MARCO POLO DISCOVERS THE WEST BRONX (standard:Creative non-fiction, 1450 words)
Author: Anonymous	Added: Jul 17 2005	Views/Reads: 3637/2229	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
GOING FROM THE POOR EAST BRONX TO THE RICH BRONX CHILDHOOD ADVENTURES.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


Beneath the marquee there were uniformed ushers controlling the long box
office line. At the outer lobby entrance there was a tuxedoed ticket 
taker standing in front of a series of highly polished brass doors that 
were open. 

I had been to Saturday afternoon films in the neighborhood Deluxe and
had been enchanted by the cowboy movies and weekly "chapters" of "The 
Perils of Pauline." The "Deluxe Theater" on Tremont and Belmont Avenues 
was a loved treat.  But this "Paradise" palace was overwhelming. I 
thought that I would never be able to get in there no matter how much 
money our family had. 

Sid thought otherwise; he led me towards the open, unguarded door on our
side and just as we were about to cross under the velvet rope barrier a 
uniformed usher appeared out of nowhere. No word was spoken as Sid led 
me out of the lobby into the glaring sunshine. 

Suddenly, I was aware of being hungry and Sid said not to worry. We
moved back down the Concourse to the construction site and then started 
back home. There were stores and Sid looked for one in which he could 
steal something, but the storekeepers eyed him warily. Maybe now I 
thought we would go home. Besides my hunger I began to miss Momma.  I 
made the move in the direction of Fulton Avenue but Sid was holding my 
sleeve and I looked up at him in surprise.  He said that we still had 
to ride in an elevator before we go home.  I forgot my hunger and 
yearning for Momma and we moved back to the Grand Concourse. 

Sid chose a very tall apartment house without a doorman. That had an
automatic elevator. We rode up and down in it, thrilling each time to 
the powerful acceleration and deceleration that caused our stomachs to 
rise and fall accordingly. Several people got on and off but they said 
nothing to us. We would have continued even longer were it not for a 
curious resident of the building who asked us if we live there.  We 
didn't answer him and when the elevator stopped on the ground floor we 
rushed out of the building. 

Then we headed home. 

What was waiting for us were our anxious mother, our older brother and
sister, and some people from the neighborhood. (Poppa was unaware of 
the drama since he was at work.) As the hours of our disappearance 
passed Momma began to worry. She sent our two other siblings to look 
for us and they returned without us. She went to the street to look for 
us and didn't find us.  She was sure that something terrible had 
happened to us. 

My frantic mother decided not to wait for my father to come home and was
about to go to the police when we showed up.  We both ran crying  into 
her soft, secure embrace. A large crowd had gathered and there was a 
good deal of happy talk with some of the mothers blessing God for our 
safe return. Holding each of us by the hand our mother led us up to our 
4th floor apartment. 

We went in and Momma gave us something to eat, without saying a word. 
Then the punishment began:  she began to "talk" to us. She never hit 
us.  She began to speak in a loud, stern voice, angrily telling us how 
much she almost  died of fright because she was worried.  She repeated 
these phrases over and over, emphasizing how we had made her suffer. We 
were blamed for being the cause of her premature demise. 

In no time both of us were crying and begging her to stop and pleading
for her forgiveness. When it seemed that we had been forgiven and 
adequately punished, she would start all over again.  She became more 
hysterical, and we repeatedly promised that we would never do anything 
wrong again. Finally it stopped. At last it was all over and we went to 
bed, with full stomachs and our minds and hearts filled with guilt, 
shame and repentance. 

WWW.IRVING-ITCHY-BRONSKY.COM


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