Dwayne headed back to his
apartment, and David and I went to our building. It had been six hours since
the splash-down. I shook David’s hand outside his apartment before the walk up
the potentially dangerous two flights of stairs above.
“Good
luck,” David said.
“If
anything happens to me,” I said, “I just wanted to thank you for all you’ve
taught me.”
David
put his hand on my shoulder. He couldn’t form the words to say his final
goodbye. When his apartment door closed, I was all alone.
I
tiptoed past the scary Southern lady’s apartment and was relieved that she
didn’t hear me. I took a deep breath outside our apartment door. It was now or
never.
When the
door opened, I saw Dad sitting on his blue recliner. He was smoking a cigarette
and reading the newspaper. He didn’t even look up. I could hear Mom in the
kitchen, getting dinner ready. The table was already set. I closed the door
behind me and tried to walk to my room as casually as possible. Mom saw me
first.
“Oh
there you are,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“Um,” I
sputtered. “They have a piano at the teen club.” A totally true, if completely
unrelated, statement.
“Wash up
for dinner,” she said.
Dad
didn’t say a word. He seemed entranced by the story he was reading in the
paper. I could only see the front-page headline: “Ulrike Meinhof Hangs Herself
in Prison”
The
three of us sat at our usual spots at the dining room table. Dad at the head of
the table, mom to his left, and me on his right. Dinner smelled tremendous. One
of mom’s specialties, Rouladen. Dad closed his eyes and said the blessing.
“Dear
Lord,” he said, “thank you for this wonderful food, and the incredible culinary
talents you sent me through this beautiful woman Helga.”
Mom
smiled.
“And
Lord,” he continued, “I know you probably didn’t call for Ulrike Meinhof to
join you in the kingdom of heaven, but if for some reason you have a communist
terrorist section up there, please re-educate them about the world before I
come to join you, so I won’t have to listen to their radical nonsense for
eternity. Amen.”
All
three of us did the sign of the cross.
“Oh,”
Dad said, “one more thing. Lord, please give some peace to the crazy woman who
lives below us. May she walk out the front door of our building for the rest of
her time here without getting hit by another water balloon, and please forgive
whoever hit her with that water balloon today, for he or she probably didn’t do
it on purpose. Amen.”
“Amen,”
Mom said.
I was
afraid to speak.
I cut
through my Rouladen, and carefully snuck a glance at Dad’s face.
He was
grinning.
