough Italian, “ we can both roll up our sleeves and step out into the hall.” She took no bull! She always said, “If you want to be smart, first you have to learn how.” I told her I was going to my first ballet performance at the Music Hall. She said, “I am going, too”, but she never went. Late one afternoon, when all her favorite black girls gathered around her, she turned to me and said I would have to stay after school. I told her that I couldn’t stay because my husband was waiting for me outside.

The haunted house

The haunted house was at the end of the Kelso Avenue. The street at the end had a slight curve in it. My friend Joseph and I would look at it on our way to the woods through the years. It was mostly covered with ten-foot hedges that surrounded the house. We never ventured through the tall hedges. We lived only a block away. The story went that the couple who lived there married very young. After the husband died a sudden death the wife went half mad, just walked out of the house, and locked the door-never to return. Everything in the house was left at that hour; the shades were all drawn. It was a good size house, with four bedrooms, an attic and a basement. What stood out in our minds were the large, dark green hedges that circled the house in a ghostly fashion. The neighbor across the street, Mr. Ives, always trimmed the overhang of the hedges off the sidewalk. I got small jobs cutting lawns to make a few bucks here and there through the neighborhood. It meant a lot to a nine year old. A few years later I got curious and went through the hedges, where everything was dead except for the locusts. I walked around the tall weeds to the front porch, every step on the wood made an eerie crack. All the shades were drawn, and the door locked tight. On my way out, I noticed a few basement windows through the tall weeds. As I got closer, I could see they were rotted with age. I gave one a little push and I realized that with the right tool I could open it. The next day I told Joseph, and asked him if he would be interested in getting into the haunted house with me early in the morning. He agreed. I got a small crowbar and we planned to meet in his backyard at 6am, 6:00 came, but there was no Joseph. So I called him, “Joe-e-e-ey”. He woke up and came downstairs and joined me in the yard. Off we went, with crowbar in hand, to the haunted house. Before we walked through the small opening of the hedges, we looked around to make sure nobody was watching us. Little did we know, across the street Mr. Ives was watching us from his dining room window; he was getting ready for work. We got the window open without much trouble. I never forgot the first look into the basement tubs, which were rotted with cloths; the stopper was never taken out. (Dali where are you-your best masterpiece is yet to be painted!) Joseph held the window for me as I lowered myself down onto the moss tubs. We slowly made our way through the dim, smelly, cobwebbed basement to the steps leading upstairs.....

Shit, I’m sitting here writing

.....(Shit, I’m sitting here writing this in my back room with my new soundproof windows closed-and I heard a crack in the other room!) Slowly, we walked up the staircase; at the top the door was halfway open. As we peered through the opening, the room was dimly lit from the only existing light, the corners of the shades. Our hearts jumped up into our mouths. To our horror, there on the dining table what looked like a dark coffin was only two mattresses stacked one on top of the other, filled with tons cobwebs. When the shock wore off and the room took on less spooky feeling, we kids got to have some fun. We went into the bathroom, opened up the rusty medicine cabinet and found tubes of toothpaste; grabbing them in our hands we squeezed it everywhere…celling, mirror, walls. As we came out of the bathroom and into the living room we heard footsteps coming up the front porch. It was Mr. Ives, trying to peek through the cracks in the shades. He had seen us going through the tall hedges. We made a beeline for the stairs, out through the window, and ran down Kelso Avenue. He never told our parents.

Ted watched as the snot

Ted watched as the snot poured out of Edwin’s nose. Ted saw running noses before (like his own) but this just kept coming. And tons of tears, too. The snot was all over Edwin’s yellow-checkered shirt. He didn’t have a handkerchief, and there was his house going up in smoke and red flames. Ted’s sister was holding Ted’s tiny hand, and said to him, “ go give your handkerchief to Edwin”. Ted couldn’t do it; he was brought up in a spic-and span house, and Edwin was always gooey looking; and the snot just kept pouring out.

My brother’s wife

    My brother’s wife worked at the corner of our street, East 140th, in a large factory. Since she was only a block from our house, she would come over for lunch, which my mom made. One time, Mom was out. She came over and was tired, so she took a nap, between the living room and dining room, on the thick, rose print carpet floor. I was outside playing with my friends; across the street was a group of older teenagers talking. I ran into the house for something, and I noticed a body lying on the floor, under the arch. I carefully walked over and looked. She didn’t move. I ran out, and slowly walked over to the parking sign, close to the group of older teenagers. With my right arm out stretched holding onto the post, I slowly walked around, with tears coming, down my cheeks. One of the girls said, What’s wrong, Bobby?” I said, “ I think she’s dead!” They said, “Who”. Now, all nine were walking toward me. I said, “ She’s my brothers wife and isn’t moving”. They said, “ Maybe we should take a look”, so all nine went up the back porch steps, through the screen door, into the kitchen, through the living room where she laid. Some walked around her, and stood in a circle looking down. One guy said, “I should take her pulse”. As he bent his knees and was about to reach for her hand, her eyes opened, all nine jumped back. She became like a child, trying to get her herself up from the floor and I ran out of the house.

    My sister-in –law said to my mom- “oh, I know dad would love my wood”. My mom wasn’t crazy about it from the beginning. But my mom let dad store it up in the attic for a while. Then my mom said to my dad, “ I really want it out of the house”. I think when mom would go up in the attic she would see that shadowy gray box in the corner, with the shining, brash handles. My Aunt Olive was staying with us all the time. One evening when we had just finished dinner and were about to taste dad’s favorite dessert- mom made strawberry shortcake- we heard this scream coming from upstairs. It was aunt Olive; she was hysterical. When she went to take the first step down the stairs, she forgot about the banister- and went flying down sideways into my dad’s arms. She swore she saw the gray box move in the attic. It was late February and the snow was still on the ground. There it was- laid right next to the garage-not far from the garbage cans. The sanitation men came the next morning; they could see it from the next yard. Mom could hear them say, “No way is I going near that box!” So my dad had to chop up the coffin case and save the brass handles.

Hearing my first Opera

Hearing my first Opera was in Buffalo, New York. My mom’s sister, my aunt Coco, took care of me when I was very young. All I remember was that she had diabetes; she considered me her favorite. She also painted pictures with lovely colors. Later on she had to leave us, and go back to Buffalo. That’s where she was born. When I was 6 or 7, my mom took me to Buffalo, and with my mom’s sister, we went to see my aunt Coco at the state hospital. I was not allowed in, so my mom and aunt took me around the grounds towards the back. A few hospital patients were cutting grass. We stopped and looked way up, and there was my aunt Coco, out on a terrace, waving to us. That was so painful, seeing her up there, she had on a white robe. I remember she had to shout down, and we to her. As mom and my aunt were talking to her, my peripheral vision caught two woman hanging half-way out between the bars of the windows, unraveling two huge rolls of white toilet paper, sweeping them back and forth, singing at the top of their lungs, “ II Trovatore,” and waving to me! At one point, my aunt Coco said to her sisters, “ Now watch your pocketbooks.” It was like a nightmare to me. My aunt Coco never came out; she went into a coma. I remember some years later, when we went to Buffalo, my aunt took us to the cemetery. She didn’t have a head stone, so it took us some time, uncovering the grasses, to find her plot number. I spotted way over to the right, a pile of rubbish—ribbons, old pots, dead flowers, broken statuary—in a large heap. Looking, I found the right shape, not too big in size, and placed it over the spot. Before my mom’s other sister died, years later, she’d always said, “please don’t take me to the state hospital.” They never did!

I sat there watching

I sat there watching Gary drinking his milk, and eating his gram crackers. He ate the crackers with crisp, fast bites, the milk leaving a light half-moon over the blond hairs of his upper lip, way before the advertisement. He asked me one evening over the smell of fresh cut grass if I ever saw a dog get hard. As we sat on the front steps he called Tippy over and started to jerk him off. I got scared when I saw the long red thing. I thought the dog would go mad.