Too Good To Be True.

The expected rattle of three metal keys hitting against each other inside my purse did not come as expected. I knew today was too good to be true. Now to retrace my steps... The dark ominous hallway with its red-maroon-tan-brown paisley carpet, dingy and stained with the reminders of every flooded tub, busted pipes from the neighbors above, and maybe even a Coca-Cola or two, is showing no signs of a slight glimmer of the silver light reflected off my keys. I reach the elevator, relieved that it hadn’t even left this floor (eliminating the factor that someone had taken it from the elevator), step in and survey the area. Nope. No keys. The ride up one level of hell to the surface of the earth and stumble out of the elevator as if it had contained no air and I was dying for a way out. The lady at the table and the man she was attending to turn and just stare. “Sorry.” I straighten up and continue to look around for my keys. I notice when the man finally turns away and says something to the lady and I hear keys jingle. They could be his, he’s just messing around with them. They could be for the building, the lady at the front desk is just putting them away. I look up anyways. There he stood, holding my keys in his left hand. “Ah, yes. I’ve been looking for those.” The man turns and we lock eyes. I stood there, entranced by this man. He seems so familiar. He introduces himself as Mark Frusciante. I’ll never forget him. I thank him for finding my keys and he leaves. Then, I decide to put all that worry behind me and continue the feeling of having had an excellent day. I retreat down the elevator, down the hallway, and into my apartment. The lack of something sweet to munch on brought me to the prefect finale to this day. The doughnut shop. A warm, deliciously glazed doughnut (or a few) was all that circled my mind as I emerged out of my apartment, down the hallway, and up the elevator into the lobby and out the door. I am a couple of meters from the doors of the doughnut shop and everything goes black along with the sound of a giant computer breaking down. I turn and see the whole town behind me lost in the confusion and darkness. Suddenly, my shadow flew across the street in front of me. It was as if Jesus himself had popped out of the sky, glowing and everything. The only place with power was the place I had set out to reach. Not even the faults of man’s creations could interfere with my quest for doughnuts. I extended my arm out for the door and release the wonderful aroma to spread the sensation of this miracle. No one can refuse.

Dancing in the Wind

A single duck hops into the pond and takes off from the underwater land and begins to swim. The day outside is beautiful. Beautiful enough to skip class for one day. I deserve the reward of a day off after how hard I’ve been working lately. It’s nice to feel the outside for once, instead of just moving through it to my next indoor destination. The wind begins to pick up causing the trees and surface of the water to shake. I lay back against the tree I was sitting up against. Slowly, blink after blink, my eyes shut. The sounds of the park come alive. I’ve always heard the other four senses intensify when one sense is turned off. This moment proved it to be true. I heard everything. I don’t think my sense of smell got any better, and if anything had felt any different, it went unnoticed. But the noise produced by the park were overwhelming. The shimmer of the leaves moving with the wind, the faint splash coming from the duck’s endeavors, the workers at Fu-King Chicken taking out the trash, giggles coming from the playground, a head turning snap of a twig coming from within the forest probably caused by a small animal so it should be nothing to worry about... I block everything else out and focus on the leaves, dancing in the wind. The day became hotter. The wind picked up and it felt as if I were sinking into the ground and the dry grass had engulfed me. I open my eyes to yellow, gold grass glowing surrounding my head. Past the grass was the leaves of the tree, still dancing in the wind. Bells and chimes are hit by the movement of air and begin their melodies. Mama always loved her chimes’ songs so she surrounded the house with them. She says, “Mai il vento soffia in una direzione,” so which ever way the wind blew, a chime would sing. The sound of an old motor grows until it shuts off just around the house should be. I sit up and see Mama, dressed in her favourite skirt that went from her strong yet delicate hips down to the round of her ankle bone. It flowed in the wind, danced seconds behind her own steps, and was the color of fresh basil. Mama loves basil and the color green. She taught me to treat trees as our sisters because they deserve respect for giving us the air we breathe and the color green. She was walking out from under the porch with her chest high and a smile on her face as she usually would because she believed everyone deserved to be greeted with respect. She waits at the corner of the house for the automobile to spit out the news. It wasn’t usual for cars to come all the way out here, unless they were too small and filled with 11 clowns at once, at least that was how much Mama’s friends could get in. Milo, the owner of the mini car and head clown, was a good friend of Mama’s and some times stayed the night. Milo was the older brother I never had. He helped Mama restore our house to something that humans could inhabit after finding it one day on the way across the country for what the carnival master called “a change of scenery.” Milo and Mama thought I should have somewhere to establish my childhood in, so the house was mine. Mama thought her wagon she worked in wasn’t fit for her, her child, and her new American lifestyle. From the car a tall man in a black suit and black hat exits and heads toward Mama. Mama looks like a child next to this man. He reaches his enormous hand out to shake Mama’s, which she places in his as if she were expecting him to kiss it. The tall man leans down to bring his voice closer to Mama. His eyes dart over to where I’m sitting. He’s still talking to Mama. There is no humor in his face. My mother’s head bowed lower and lower as the tall man continued to speak. I had never seen anything lower my mother’s proud head like that. He straightened up and stood waiting for a response from my mother. I could see my mother take a deep breath, filling up with all the pride she had, smiled and finally spoke to the tall man. Her words were brief and ended with, “MICHEL!” Running over to them, I see Mama’s face smiling at her only child with dignity and something that could be described as self- assurance. The tall man’s face stayed stern and so serious it was almost frightening. I stop in front of them and slowly edge toward Mama because the towering man looked as he were ready to tip over and crush me. “Hello young lady. I’m Mr. Connelly. I am from the Departmant of Human Services. How do you like it here with your mother? Do you feel safe every night and day? Is mommy providing you with enough to eat?” The questions were pouring out of his mouth like he had surpassed the feeble humans need to inhale. I look up at my mother who I could see was struggling to keep her face strong, but with each question became weaker and weaker. The weight of the tall man’s words were crushing me and my mother to pulp and she could see the painful confusion on my face and finally said, “Enough.” The tall man kneels down to be on my level, as he had done for Mama, and looks slightly more sympathetic like he was about to tell me he hit my dog dead on his way here. “Just tell me this. Do you want to be like mommy when you grow up?” he asks quietly, emphasizing each word. This question was pointless. Did he not see Mama standing there? Mama is a goddess. She was my everything. She mends every hurt and knew the explanation to everything this world could concoct. “Of course I want to be like my mother.” With that, the tall man stood up, shook Mama’s hand once again and told us he’d be back next month. Now Mama is kneeling, strangling me with her motherly embrace. Mama whispers in my ear that this caused for a celebration and that she needed to call Milo to discuss costumes. Costumes? When she noticed I hadn’t been tailing behind her and that I stood exactly in the same spot, confused. “We must add you to the show! Every one will be so happy!” she exclaims as she dances into the house. Everything now made sense. I stood there stunned and Mama came back outside, still dancing, then quickly stopped when she saw me in the same spot, not moving. I was old enough and had seen enough to know about the world outside of my mother’s blanket and the world she lived in. Stopping in small, on the bridge of being run down cities to set up tents and carts in a smelly lot was like a Monday morning for Mama’s group. Income coming from cheap entertainment and cheating people out of their money was nothing to these people. Being insulted and ridiculed was not what I wanted for myself, or Mama. She saw past all the vulgarity and rudeness of the carnival goers, keeping her head up high. As a young child, it was all fun and games. The vendors would bring me candy and toys, the clowns would make me laugh with their silly gestures, and Mama and the other dancers would dance around the flames and sing for me. But now all the fun was lost at these carnivals. The grotesque lifestyle the clowns kept by selling illegals to the oblivious children’s parents, the inequality of pay, all these things were not what I wanted for my mother or myself. I love my mother so much but she could not trap me into this lifestyle. I look off down the path where the tall man had come from. Mama’s face ran cold. She moved slowly and cautiously down the stairs as if any sudden sound would scare Bambi away. Our eyes met, and I took off. I ran. After the car. I sit up abruptly, see the ducklings waddling behind their mother, and then get up and run. Home.

Bowling...

It felt as if pushing the doors open of Finch Pointe that morning took a little extra strength today. The air was thick, and hardly solid. I don’t know where I’m going but I have to get out of under that building. The heat as well as the confinement of my apartment were about to cause my head to explode. I look up at the the steamy clouds and wait for the top of a pan to lift off the sky with someone hungry peering down at me. “Excuse me. Could you please point me in the direction of Queen’s Palace?” A long sleek limo glistens in the sun, causing my eyes to squint had pulled up right in front of me. A limo here? A limo heading to Queen’s Palace? The strip club? After a few seconds of astonishment, the words, “Just take this left, right here,” slipped out of my mouth idly. I wait and watch as the car turns the corner and stops right in front of the local strip club, not even a block away. The driver exits the car, closes his door and heads for the other end of the car. The driver opens the door, murmurs something and out pops the passenger. The passenger straightens up and walks toward the bodyguard who shakes the passengers hand and together they converse as they enter the local strip club down the street. Who could that have been? Nothing reasonable could explain this one. Nothing that couldn’t be found out judging by the loquaciousness of these city dwellers. So where to go? There’s no way I’d go into that strip club just to see who this celebrity was, so I’ll just find out somewhere else. I remember the offer a classmate of mine made to hang out some time soon. Semester just began and he felt that a day or two of being lab partners was not enough time for us to get to know each other. He suggested we go bowling. Bowling... Who goes bowling anymore? I decide I might just head over to the local bowling alley, Garrett Lanes, see who does goes bowling nowadays. I turn to my right and see the man with the nice Cadillac I always see racing around this place, I think his name is OJ, falling to the ground as another man runs off down Moth Street. Another man stands over the body, not knowing what to do and is already looking harassed and uneasy. Should I run and find help? Can I just walk away? I don’t want to be a witness. Finding myself in this situation makes me think I am responsible for what I saw. The anguish OJ Smith was currently feeling as he lied in front of the doughnut shop was now a part of my life. A single moment, just three seconds within blinks connects my life to these individuals’ lives. I don’t want to change a stranger’s life. I don’t think I should have the power to do that. I decide to walk away. The bowling alley wasn’t even worth what I had just witnessed. Bowling...

Mofongo with a side of Moonshine explosions

The bus reaches Freedom Parkway earlier than usual. I carelessly get off and realise I had left my bag of books under my seat. The doors close as I turn around and the driver takes off. There’s no point in chasing him. Those book will cost me a fortune... Hopefully they’ll be there tomorrow because the money for them is not something I have. Feeling nonchalant since this day couldn’t get any better, I head down 14th to the Caribbean place because on a day like today, nothing could make me happier. I enter the restaurant and the waiter walks over and immediately begins speaking Spanish. This guy is obviously new here. Ugh, if only there were more Italians around here,they’d know better. With a fake smile I’ve perfected over the years I tell him I’m Italian and I’d like some Mofongo with a side of Platanos Maduros. I see the waiter exit the kitchen with my meal and he notices how attentive I am and smiles. A second later, one of the chef’s runs out of the kitchen and yells something in Spanish and before he could spit it all out, my food was splattered across the floor. The waiter, having been so distracted by the news, barely noticed his hand tilting the tray of food turned to me and said, “I am so sorry. I’ll go get you another.” I could tell that this boy of at most nineteen, looking frazzled from whatever his co worker just announced and from the shock of dropping something he knew he’d get in trouble for and have to clean up, wanted nothing more than to run outside with the rest of the occupants of the restaurant and forget all about me and my Mofongo with a side of Platanos Maduros. Oh well, there’s food at home. “Just tell me what happened,” I say with the most forgiving face I could pull out. “ The carnival is up in flames!” he exclaims as he runs out the door. I picked up my bag and run after the excitement, this is definitely something worth seeing. As I run past by Queen’s, I see the club’s body guard chatting with the local bum, Joe Johnson. They seemed unphased by the chaos compared to the rest of us running up the street. BOOOMMM! An explosion. It was probably all the moonshine those clowns were smuggling around town. I gaze off into the massive amount of curly, white smoke filling the air. A car horn that sounded too near to be safe pulls me back and I quickly try to evade the vehicle’s path. This speeding, black car seems rather suspicious coming out of the smoke of the fire, but with all the commotion, I forget all about it and decide to just head home. I’m starving.

Fortuna

I get off the bus and the sound of cheap entertainment fills the air. Oh yes, the carnival. Visions of my mother flash in my head. Her own personal cart, decorated with red velvet cloths and multi-colored candles, the smell of incense and dust, the feeling that something magical just might happen... No fortune teller I’ve seen could ever create the mood my mother did. She may be there. She’s the reason I’m here. On this corner. Getting off the bus. In a cheap basement apartment. At Finch Pointe. And alive, obviously. Curiosity put me in a zombie-like trance and I find myself running like a giddy little kid. I almost run over actual giddy little children making up most of the line in front of the ticket booth. I don’t think I’ll ever get in... I look past the gate and see J.J. Carlyle getting in between an argument the balloon guy and some girl were having. That’s just like him. They’ll be in his apartment in no time... The group of kids ran in and now I’m at the booth. The clown running the booth seemed drunk so I used my Italian charm to get through without paying. The place is swamped with dangers; kids running around caressing giant plush animals that block their view, fire breathers and sword swallowers blinding showing off their skills to anyone they can grab, clowns wheeling around on the unicycles doing tricks which includes jumping over each other when they fall. I return to earth and remember why I came here in the first place. There’s no fortune telling cart in site. A feeling of relief rushes all over my body and is quickly drained out by the feeling that a child gets when they’re away from home to long. This, this trashy cheap carnival, could have been my home. It’s what my mother wanted. It’s what she does. She said it’s her little home away from her real home of Napoli. It’s the life she lived as a child before having to move to the states. This, this trashy cheap carnival, is why I ran.

Any Other Day

Oh god, what is it today? Hopefully the strip club down the street blew up. From here, everything sounds like the world’s end. No windows, underground; sadly I survived today’s apocalypse. It was probably nothing. The pipes and inhabitants of this building can easily be the explanation for today’s noise. Looking around my shabby apartment, as I do every morning, I go on with the morning ritual. Inhale with a stretch, turn right, three steps, then left towards the bathroom, turn the faucet, wait for the water to fill my hands... All I feel is still air. Finally I look down, seeing my hands still empty. The shower isn’t working either. Nothing is out of the ordinary yet. Bread, butter, tomato, olive oil, prosciutto; starting my day off with taste. My Italian blood is soothed with mix of fresh flavours. Mama Lee’s never lets me down. Throwing on my clothes I realise this morning’s noise was fifteen minutes later than my usual biological clock would bring me to life. The bus leaves in three minutes.