many evenings
together. We loved it when Peter stopped off at the bakery on his way home from work in
the morning topick up a loaf of freshly baked Gonnella bread, still
warm from the oven and crunchy. I would go over to their apartment and we would sit at
their kitchen table, eating slice after slice of bread and jam. I had missed good bakery
bread since I’d been in America, so the crusty French and Italian bread we bought
was like manna from heaven.
Shortly after Peter and Brenda came to the
States we and our parents each bought a tape recorder. They were the reel-to-reel type
and it took ages to fill one of the tapes, but at last we could actually talk to each
other, hear each other’s voices. I used to live for the days when a tape arrived
in the mail. Mum and Dad still didn’t have a telephone and had no idea when
they’d be able to get one. Anyway, on a tape we could chat for hours while on the
telephone we could talk for a few minutes at most. I wish I still had those tapes but
they were soon forgotten after telephones and travel between the two countries became
more available and affordable.
When the novelty of having my family next
door began to wear off, I believe Bob became jealous of my friendship with Brenda
because we spent a lot of time together. We were always nattering over cups of tea, she
telling me about her family, the life she’d left behind in England, and how hard
it was being in America, with Peter working nights and sleeping all day. It was
wonderful to share everything we had in common, the memories of home and families, and
the difficulties we faced in the States, the frequent homesickness and our guilt at
leaving our mothers. We shared lots of laughter and tears, and always tried to see the
funny side of things.
On one occasion the funny side was hard to
find. For some reason, perhaps our janitor was away, the garbage bin, which we shared on
the porch between our facing back doors, hadn’t been emptied for at least a week.
It was now overflowing and we couldn’t get the lid to close, so Brenda and I
decided to take it down to the basement ourselves. We each took a handle, and as we
lifted it, it tipped, emptying the contents all over the back porch and down the
stairs.
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘Oh, my God,’ screamed Brenda,
and when I realized what she was screaming about, I screamed too. Millions of maggots
were crawling everywhere.
‘I knew that garbage had been left too
long,’ I said.
‘Now what do we do?’ moaned
Brenda.
‘Let’s see if we can just sweep
them down the stairs and over the edge,’ was my first suggestion. I fetched a
broom and began to sweep, but got nowhere.
‘They’re just crawling
back,’ said Brenda. ‘We’ll have to kill them.’
‘What with?’ I asked, but then I
had an idea. ‘I’m going to run some really hot water and put bleach in it.
That should kill the little buggers.’ Off I went to prepare the lethal potion.
When I came back out, I took off my shoes so
they wouldn’t get wet, and began swooshing the water over the maggots and sweeping
them away in a tide of noxious hot water. Brenda stood and watched as I sloshed about in
the now muddy, maggoty water. It took ages to sweep it all the way down two flights of
stairs and off two back porches. I left the broom by the basement door, staggeredback up the stairs, and told Brenda, ‘If I don’t get a
cup of tea soon, I’m going to die.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you
can’t come in here with those dirty feet. You’ll have to wash them
first.’ Then she added, ‘You can’t wash them in the sink, Iris. That
would be disgusting. You’ll have to flush them clean in the toilet.’ And
that was exactly what I had to do before she’d make me a cup of tea. We’ve
often laughed about that nightmare situation, but it still makes me shudder.
Brenda and I often went shopping in the
evening, as girls do, and we occasionally went to see a movie. This meant Bob had to
baby-sit, but he
together. We loved it when Peter stopped off at the bakery on his way home from work in
the morning topick up a loaf of freshly baked Gonnella bread, still
warm from the oven and crunchy. I would go over to their apartment and we would sit at
their kitchen table, eating slice after slice of bread and jam. I had missed good bakery
bread since I’d been in America, so the crusty French and Italian bread we bought
was like manna from heaven.
Shortly after Peter and Brenda came to the
States we and our parents each bought a tape recorder. They were the reel-to-reel type
and it took ages to fill one of the tapes, but at last we could actually talk to each
other, hear each other’s voices. I used to live for the days when a tape arrived
in the mail. Mum and Dad still didn’t have a telephone and had no idea when
they’d be able to get one. Anyway, on a tape we could chat for hours while on the
telephone we could talk for a few minutes at most. I wish I still had those tapes but
they were soon forgotten after telephones and travel between the two countries became
more available and affordable.
When the novelty of having my family next
door began to wear off, I believe Bob became jealous of my friendship with Brenda
because we spent a lot of time together. We were always nattering over cups of tea, she
telling me about her family, the life she’d left behind in England, and how hard
it was being in America, with Peter working nights and sleeping all day. It was
wonderful to share everything we had in common, the memories of home and families, and
the difficulties we faced in the States, the frequent homesickness and our guilt at
leaving our mothers. We shared lots of laughter and tears, and always tried to see the
funny side of things.
On one occasion the funny side was hard to
find. For some reason, perhaps our janitor was away, the garbage bin, which we shared on
the porch between our facing back doors, hadn’t been emptied for at least a week.
It was now overflowing and we couldn’t get the lid to close, so Brenda and I
decided to take it down to the basement ourselves. We each took a handle, and as we
lifted it, it tipped, emptying the contents all over the back porch and down the
stairs.
‘Shit,’ I said.
‘Oh, my God,’ screamed Brenda,
and when I realized what she was screaming about, I screamed too. Millions of maggots
were crawling everywhere.
‘I knew that garbage had been left too
long,’ I said.
‘Now what do we do?’ moaned
Brenda.
‘Let’s see if we can just sweep
them down the stairs and over the edge,’ was my first suggestion. I fetched a
broom and began to sweep, but got nowhere.
‘They’re just crawling
back,’ said Brenda. ‘We’ll have to kill them.’
‘What with?’ I asked, but then I
had an idea. ‘I’m going to run some really hot water and put bleach in it.
That should kill the little buggers.’ Off I went to prepare the lethal potion.
When I came back out, I took off my shoes so
they wouldn’t get wet, and began swooshing the water over the maggots and sweeping
them away in a tide of noxious hot water. Brenda stood and watched as I sloshed about in
the now muddy, maggoty water. It took ages to sweep it all the way down two flights of
stairs and off two back porches. I left the broom by the basement door, staggeredback up the stairs, and told Brenda, ‘If I don’t get a
cup of tea soon, I’m going to die.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you
can’t come in here with those dirty feet. You’ll have to wash them
first.’ Then she added, ‘You can’t wash them in the sink, Iris. That
would be disgusting. You’ll have to flush them clean in the toilet.’ And
that was exactly what I had to do before she’d make me a cup of tea. We’ve
often laughed about that nightmare situation, but it still makes me shudder.
Brenda and I often went shopping in the
evening, as girls do, and we occasionally went to see a movie. This meant Bob had to
baby-sit, but he
Similar Books
