Christmastime 1940: A Love Story

by AGNES IRENE

  She took Gabriel home and pulled a chair in front of the telephone. Her sister Annette had convinced her to get one installed. Thank God she had listened to her. How she wished her sister was with her now. Lillian sat staring at the telephone, a tight knot in her stomach.

  Gabriel leaned against her and she put her arms around him.

  “Don’t worry, Mommy. Mr. Drooms will find him.”

  Drooms rode the train to Brooklyn, growing nervous at the thought that he might not be able to find Tommy. What if Tommy had gotten off at the wrong stop, or taken the wrong train? Drooms didn’t like being responsible for people, especially children. But then he remembered Lillian’s face, her quick breathing, her worried eyes casting about as she spoke. He would have done anything to help put her at ease.

  He looked down at the address she wrote, at the letters and numbers, and tried to find some clue to her in the loops and curves. Then he turned it over and read the grocery list she had written: shoestrings, Ovaltine, soap, butter, eggs, then raisins and chocolate chips – both with question marks after them. What did she mean? Was she deciding if she could afford both? Or was she deciding between two recipes? He wanted to know. He pressed the piece of paper between his palms.

  The train seemed to take forever, full of innumerable stops. It had been a long time since Drooms was last in Brooklyn and he found that his memory of the streets was a bit jumbled. First he got off at the wrong stop, then he later got turned around and had to backtrack. He finally found the right street, and walked down several blocks, checking the address. When he realized that he was on the right block, he looked across the street where the address should have been and saw the empty lots full of piles of rubble. A bulldozer and a few dumpsters were gradually being covered by the snow.

  Drooms looked around for Tommy and was afraid that he had already come and left, or, God forbid, was now lost, and wandering around in the cold. Then up ahead, between two parked cars, Drooms saw a lone figure, standing still among the falling snow.

  There was Tommy, staring at the gaping hole where his home used to be. For one brief moment, it was as if Drooms was seeing himself on that cold December day long ago: there he was again, under the heavy gray sky, a dome of bleakness over the family plot, the utter stillness of the day. Nothing moved except the stinging snow as he stood there, immobile, frozen.

  Drooms saw the same relentless flurries now swirling around Tommy as he stared at the snowy pile of bricks and boards, a lone stoop the only thing left standing. He recognized the expression on Tommy’s face as that of loss, for something that was gone forever, irretrievable.

  Drooms slowly approached Tommy, and as he got closer, he could see the streaks on his cheeks, the eyelashes still wet with recent tears. Drooms felt a knot of anguish in his stomach, and wanted to smooth away the boy’s pain. He gently placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Come on, Tommy. Let’s go home.”

  Tommy snapped around and shook off the gesture. “Leave me alone! You’re not my father!”

  Drooms was thrown by the unexpected response. In an instant, Tommy had gone from vulnerable child, to angry boy.

  Drooms suddenly doubted himself. Perhaps he was intruding where he shouldn’t. “I’m here because your mother was worried. You shouldn’t have run off like that.”

  “Yeah, well she shouldn’t have run off like that either. She just left our house, our home.” His voice began to break, and he had to muster up more anger to finish his thought: “And she didn’t even tell me why!”

  Drooms thrust his hands in his pockets and looked at Tommy, then across the way, then up at the sky. He didn’t know how to fix this.

  “They tore down our house, and Mom knew. Every time I asked to come back she made an excuse. Now I know why.” Tommy crossed his arms and set his chin defiantly at Drooms. “She should have told me!”

  Drooms saw in Tommy a hurt child who was learning the hard lessons of life. How he wished that life could be kinder, could wait a few more years before placing its heavy burdens on children. “Yes, she should have told you. You’re old enough to understand.”

  Tommy had expected a fight, but now that Drooms appeared to be on his side, his face softened, and he once again became a little boy trying to understand why his world had crumbled. “It’s all gone. Everybody’s gone.” The only person he could find to blame, or knew to blame, was his mother. “She should have told me,” he said again, but this time it sounded more like a plea.

  They stared across at the rubble, watching the snow fall on the empty lot. Tommy roughly wiped his eyes and took in a few staccato breaths.

  “She’s doing her best,” said Drooms.

  “She never understands. Nobody does.”

  Drooms knew there was no consolation, no words that could fill that gaping hole in front of them. All he could do was try to soften the blow for Tommy, attempt to connect with him.

  “You know, my father died when I was about your age, maybe a little younger. And I became the man of the house, too. I know it isn’t easy.”

  Tommy didn’t want to like Mr. Drooms, but at least he never treated him like a little kid. And now Drooms was telling him something personal about himself. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Tommy studied Drooms’s profile against the gray sky, wanting to hear more.

  Drooms kept his eyes on the lone stoop. “I had just turned eight.”

  “I’m nine. Almost ten.” Tommy gazed out at the lot, then back at Drooms. “How did he die?”

  “One day his heart gave out on him while he was working the fields. I was bringing his lunch to him and found him there.”

  Tommy felt bad for Mr. Drooms. “My dad died fighting a fire,” he said softly. “I was four.”

  “He must have been a very brave man.”

  Tommy nodded and stood silent for a few moments. “Mommy thinks I remember him, but I really don’t.” Tommy abruptly turned to Drooms, alarmed at the words that had just come out of his mouth. He had often thought them, but had never spoken them to anyone. His eyes searched around, as if looking for an explanation. “I mean – I want to. I try to. Sometimes I think I do. But then I know that it’s really just the pictures and stories Mommy tells us. That’s all I remember. Not the real him.” His face took on a worried expression. “But don’t tell Mom,” he said in a lower, protective tone. “It would make her feel bad.” He shifted his weight and rubbed his arms, suddenly feeling the cold.

  Drooms felt his heart breaking for the boy. This poor child didn’t even have the memory of a father, and if that wasn’t enough, had the burden of pretending that he did. That was too much for a nine-year-old. He once again placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  They walked in silence down the street back towards the subway. Drooms wanted to get him into a warm place.

  Tommy kicked at the snow along the sidewalk. “I bet you didn’t have a little brother you always had to take care of.”

  “I did. And a little sister.”

  “Mom treats me like a baby, and then makes me do everything. It’s not fair.”

  “Life hasn’t been fair to your mother, either, has it? She has to be both mother and father, and it’s not easy. She needs you, Tommy. And so does Gabriel.”

  “I know.” He winced a little. “You think she’s worried?”

  “I’ll call her and tell her you’re with me.” Across the street he saw a café with a phone booth inside. “How about some hot chocolate before we go back?”

  Tommy hadn’t expected this turn of events, and when he saw where they were going his face lit up. “Hey, that’s Saporito’s. We used to go there all the time, especially in summer. Me and Gabe would have floats and banana splits and sundaes. Mommy always got a chocolate egg cream.”

  “C’mon. Let’s go inside. I’ll give her a call.”

  They moved from the cold and gray of the street, to the warmth and liveliness of Saporito’s Café. The cafe was dominated by a large carved mirror that ran the length of the counter,
doubling the holiday lights and decorations, the booths full of customers, the children looking at toys, the waitresses bringing phosphates and malts and sandwiches from the kitchen to the tables. From a radio behind the counter a scratchy Italia aria swelled and fell, weaving in and out of the laughter and conversation and clinking of dishes.

  Tommy scanned the counter and booths for any of his old buddies but didn’t see anyone he knew. Then he saw Mr. Saporito behind the counter, moving his hand back and forth to the music as he rang up a customer. Tommy jumped up on a stool at the counter and tried to catch the owner’s eye. “Hi, Mr. Saporito!”

  “Well hello, Tommy!” Mr. Saporito mussed Tommy’s hair and leaned on the counter. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. I heard that you moved away. How’s your mother? How’s Gabriel?”

  “They’re fine. We moved to Manhattan. Central Park is only two blocks from us. We go there all the time.”

  Drooms took off his gloves and rubbed his hands, smiling at the owner. “How about two hot chocolates.” He noticed Tommy looking at the ice cream menu above the counter. “Anything else, Tommy?” He saw his hesitation and encouraged him. “Go ahead, get what you want.”

  “Can I have a hot fudge sundae, too?”

  Drooms smiled. “Make that two,” he told the owner. “I’ll be right back, Tommy.”

  As he waited for the phone booth, he could hear that Tommy was filling in Mr. Saporito on their move. Tommy was again all exuberance and high spirits, making half twirls on the bar stool as he spoke, never still for a moment.

  When the phone booth opened, Drooms went inside, fished out a coin from his pocket and made his call to Lillian. “Yes, he’s right here with me. He’s fine.” For a moment he thought the line went dead, then he realized that she was crying. “Everything’s fine. We’re just going to stop for a cup of chocolate to warm up, and then we’ll head home.” When she finally spoke, the relief and gratitude he heard in her voice filled him with happiness. He hadn’t felt like this in a long, long time. Everything seemed so simple, so easy.

  Drooms joined Tommy at the counter and took a bite of his sundae. “Pretty good.”

  Tommy twisted his spoon around, and lifted his face to Drooms. “Is she sore at me?”

  “Well, first she was relieved. Then upset. By the time we get home, she’ll just be glad to see you.” Drooms took another bite. “Eat slowly.”

  Tommy smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Drooms.”

  Two boys about Tommy’s age and a little girl walked in. One of the boys punched Tommy on the arm. “Hey, Tommy!”

  “Hey, Dominic!” said Tommy. He saw Dominic’s little brother and sister. “Hey, Tony. Hi, Mary.” Tommy turned to Drooms. “These are my friends.” He swiveled on the bar stool and pointed to Drooms. “This is Mr. Drooms. He’s our new neighbor in Manhattan. I’m just showing him around the old neighborhood.”

  Drooms let Tommy visit his buddies, smiling inwardly at the conversation. Tommy’s description of the city, his new school, Central Park, and the food his babysitter made caused the boys to cry out in envy: “Jeez, you’re lucky!”

  Little Mary said simply, “Golly!” to everything.

  Then Dominic waved to someone in one of the booths in the back. “Well, there’s my ma. Guess we gotta go now.”

  “Say hey to the guys for me,” said Tommy. “I’ll be back soon for another visit.”

  “So long,” said Dominic.

  “Bye, Tommy,” said Mary. “Tell Gabriel I still love him.”

  Tommy cast a side look up at Mr. Drooms after they left. “I kind of fudged the truth a little bit. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “You are showing me the neighborhood,” Drooms said. “I’m glad I got to see it.”

  As they finished their ice cream, Tommy kept spinning on the stool, checking out the toys displayed across the aisle.

  Drooms followed Tommy’s gaze. “You like baseball?”

  “I think so. I’ve never been to a real game.”

  Drooms walked over and picked up a glove and ball. He handed the glove to Tommy. “Here, see if it fits.”

  Tommy just looked at the glove, then up at Drooms.

  “Go on, give it a try,” said Drooms.

  As they left the store, Tommy hollered out to the owner. “So long, Mr. Saporito! See you later.” Tommy glanced back at his buddies, glad to see they were watching. He gave them a big wave, wearing his new baseball glove.

  Tommy was transformed as they set off to the subway station. “Thanks for coming to get me, Mr. Drooms. That was swell! Hey – catch!” Tommy mimed catching a ball and then throwing it to Drooms.

  Drooms mimed barely catching the ball and hurling it to first base. “He’s out!”

  Tommy ran down the subway stairs laughing. All the way home he tossed the ball up and down and punched his glove with it, talking non-stop about the stick ball games they used to play in the old neighborhood and how some of the boys went to real ball games. He talked of the summers up at his aunt and uncle’s orchard, the train ride there, how they went swimming in the creek, and sometimes roasted hot dogs and marshmallows over a bonfire at night.

  Drooms, in turn, told stories of the games they used to play on the farm, throwing horseshoes, jumping from the hayloft, and the animals he took care of.

  “Wish I could live on a farm,” said Tommy.

  “But then you wouldn’t know how to play stick ball, or how to ride on a train, or be able to get hot fudge sundaes at ice cream parlors.”

  Tommy laughed and punched his glove. “Yeah. I guess I like living here.”

  Lillian had been watching from the kitchen window, and when she saw Drooms and Tommy return, she threw open the door and ran down the stairs to meet them, with Gabriel following her. She knelt down and embraced and kissed Tommy. “Oh, Tommy. Thank God, you’re back.”

  Tommy was embarrassed by her show of affection and backed up a little from her embrace. He had felt so grown up all afternoon, and now here she was, treating him like a baby again.

  Lillian winced, as if Tommy’s gesture had caused a sudden pain. She stood up and faced Drooms, and spoke in a voice that she hoped was steady. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

  Tommy and Gabriel ran up the stairs. Gabriel had seen the glove and was shouting, “Hey! Let me see it.”

  Lillian and Drooms followed in silence.

  At their door, Tommy looked back and felt bad when he saw his mom’s face. “Sorry, Mom. I just wanted to see the old neighborhood.” He punched the glove with the ball.

  Lillian put her hands on his shoulders. “Promise me you’ll never to do that again,” she said, her voice quivering.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Tommy hoped she wasn’t going to start crying; that would make him a little kid again. An argument would be better than that. “But you should have told me. I’m old enough. Right, Mr. Drooms?”

  Drooms suddenly felt guilty when Lillian looked at him. He remained silent.

  Lillian had the odd feeling that she was outnumbered, and her pain quickly shifted to anger. At Mr. Drooms. Taking back control, she stood up straight, and tried to sound cheerful. “I made spaghetti. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” said Tommy.

  “Good. Go wash up.”

  Tommy headed off to the bathroom with Gabriel on his heels. Tommy grinned and tapped Gabriel’s head with the glove. “Don’t worry, Gabe. Mr. Drooms got one for you, too.” He pulled a smaller glove from inside his jacket. “Here. See if it fits.”

  Gabriel put on the glove and ran to hug Mr. Drooms, and then ran back to Tommy and bombarded him with questions about the train, Saporito’s, the ice cream.

  Drooms had been smiling at Tommy, with a look of something like pride in his eyes. Lillian still felt sick to her stomach with fear that Tommy had been lost, overwhelmed with guilt that it had been her fault, and angry at Tommy’s apparent shift in allegiance. Drooms’s easy smile set her off. “You bought him a baseball glove?”

  Drooms was caught u
nawares. “I saw no harm in consoling the boy.”

  “Consoling him is my job.”

  Drooms opened his mouth and was about to speak. Instead he just nodded, and turned to leave.

  Lillian immediately regretted taking out her frustration on him. “Mr. Drooms!” But her voice came out sounding like a command.

  Drooms stopped, wondering what was coming next.

  Lillian twisted her hands as she searched for the right tone. “Thank you for your help.” No, that still sounded perfunctory. In a gentler voice, she asked, “Won’t you join us for dinner, please?”

  “I think not. Good night.”

  As she watched him leave, and close the door behind him, a new wave of sadness washed over her.

  Tommy came out and looked around. “Where’s Mr. Drooms?”

  “He had to go. He said he’ll see you later.”

  Tommy gave a groan of disappointment and was almost ready to blame his mom again. He was sure that Mr. Drooms would want to stay to tell her all about Brooklyn. Then he saw that his mom’s eyes were wet from crying, but that she was trying to hide it.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I know that was wrong. Next time we’ll go together.” He hugged her and let her hug him back as she wiped her eyes again. When she stopped her silent crying, he sniffed the air. “Can we eat? That smells delicious.”

  All through dinner Lillian kept looking at Tommy, marveling at how quickly he moved from having an adult sensibility at times, to being just a little boy. She felt that he was slowly leaving her grasp. Throughout the meal everything was “Mr. Drooms said…, Mr. Drooms knows…,” increasing the distance she felt. Tommy was moving into a man’s world, before her very eyes. He seemed so happy, as if the day had changed him, increased his confidence. Mr. Drooms had somehow managed to connect him to the outside world in a way that she couldn’t.

  She sat quietly and let Tommy talk, even encouraged him, while she carefully memorized the details of her little boy as a nine-year-old – the way he talked excitedly with his hands, the sprinkle of tiny freckles across his nose, the way his mouth curled up in a half-smile when he told Gabriel about Mary, the soft roundness of his cheeks and chin that would soon be gone – carefully memorized these details, before they were left behind to childhood.