Sally Boy

by P. Vincent DeMartino

“Salvatore?”

  Sal stopped, “Yeah?”

  “It’s really good to have you home.”

  “Thanks Pop. It’s good to be home.”

  Entering his room, Sal set his bag down on the bed. He opened the duffel bag and dug through his belongings until he found the framed picture that he had securely wrapped in several t-shirts. The photograph that had crisscrossed the world with him, kept him safe from harm and meant so much to him. Unfurling it, Sal stared at the picture. “We’re home. Can you believe we made it outta that place?” he whispered sweetly.

  Carefully, he set the photo back on the nightstand in the spot it had occupied for years while he was growing up. Removing his uniform, Sal neatly laid it on a chair next to his dresser. He got into bed and propped several pillows under his head. After finding a comfortable position, Sal closed his eyes and quickly drifted off into a deep sleep. Sal dreamt that he was a little boy back in Sicily.

  Young Salvatore played with his mother in the front yard of his grandparents’ home. Marie chased after her son, playfully teasing him in Italian. “I’m going to catch you, Salvatore! I’m right behind you.”

  Salvatore’s Mama and Papa sat on the porch merrily laughing at their antics. Finally, Marie caught her son from behind and threw her arms around him. Still locked in an embrace, the two fell to the ground laughing. Marie tickled Salvatore’s tummy and his adorable high-pitched giggle made Marie laugh, too. As they lay in the tall grass, Marie gazed deeply into her son’s eyes and said softly, “I love you very, very much, Salvatore.”

  “I love you too, Mommy.” Salvatore flashed a mischievous smile and then he burst into laughter. Rising quickly, he ran away from his mother. “You can’t catch me!” He taunted as he raced across the yard.

  “Oh yes, I can. I’m going to get you.” Once again Marie chased after her son. “I’m right behind you, Salvatore. I’m gonna get you.”

  As Marie started to gain on him, Salvatore made a beeline toward the outhouse. The moment the boy turned the corner, his dream transformed him into a seventeen-year-old kid fleeing for his life down a dark, damp Bronx alley. Mikey and Anthony ran along with him from a group of shadowy figures. Looking back over his shoulder, Mike yelled to his friends, “C’mon, hurry up! They’re right behind us!”

  As they reached the end of the alley, the three boys found a ten-foot-high brick wall before them. Frantically, they tried to scale it, but to no avail. There was no escape and nowhere else to run. The mob of shadowy figures rushed them, howling like wild banshees.

  “We might as well fucking go out swinging,” Mikey shouted fists up.

  Panicked, Anthony ranted, “I’m gonna die? Ain’t I, Sally Boy? I didn’t do nothing! Why do I gotta die? I didn’t do nothing!”

  “I can’t move my fucking arms! I can’t lift my arms!” Sal cried out in frustration.

  Seeing Sal struggling, Mikey yelled, “Anthony, grab his fucking arm.”

  Taking hold of Sal’s arms, the two strained to raise them, but the limbs wouldn’t budge from his side. Mikey could only shake his head. “I can’t fucking believe you, Sal. Just when we needed you the most you won’t even try to help us.”

  “I can’t lift my fucking arms,” Sal hollered back, still fighting to raise them.

  A strange peace suddenly came over Anthony’s face. Turning to Sal, Anthony stated very understandingly, “That’s awright, Sally Boy. I don’t blame you. You had to do what you had to do. Right?”

  Confused by his friend’s statement, Sal screamed, “What the hell are you talking about?”

  The hostile rabble came in fast and hard, pinning the three boys up against the wall. Two large figures seized Mikey’s arms, rendering him helpless. Another figure pulled out a long knife and repeatedly stabbed Mike in his chest. Blood shot from Mikey’s torso covering him and the ground.

  “Mikey! Leave him alone! No!” Sal shouted in horror.

  Two other figures took Anthony and pushed him face first up against the wall. A pistol was put to the back of his head and a shot rang out. “Anthony, no!” Sal cried as he watched in shock as his friends body fell to the ground.

  The angry mob tossed Sal around like a rag doll, beating and kicking him until he was almost unconscious. Then inexplicably they stopped and collectively stepped back. Winded from the scuffle, Sal stood breathing heavily. A shadowy figure emerged from the crowd carrying a sawed-off shotgun and pointed the weapon directly at Sal’s face. Intently, Sal stared at the trigger finger. Clearly Sal could see blood rush from the digit as pressure was slowly applied. As the finger tightened, Sal yelled, “Noooo!”

  “Salvatore, wake up! Wake up!” Peter shouted as he shook his son.

  Opening his eyes, Sal found his father sitting on the edge of the bed, still clutching his shoulders. “You awright?” Peter asked, sympathetically.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.” Sal wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “You was having a bad dream. That’s all.”

  “I know, Pop.”

  “What were you dreaming about?”

  “I...I don’t remember.”

  “You hungry?” Peter asked, doubting his son’s answer.

  “Yeah.”

  “Awright. Go wash up. I’ll put the food on the table.”

  “Okay, Pop.”

  Sal staggered into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. Gazing up into the mirror, he softly mumbled, “That was one fucked up dream.” After drying his face and hands on a towel, Sal headed toward the kitchen. To his pleasant surprise, the table was already set with piping hot manicotti, fresh Italian bread, grated cheese, and two glasses of wine.

  “Madonn! When did you become so civilized, Pop?” Sal teased.

  “I’ve been seeing this really classy broad for a while now. Maybe something rubbed off.”

  “You ain’t going soft on me?”

  “That’ll be the fucking day. Sit down, wiseguy.”

  “That’s my, Pop,” Sal said, laughing.

  Peter carefully spooned several manicottis onto Sal’s plate and covered them with sauce. Placing two on his, Peter added some sauce, grated some cheese onto the manicotti, and they began to eat. “So what was it like for you over there, Salvatore?”

  “What do you mean, Pop?” Sal asked as he grated cheese onto his food.

  “What the fuck do you think I mean?”

  “It was the same for everybody.”

  “You didn’t answer my question, Salvatore.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Sal sipped his wine. “It was a bad time for everybody.”

  “Ain’t you gonna tell me nothing?”

  “What could I tell you that you don’t already know? You know what it was like.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “What about all the letters I sent you? Didn’t you get ’em?”

  “Yeah, but I never opened ’em, Salvatore. I was still mad at you.”

  “That’s okay, Pop. Don’t worry about it.”

  “So what do you wanna do? Now that you’re home, I mean. You wanna stay here? I won’t mind if you wanna move back in.”

  “Maybe, for a little while, but I really gotta find my own place.”

  “I understand. But you know you can stay here as long as you want, right?”

  “I know, Pop. Thanks.”

  “What about work? You wanna come to work with me. I could talk to Don Bruno.”

  “Ming! That’s a really nice offer. But I think I’m gonna take it slow for a little while. You know, catch my breath and figure out some things. I got some money saved up.”

  “Your friend, Anthony DiGregorio, he’s working for the Mirragios now. Did you know that?”

  “Nah, I lost touch with everybody.”

  “I don’t know what happened to the other one.”

  “You mean, Mikey?”

  “Yeah, I ain’t seen him around lately.”

  “I ain’t worried about him. Mikey could always take carea himself. He’s probably
doing better than all of us.”

  “What about clothes? I got some really nice suits that just fell offa truck. If you want ’em, they’re yours.”

  “Thanks. It’ll be nice to wear something besides green.”

  Peter sipped his wine. “Salvatore, if you need anything else, all you gotta do is ask. You know that, right?”

  Sal smiled, “I know.”

  “Now let’s get down to the important stuff. Tell me about the broads. What was they like over there? I bet they was fucking beautiful, huh? I always had a thing for those Chinese broads.”

  “They wasn’t Chinese, Pop. They was Vietnamese.”

  “I know, jerk-off. I meant the Oriental broads.”

  Sal laughed, “It’s good to be home, Pop.”

  “Ah, shut the fuck up,” Peter remarked playfully.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After an exhaustive search, Sal found a furnished apartment on the East Side of the Bronx in the Bedford section, not too far from his old Arthur Avenue neighborhood. The apartment needed to be painted, and the carpets shampooed, but it had potential. It had one bedroom, a small kitchen with a stove, a bathroom with a tub, and a living room. After conferring with his father and getting Peter to agree to help fix it up, Sal decided this would be his new home. Less than one month after arriving home from, Sal signed the lease agreement and moved in.

  Once again the kindly Italian grandmother’s played a part in Sal’s new life. They insisted on helping and they did a wonderful job converting his apartment from a minimal shelter to a very comfortable and attractive home. They shopped for the bed linens, towels, curtains, and some quality pots and pans. They filled his refrigerator with wholesome food and stocked the cabinets with the common necessities for a functioning household. To show his appreciation, Sal generously compensated the women for their efforts and Peter couldn’t resist slipping them some extra cash on the side. It wasn’t that Sal didn’t take care of them, it was just Peter’s way.

  Having selected the best shade to accent each room, Peter managed to supervise the entire painting of the apartment without ever picking up a brush. Talking much of the time Sal worked, they tossed back a few drinks and reminisced about Sal’s childhood. They laughed, recalling the antics he had pulled along with the other neighborhood characters, especially Mikey and Anthony. This time together allowed Peter and Sal to reconnect and helped their relationship to blossom into one of mutual respect and appreciation for one another.

  Preferring to keep a low profile, Sal purposely limited his exposure by only going out during daylight hours, just in case someone from Wilson’s Unit might be seeking payback. He wasn’t scared, but Sal didn’t want any surprises, and was leery of any new faces in his neighborhood. Sometimes Sal would go for days without eating or having any meaningful interaction with another human being. He filled his idle time with trips to the Bronx Zoo, comforted by the peace and serenity of sitting and watching the animals. Finding it difficult to sleep through the night because of his dreadful recurring nightmares, Sal often woke sweating, shaking, and many times screaming. Occasionally, Sal dreamt about the young soldier who died silently in his arms. Of all his night terrors, that was the one that troubled Sal the most, but he didn’t fully understand why.

  As part of his daily routine, Sal would sit in a corner booth of the Starlight Diner, drinking coffee and reading the paper. He made it a point to always face the front door and he felt relatively safe relaxing because there was no back entrance, only an emergency fire exit door. The big front window made it easy for him to watch the pretty girls walk by and to keep tabs on people entering and leaving. Now and again, thoughts of Angel ran through Sal’s mind and he couldn’t help but wonder if by some stroke of luck, his friend actually survived his chest wound.

  One day, much like every other day, while Sal sat alone drinking coffee, his attention was captured by the sight of a young girl seated at a nearby table reading a book. The afternoon sunlight shone through the window onto her honey blonde hair, making it appear like spun gold. Possessing a perfect face, like that of a goddess, her twinkling azure eyes were as captivating as any star-filled evening sky. A tight, low-cut blouse accented her tear-drop breasts and a short skirt revealed her long shapely legs, crossed under the table.

  Finding it difficult not to stare, Sal was completely defenseless, because her angelic beauty called to him. Overcome by the feeling that he had seen her somewhere before, Sal’s inner voice feverishly debated whether or not he should approach her. As she gazed up from her book, their eyes locked and she smiled at him. At that moment, Sal’s apprehensions were dissolved by a smile as glorious as any Mediterranean sunset. Scooting out of the booth, Sal made his way over to her table and politely asked, “How you doing?”

  Looking up, she replied softly, “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Would you mind if I joined you?” Sal smiled.

  “If you wish.” Trying to conceal her excitement, she asked playfully, “Do you always approach women like this?”

  “What do you mean ‘like this’?”

  “You wait for them to sit alone reading a book and then you make your move on them.”

  “No, no! I haven’t really...you seemed like...you have a...I wasn’t making a move on you.”

  “You’re very smooth,” she teased, smiling affectionately.

  Slowly, Sal started to get up.

  “Where are you going? You’re never going to get anywhere if you give up that easily.”

  “Honestly, I’m not trying to get anywhere. I just thought maybe we could talk.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Again, Sal sat down.

  “What would you like to talk about? Oh, by the way my name is Chrissy...Chrissy Brown.”

  “I’m Salvatore Scalise. It’s nice to meet you.” Sal shook Chrissy’s hand. It was soft and cool, very much to his liking.

  “So, do you work around here? Or do you go to school?”

  “Oh, nothing like that. I’m just kinda getting used to being home.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Vietnam.” Sal said, puzzled.

  “Oh!” Chrissy sighed, softly.

  “I guess you’re one of those protesters, huh? Look, I’m sorry I bothered you.” Again, Sal started to get up.

  “No, that’s not it. Please don’t go.”

  “Well, what’s wrong then?”

  “My brother...my brother was killed over there. I don’t understand why he had to die at such a young age.”

  “No one can understand what it’s all about, unless they’ve been there. I wish I could explain it to you. But I can’t. I’m sorry. Try and remember all the good things about him. That way, he’ll always live in your heart. I know what it’s like to lose a family member. Please accept my condolences.”

  Chrissy smiled. “You’re very kind. I’ve tried to put the whole war out of my mind. But it’s everywhere. Was it rough for you over there?”

  “You know, you look very familiar to me.” Leaning forward, Sal studied her face. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I feel as if I’ve seen you somewhere before. Does that sound strange to you?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m a little embarrassed to admit this. People tell me I look like a young Grace Kelly,” Chrissy explained coyly. “Personally, I don’t see it. I mean, after all, she’s one of the most beautiful women in Hollywood.”

  “I think you’re even more beautiful than her.”

  Chrissy’s face lit up. “That’s a very nice compliment. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Your smile, it’s so beautiful. I could look at your smile for a million years and never get tired of it.”

  Gently placing her hand on her heart Chrissy said softly, “I don’t know what to say to that, Salvatore. No one’s ever spoken to me like that before.”

  “Why don’t you call me ‘Sal’?”

  “All ri
ght, Sal”

  “I was gonna go for a walk in the park. Would you like to come with me?” Reaching across the table, Sal gently took her hand.

  “I’d love to...but I have a class.” Chrissy said, torn.

  “You’re a teacher?”

  “No, I’m a student at Fordham. But I am studying to become one.”

  “That’s good, I was maybe thinking about going back to school on that G.I. Bill.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. I could help you find a school and pick a major.”

  Sal laughed. “I can’t really see myself picking a major. But thanks anyway. You better get to your class. It was really nice meeting you, Chrissy.” Shaking her hand once more, Sal got up from the table and promptly left the diner. Utter disbelief came across Chrissy’s face as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. Rising from her chair, she flew out of the front door calling out, “Sal! Sal, wait.”

  Sal stopped and turned toward the voice calling him. “What’s up?”

  “Why are you always running away from me?”

  “You said you had a class.”

  “So where are you going now? If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “I already told you. I’m going for a walk.”

  “Where?”

  “The Botanical Gardens.”

  “Would you mind very much if I tagged along?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What about your class?”

  “I know this sounds terrible but I thought you were just trying to...”

  “To what?”

  “...to get me into...” Chrissy whispered, “...bed”

  “Take it easy. I ain’t that easy. Besides, we just met,” Sal smiled and a winked at her.

  “I’m sorry, but it seems like that’s all any guy wants to do these days. That’s probably why I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “I guess it’s all that ‘free love’ I’m always hearing about. I’ve only been back a couplea months. I don’t really know that much about it.”

  Appearing slightly chagrined, Chrissy took Sal’s arm. “Are we still going?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  After hailing a cab, Sal opened the door for Chrissy and they both got into the back seat. The ride to the park was short but enjoyable. Sal paid the fare, helped Chrissy out of the cab, and they proceeded into the park. Leisurely they strolled toward the water making small talk. As they approached the duck pond, Chrissy stopped and took Sal’s arm. “Sal, I’ve seen you at the diner before.”