grandfather. And he has a wife and says that in the shop he prepares the food, but when he gets home, “Deborah always has a good hot meal waiting for me.”
Mr. Goldman takes our empty plates to the sink and washes them. He serves a man who comes in and wants coffee and toast.
Beth suggests we go to the park.
“Not the park,” I say. “Dad said he’s going there with Mom and then maybe for some ice cream.”
“So what. I don’t mind meeting them.”
Yeah, I think, so what!
We walk outside and I look at the headlines on the newspapers on the bench: DUNKIRK BOMBED! BATTLE OF FLANDERS LOST! and MILLIONS FOR TANKS, GUN, PLANES—FDR TO ASK CONGRESS.
I ask Beth, “How come you didn’t read the papers today? ”
“I did read them. I was here earlier. You know, I can’t start the day without reading the news. Then I did some food shopping, brought it all home, and came back.”
The weather is nice. We walk slowly past the bakery, turn at the corner, and go to the park. It’s crowded. I guess with the holiday and nice weather, lots of people decided to go outside. I look past the open area and the swings to the benches and see my parents.
“There they are,” I tell Beth, and point.
“The man with the dark hair and blue shirt and the woman in the green sweater?”
“Yes.”
Beth starts toward them. I have to hurry to keep up. I guess she’s anxious to meet Mom and Dad.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Beth Doyle, Tommy’s friend from school. We’re in the same homeroom and history class.”
Dad stands, shakes Beth’s hand, and says, “I’m Louis Duncan and this is my wife, Barbara.”
We sit with them for just a few minutes and talk, really about nothing—you know, the weather and that the summer break from school is coming soon. At last Beth says she must get home, and I say I’ll walk with her.
“They’re very nice,” Beth tells me when we’re outside the park, “and your mom looks fine. I looked at her hands a few times and they didn’t shake.”
Beth looks at me, smiles, and says, “You look like your dad.”
That’s okay. I’ve heard people say he’s handsome.
We walk past the bakery and Goldman’s and at the corner Beth says, “Thank you for meeting me. It wasn’t the celebration we’d planned, but it was nice.”
“I thought I was walking you home.”
She smiles and says, “Sure.”
Instead of walking straight, the way I go to get to my house, we turn left and walk about three blocks. We stop in front of a building just like mine. An old man is sitting in front on a folding chair. There’s a small dog on his lap.
“Hi, Beth,” the man says.
“Hello, Mr. Barnett.” She pets his dog and says, “Hi, Skipper.”
Beth introduces me to Mr. Barnett and Skipper. “Come on,” she tells Skipper and takes his paw. “Shake Tommy’s hand.”
I feel silly doing it, but I shake Skipper’s paw.
“Hi, Beth,” a young woman says as she leaves the building.
“Hey, everybody knows you.”
“Not everyone,” Beth says, and smiles.
We stand there for an awkward moment. Then Beth kisses me quickly on my cheek, says, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” and runs into her building.
“Sure,” I say, and watch her run off. “Tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Barnett tells me, “I like your friend.”
“I do, too,” I say, and start toward home.
There are just a few weeks left to the school year. I wonder what I’ll be doing this summer, if I’ll go to any games, if I’ll see Beth. I want to.
When I get home, I turn on the radio to listen to the Dodgers games, the Memorial Day doubleheader at Ebbets Field. I shouldn’t have. They’re playing the New York Giants, and if there’s any team I really want them to beat, it’s the Giants. It’s what you call a “cross-town rivalry,” because both are New York teams.
The first game is depressing. Carl Hubbell is pitching for the Giants, and he gives up just one hit the entire game. He’s a screwball pitcher. I
Mr. Goldman takes our empty plates to the sink and washes them. He serves a man who comes in and wants coffee and toast.
Beth suggests we go to the park.
“Not the park,” I say. “Dad said he’s going there with Mom and then maybe for some ice cream.”
“So what. I don’t mind meeting them.”
Yeah, I think, so what!
We walk outside and I look at the headlines on the newspapers on the bench: DUNKIRK BOMBED! BATTLE OF FLANDERS LOST! and MILLIONS FOR TANKS, GUN, PLANES—FDR TO ASK CONGRESS.
I ask Beth, “How come you didn’t read the papers today? ”
“I did read them. I was here earlier. You know, I can’t start the day without reading the news. Then I did some food shopping, brought it all home, and came back.”
The weather is nice. We walk slowly past the bakery, turn at the corner, and go to the park. It’s crowded. I guess with the holiday and nice weather, lots of people decided to go outside. I look past the open area and the swings to the benches and see my parents.
“There they are,” I tell Beth, and point.
“The man with the dark hair and blue shirt and the woman in the green sweater?”
“Yes.”
Beth starts toward them. I have to hurry to keep up. I guess she’s anxious to meet Mom and Dad.
“Hi,” she says. “I’m Beth Doyle, Tommy’s friend from school. We’re in the same homeroom and history class.”
Dad stands, shakes Beth’s hand, and says, “I’m Louis Duncan and this is my wife, Barbara.”
We sit with them for just a few minutes and talk, really about nothing—you know, the weather and that the summer break from school is coming soon. At last Beth says she must get home, and I say I’ll walk with her.
“They’re very nice,” Beth tells me when we’re outside the park, “and your mom looks fine. I looked at her hands a few times and they didn’t shake.”
Beth looks at me, smiles, and says, “You look like your dad.”
That’s okay. I’ve heard people say he’s handsome.
We walk past the bakery and Goldman’s and at the corner Beth says, “Thank you for meeting me. It wasn’t the celebration we’d planned, but it was nice.”
“I thought I was walking you home.”
She smiles and says, “Sure.”
Instead of walking straight, the way I go to get to my house, we turn left and walk about three blocks. We stop in front of a building just like mine. An old man is sitting in front on a folding chair. There’s a small dog on his lap.
“Hi, Beth,” the man says.
“Hello, Mr. Barnett.” She pets his dog and says, “Hi, Skipper.”
Beth introduces me to Mr. Barnett and Skipper. “Come on,” she tells Skipper and takes his paw. “Shake Tommy’s hand.”
I feel silly doing it, but I shake Skipper’s paw.
“Hi, Beth,” a young woman says as she leaves the building.
“Hey, everybody knows you.”
“Not everyone,” Beth says, and smiles.
We stand there for an awkward moment. Then Beth kisses me quickly on my cheek, says, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” and runs into her building.
“Sure,” I say, and watch her run off. “Tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Barnett tells me, “I like your friend.”
“I do, too,” I say, and start toward home.
There are just a few weeks left to the school year. I wonder what I’ll be doing this summer, if I’ll go to any games, if I’ll see Beth. I want to.
When I get home, I turn on the radio to listen to the Dodgers games, the Memorial Day doubleheader at Ebbets Field. I shouldn’t have. They’re playing the New York Giants, and if there’s any team I really want them to beat, it’s the Giants. It’s what you call a “cross-town rivalry,” because both are New York teams.
The first game is depressing. Carl Hubbell is pitching for the Giants, and he gives up just one hit the entire game. He’s a screwball pitcher. I
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