The Ten Best Days of My Life by Adena Halpern

together, the show Annie had come to Philadelphia’s Walnut Street Theatre and I was psyched as psyched could be. We were going to make a party out of it. Penelope was allowed to come, and I was allowed to pick the restaurant. First I picked Murray’s Deli. I was always a cabbage borscht fanatic, but Grandmom said, “I can make you better cabbage borscht at home. Pick a better place.” So I picked Benihana.
    â€œWith all that salt in the food?” Grandmom complained. “You can do better.”
    So I picked a place that I knew she loved.
    â€œHow about Bookbinder’s?” I said, trying to please her.
    â€œThat’s a great idea!” she said, hugging me. “You are the smartest girl in the world.”
    Bookbinder’s, if you don’t know, is a very famous seafood place in Philly. It’s been around for like a million years. My grandparents and uncle went there when they were younger; so did my parents. It’s an old standby. It’s got everything anyone would want, even if you don’t want salt in your food.
    The best thing about the place is their strawberry shortcake, the second main reason I picked it, other than my grandmother coaxing me to go there.
    We all got dressed up for the theater that night: Grandmom, Mom, and Penelope and me, in dresses; Daddy, Grandpop, and uncle Morris in suits. Grandmom always said that when you go to the theater, “You must dress nice so you can pay respect to the people on stage doing their job.” She even called Pen’s mom to make sure she wore a dress. Whenever I go to New York to see a show, I still dress up (or at least I did). It pisses me off that people don’t get dressed up for the theater anymore. It’s so sad. I’m the only one dressed up when I go (or used to).
    Back at Bookbinder’s, I had the snapper soup, which is something that Bookbinder’s is famous for. Pen had the fried shrimp and we split french fries (without salt so Grandmom could pick a few). I don’t remember what my grandparents and uncle got, but I’m sure it had no salt in it.
    Everyone talked at the same time in my family, and this particular night was no exception. I actually never even noticed it until Penelope pointed it out that night. When she said it, though, I could suddenly see it was like a blanket of words thrown up into the air and directed to anyone who wanted to comment on it.
    â€œIt’s like a secret language your family has,” she said at the time.
    How could Pen not hear what everyone was saying? Mom and Grandmom talked about the latest gossip, and Daddy broke in occasionally and said, “You’re out of your mind, Evelyn, Mort Gainsburgh is not cheating on Sylvia.” Daddy and Grandpop talked about the Phillies, and uncle Morris broke in, “Harry, you’re crazy, the Phillies have a major advantage over Detroit in Mike Schmidt.” uncle Morris talked to the bar about their liquor stock, and Mom would break in, “Morris, is that the vodka you had me try last week? It was great.” And there were people in the restaurant to say hello to, a lot of people. That was something that always happened. Whenever all of us were out, people came over to the table nonstop to say hello.
    â€œIt’s Carol and Richard!” Grandmom would shout out as Carol and Richard ran over to the table to say hello and talk about the Philadelphia gossip of the day.
    â€œIt wouldn’t be a Saturday night if Evvie and Harry Firestein weren’t out on the town,” Ruth and Lou Goldman would announc as they came over to our table.
    â€œBill Dorenfield,” some lesser real estate guy would announce, coming to the table. “We were just talking about your Spruce Street project the other day.”
    That was how it always was. I ignored everyone (but heard everything) and talked to Pen and ate my snapper soup as the parade of people went by. Occasionally, someone would refer