Brooklyn Story

by Suzanne Corso

  As I soaked up the beneficial rays on the rooftop, I thought as I had for days about the baptism I had happened upon at Our Lady of Guadalupe. An unfinished page for an article I was writing on purification and rebirth rested in my Smith-Corona. Could I wash away my sins, I wondered, just as a woman could cleanse herself in the ritual bath I was describing thereon? What rituals were required to cleanse one’s soul? Was there enough forgiveness to purify me? I fretted as I glanced at my best friend, who appeared to be at peace.

  Janice was engaged now and was on her way to a new life. She’d be caught up in preparations for her wedding and for a different future with Roberto, I knew. She escaped from Bensonhurst without leaving Brooklyn. Good for her, I said to myself. I closed my eyes and my thoughts turned to the goodness that Father Rinaldi had spoken about.

  When I had seen him recently, he welcomed me with his open arms and appeared the same as he always had, even though he could tell I wasn’t pregnant any longer. The priest’s hands and words soothed me then as they had before, and the Blessed Mother still called to me when I had knelt before Her statue afterward. “Forgiveness is there for the taking,” Father Rinaldi often said.

  As I recalled those words on a lazy summer afternoon with Janice, I decided the path to my new life would go through Our Lady of Guadalupe. I would take her forgiveness and find forgiveness in those who had hurt me in the past. I would be able to move on with my own dignity and not by the hand of a man any longer, who had controlled me for so long.

  I spent the rest of the summer working at my jobs and writing at home. Although Mom had felt good that I wasn’t with Tony anymore, her health worsened and dragged her down. Her coughing became more persistent and more loathsome. Coughing up blood became a daily ritual, yet she would never go to a doctor. She just told me I was stupid and to pay attention to my own life, all this while her bad moods prevailed. Despite my dogged progress toward renewal, she couldn’t overcome the bitterness that had taken root long before. Grandma maintained her cheery disposition even though she seemed to be slowing down more every day.

  Tony might have been history to my family, but I often worried that he would find some excuse to force his way into my life again. I found myself looking over my shoulder as I walked on Eighteenth Avenue to the bookstore, and flinching every now and then when the phone rang. I dreaded a confrontation with Tony and the times he evoked. It was bad enough that detectives had surprised me twice in front of my home to ask me what I knew about his activities. I couldn’t tell them much, but I wondered, with a pang of guilt, if I would’ve come clean if I had known anything that would help them make a case. They seemed pleased when I had told them I wasn’t with Tony any longer.

  When my senior year rolled around after Labor Day and I hadn’t seen or heard from him, my heart was lifted. Without the baggage Tony represented, I threw myself into my writing and my radio show. I interspersed serious topics with lighter ones such as makeup tips and the foibles of men I overheard at the salon when the ladies gossiped. Whether I covered matters large or small, it was always about a woman’s ability to tap her own strength to become what she wanted.

  Professor Greenburg cheered me on and Mr. Wainright remained steadfast in his support. They confirmed my feeling that the towers and cables in my life were still strong enough to get me where I had to go. Late in the year, Mr. Wainright introduced me to his publishing friend. I knew then who had told the truth and who had been a liar. The editor I met was generous in her coaching and we made steady progress together toward the completion of the roadbed I needed to reach the other side of the East River.

  When graduation day arrived at last in June, I brushed my hands down the pink taffeta dress that Grandma had bought for ten dollars at our local thrift shop. Stains and all, there was nothing bleach and Grandma couldn’t get clean. She had altered it to fit me. The bodice hugged my torso, the shiny pink ribbon that Grandma had sewn as trim was pressed, and the hem hit my legs in exactly the right place. A black robe draped over my dress and a cap with a tassel sat atop my head. I had to admit that I looked beautiful.

  I looked down the row of students who were graduating with me and my thoughts wandered. My classmates all looked as excited as I did, but there was one big difference. They were leaving school to assume their assigned roles in the Benson-hurst world; I had fashioned a different life for a different world and I could hardly wait to get out of school and out of Brooklyn to fulfill it. Whichever direction my writing took me in, I was on my way across that bridge. I felt that Brooklyn would soon become a place of the past, the place where Mom and Grandma lived and where I would visit once I had established myself outside of it. I only wanted to make them proud, and growing up in Brooklyn gave me each and every word to write in order to do so.

  Soon enough, I knew, I would hand Mom and Grandma enough money to buy a place of their own. When that happened, I was sure my mother would finally heal from her ravaged life. I imagined my mother feeling so well that one day she would meet a wonderful man who would adore her and treat her with respect. How wonderful it would be if my mom and I fell in love with good men! I thought. Grandma would be so happy, I knew. I believed that her constant and unqualified support had kept such dreams alive and I knew I never would have gotten to graduation day without it. She deserved the peace it would bring to see her daughter and granddaughter realize bright futures. Her strength had kept us together, had anchored the cables on one side of the bridge so that I could make it across.

  I scanned the audience from my seat on the stage. The wood-paneled high school auditorium was filled to capacity with graduates and their proud families and friends. I managed to find Mom’s and Grandma’s faces in the crowd, glowing with excitement. They smiled at me and my heart filled with pride. All except a small place that felt empty. I had always intended to have Tony with me on that day. When we had dated, there was no way to imagine this scene, the culmination of all that I had worked for, without him. He was supposed to be sitting beside my family, cheering me on, making that phone call to his publishing friend. But that no longer mattered, I thought. I would fill that empty space with something better, something good, something that was real. I’d cross that bridge without him.

  The keynote speaker finished his speech and stepped away as the audience applauded. I missed everything he said, but that moment was the culmination of so many struggles and I was thinking about the ending of my book I was going to write soon, the closing of a hard chapter in my life. I thought about Tony’s abuse, the robberies, the abortion, and, most haunting, keeping that dark secret from Mom and Grandma. My face turned red with shame, but I was glad that it looked like excitement to everybody else. I recalled Tony’s lying and the nights when I’d found the lipstick in his car and the panties in his bed. And how he broke into my house. My thoughts then turned to those who had helped me through it all—Grandma, Janice, Mr. Wainright, and Father Rinaldi. They were the stone and steel in my life, I knew.

  I had worked every chance I could with my English teacher to polish my manuscript. There was still a lot of work to be done on it, but with every change I had made, I felt my own transformation within.

  The principal started to announce the graduating class and the closer he got to my name, the farther away I felt from the pain of my past and the baggage that I was ready to leave behind. “Samantha Bonti,” he called out, and I stood up. I felt Mom’s and Grandma’s eyes on me as I made it to the end of the row. All of the arguments at home over religion and Tony had only made me stronger and they faded away with each step I took. I glanced at my two-hundred-dollar black high heels, one of the pairs Tony had bought for me with fanfare. I knew I could have chosen to spend the rest of my days pining for him and love lost, allowing life to drain out of me. But I chose to let it all go. It was time to step toward the podium and a new life.

  The black robe swished as I strode to receive my diploma. When the parchment was in my hand, I shifted the tassel on my cap from one side to the other.
The diamond bracelet that Tony had given me caught the overhead lights. I hadn’t sold it yet, but I decided it would be the last time I would wear it. I smiled proudly and returned to my seat as Mom and Grandma sprang up and clapped.

  When the ceremony concluded, the graduates left the stage and the women I loved rushed toward me. I hugged them each tightly. “You did it, bubelah!” Grandma yelled, swiping at her eyes. She and Mom were crying with joy for a change and I joined in.

  “We’re making a special dinner for you, honey,” Mom said.

  Janice pushed through the crowd milling about. Roberto stood quietly beside her as she and I embraced. I smiled and felt my heart fill with love. These were the people who mattered to me most, I thought, the loved ones who cared about me and wanted only good things for me. They represented all that was hopeful and possible in this world. That was where I belonged, I knew.

  I sat in my room after graduation and reminisced while I waited for Janice to arrive. I had changed into a pair of black slacks and a white blouse while Mom was busy preparing her part of a minifeast—pasta and the stuffed peppers from an old family recipe, one of the few good things that had come out of her marriage to my father. Grandma was napping, but she had made her famous potato pancakes and chopped liver salad the night before. All she had to do when she got out of bed was add the sour cream and applesauce for dipping.

  I felt—maybe for the first time since I’d met Tony—that my life was falling into some kind of order. I had graduated and I had been accepted for admission to NYU.

  I was amused when I recalled Janice telling me that Tony had heard me on the radio when he started scanning stations after he had finished having sex with one of the many girls whose hearts he was busy breaking. He flipped out, his latest conquest told Janice, and screamed about “his girl” being on the radio and who did she think she was, giving advice to anyone? When the woman had told Tony to get over it, he smacked her across the face and sent her out the door without her coat. I just shook my head. The Brooklyn world would never change.

  I looked in the mirror to see if I looked different. I did—confident and peaceful. That was how I was supposed to feel all the time, and that’s the way it would be from then on, I decided. I smiled when I thought about Janice being a fixture in my life as she had always been. That was the way it was supposed to be, too. And I was going to be her maid of honor! I screamed inside and wondered what her dress would look like.

  The doorbell rang and I ran down the stairs to answer it. Janice brushed through the door. “Roberto said he’s sorry. He’s got some work to take care of,” she said.

  “That’s okay, as long as you’re here,” I replied, and gave her a hug. “He said you should come over for dinner real soon,” Janice said, and then lowered her voice as she grabbed my arm. “I have a chef now who’ll make us anything we want.”

  “Wow, a chef! Are you kidding me?”

  “Roberto said there’s nothin’ I won’t have,” Janice said. Her head swiveled as she inhaled. “Everythin’ smells great! Do I detect a cake in the oven?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. It was only Duncan Hines from a box, but it would do. “Yup,” I said, and then we hurried up to the kitchen and kept Mom company while she made the final preparations for our meal.

  “We’re almost ready,” Mom said a couple of minutes later. She coughed violently and then looked me in the eye. “I’m goin’ to stop smoking,” Mom swore as she tamped a cigarette out, “in honor of your graduation, honey. Now go get your grandmother.”

  I sprinted down the hall and knocked on Grandma’s door. When there was no answer, I called her name a few times but still got no response. She’d been sleeping pretty heavily in recent months, I remembered. I would have to wake her up as I’d often done.

  I opened the door and went to her bedside. Her arm dangled over the edge and her pocketbook was open on the floor. She must have been looking for something, I supposed, and then caught sight of a check sticking out from under the bed. I picked it up and saw that it was made out to me for thirty dollars. My graduation gift, no doubt, I thought. I couldn’t wait to thank Grandma and celebrate with her. I shook Grandma but she remained motionless, and when she didn’t move after I shook her a second time I screamed. “Mom! Janice! Hurry! It’s Grandma!”

  My mother rushed into the room with Janice right behind her. Mom placed her head on her mother’s chest and listened, and then fell to her knees at the side of the bed and started bawling while clutching her mother. Tears poured onto Grandma’s nightgown as Mom kept her head on her mother’s chest and wailed.

  Janice held me as I collapsed into her arms and burst into tears, unable to believe what had happened. I had been hugging Grandma only two hours earlier at the graduation. She had complained of being tired, but she was often tired, especially after the kind of excitement we had just had. I wasn’t ready to let Grandma go. I still needed her.

  Grandma must have been a lot sicker than she had let on, I thought as I sobbed. Was she waiting for me to graduate? I wondered. Maybe that was all that had been keeping her alive, I supposed. I dropped to my knees and rested my head on my mother’s back. Janice picked up the phone and called the ambulance while I contemplated life without Grandma, the matriarch and calming force of our family.

  People lost their lives building that famous bridge, I recalled. Did a piece of me have to die as well before I could finally cross it?

  I never liked the inside of hospital emergency rooms much, but that was where I had to be at that very moment. As they rushed Grandma in, I knew in my heart she was only biding time. She saw me graduate, she saw me making a new life for myself, and she saw me writing. She knew that my mom would always be the same and she knew if anyone could save her, well, that would have to be me.

  When I saw Grandma on a gurney and hooked up to three different machines, I was devasted. Mom and Janice sat by her side while I just looked on, knowing that for every leap of faith there were always ten obstacles to be reckoned with. That’s how life was for me at present, and I was accepting every sad inch of it. When the bald, bulgy-eyed doctor approached us, we knew by the looks of his gloomy face that it wasn’t good. “I’m afraid she needs a triple bypass. She is scheduled for surgery now.”

  You had to see my mother’s face. Full of devastation and more fear. Not only of how we would be paying for this operation, but of what would be the outcome. I was elated that Grandma even had a chance. My mother grabbed onto me with all her might and for the first time, I felt so badly for her. I felt as though a child were crying in my arms.

  As Mom cried and hours passed as we awaited Grandma’s fate, I engaged in a solid stare at the pasty white walls, which were starting to close in on me. Just then the doctor came out of surgery in his operating greens. His walk was slow and calm, yet had a sense of urgency in every step. I knew, I always knew the bad news when it came. And this time it was certain. “I am so so sorry, we did all we could, her heart was very strong, but her will just wasn’t.”

  Yes, I knew all too well that Grandma’s heart was strong, as strong as a bull. It was her time to leave and in a strange, sad way I was actually happy for her. She got out of this mess and now I was the one who was biding my time. I knew I had to be there for my mother, now more than ever. Grandma was a vision, a vision that I never wanted to see, yet there it was. Covered in tubes, deceased.

  “Sam, what is going to happen to us now?” I held my mother close.

  “God will provide, he always does. You told me that.” This time in my young life I felt as though I really were the parent. “Ma, don’t worry, we’ll make it work. I’ll get a job, a good job, you’ll see. Things will happen.”

  “Ms. Bonti, I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry. If there’s anything I can do …” Janice tried her hardest to be there for us, but what could she do. I knew I would hear those words one day, but not like this. Not now; I still needed her one more day. I needed her support, I needed her to read my pages, I just needed her, but I had
to stop being selfish and realize that God needed her as well, another angel. I bent over and lay my head on Grandma’s soft chest and kissed her lips good-bye.

  June 1982

  Tony’s judgment day in the Brooklyn courthouse arrived a year after Grandma’s passing. His trial exposed the mob family he was connected to and made more headlines. So much had been covered up. The papers claimed that Tony himself had been responsible for some of those horrible murders Janice and I had wondered about. I was still incredulous, and yet that—and burglary and drug conspiracy—was what he had been on trial for the previous three weeks. My God, who would have thought it could come to this, all this crime and hatred. For what? The almighty dollar? I could hear Pamela’s words echoing through my mind. Money and greed, that’s all it was. I wanted nothing to do with it.

  Shortly after my graduation and Grandma’s passing, Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer, and that explained the early-morning, wrenching coughing. Together with spitting up blood in the kitchen sink, which had gone untended for years. It turned out to be an inoperable tumor enlarged within the walls of her jugular. Years of smoking packs a day finally caught up with her and her self-destructive behavior. Her voice now would truly be silenced. In other words, there was no way out. It was yet another cross I had to bear, but hey, no one was counting anymore. My mother needed me and no matter what, she was still my mother, who brought me into this world, and I did love her. From diagnosis to death, it became a constant battle for me. My mother never talked much, just feeding me with guilts beyond all forms that my poor imagination could bear. She was of nasty mind during her last stages and who could blame her; she was miserable, miserable about her life and mad that she would die lonely. She had become a bitter woman, a young woman who had made a ton of mistakes.