All Aboard Andi's Dream Ch. 08

© 2024 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.

Author's note: These stories are written in Literary Past Tense. Literary Past Tense describes how most of us use past tense in our stories. That is, most past-tense stories are written as though the events are happening now. Even though we're using the past tense forms of verbs, within the story itself, events are happening in the present, which explains present tense verbs in some descriptions.

All Aboard Andi's Dream

Chapter 8

The Brothers Jarecki

Eleven-year-old Paul Jarecki trudged home from school in the freezing rain. Ever since their dad mortgaged their house to prop up their failing auto lot boldly named Jarecki Motors, they were living on the edge. Then they lost the house and had to move to Tiorunda. Tiorunda was a housing project that started as housing for Wright Field, an old Army Air Corps base that became Buffalo International Airport and is as low class as you could get.

The house they lost wasn't much. It was over on Eller Ave. on the east side of Buffalo. Eller avenue and every street in all directions were filled with tall but skinny houses cramped so close together you couldn't get a full-size car between them. He hated that house; it was like living in a hallway. He also hated Tiorunda; it was like living in a slum with a nice park in the middle. Paul wanted to live with his mom's parents, Grandma and Grandpa Smolak in Gowanda. It didn't matter that Grandma Dorta couldn't speak English; Gowanda was pretty.

Paul hated being smarter than everyone he knew. He was eleven years old and had been advanced two grades to eighth grade and he felt like he was reading baby stories and doing elementary math. Paul knew he was going to go to high school next year and maybe skip another grade there and be driven further away from kids his own age. He walked as fast as his rain soaked shoes would take him. Paul was soaked and freezing and had nothing to do. He finished all his homework before his last class was over and stacked everything neatly in his locker because he knew...

"Hey Shrimp!" called Albert Crowe, the biggest bully in the school. Albert stole Paul's lunch, and Paul was starving and was in no mood for this now. Paul kept walking with his back to Albert, which infuriated the big dummy. While Paul had advanced two years in school, Albert was held back in second grade, twice. Paul's mom said it was wrong to call kids like Albert stupid. It was best to call them głupi. (Głupi is Polish for stupid)

"Hey Polack! I'm talking to you!" shouted Albert, but Paul kept walking.

Suddenly Paul was hit from behind and was sent sailing through the air. He landed face first with a splash in a deep puddle. "YES! THE HIP CHECK! The Polack was checked into the boards!" shouted Albert, trying to imitate Rick Jeanneret, the voice of the Buffalo Sabres. "Unopposed! Crowe with the shot! HE SHOOTS! HE SCORES!" shouted Albert as he kicked a pile of snow on Paul's head, then ran off with his minions, laughing.

Paul was soaked to the skin and was lying on top of his empty book bag, which was now full of water. That's why he left his homework in his locker. This little act plays out every day after school and Paul was used to it. He picked himself up, hating himself for being a punching bag. He didn't want to go home. There was nothing to eat there, nothing but tap water. Not even any sugar to mix into the water. He finally got to the big slab sided "four-plex" apartments and realized that he didn't have a key. Dad gave the key to Mrs. Benedetti for when she watched the Jarecki boys.

Each gray building had four cramped two story, two-bedroom apartments. "It's where the poor people live," thought Paul, which depressed him even more. He was sick of being the smallest kid in his class, even though he was tall for eleven. He hated being a walking punching bag, and he hated being hungry every day.

The sound of John's crying reached Paul as he rounded the corner. John was his baby brother, four years old. John was cute as a button, but right now he was crying his eyes out and his tears bored into Paul's heart. Four years ago, mom and dad handed seven-year-old Paul a tiny squirming, squawking bundle they named John. Paul wasn't impressed until their eyes met and he felt drawn to the little guy, and John felt drawn to him. Paul and John stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like forever, and fell in love. Big brother Paul could always calm down John and their parents called Paul John's babysitter, but Paul and John knew better than that. He was John's guardian angel made flesh. Paul was John's Big Brother, and he wore that mantle with pride.

Paul found poor mournful John standing in the rain in his yellow rubber raincoat and he looked soaked. He didn't have his rubber rain hat and his jet black hair was plastered to his forehead. Paul's problems and pain disappeared, and he ran to his little brother's aid. "What's the matter?" asked Paul, but John cried harder. He grabbed the doorknob to their home and pulled and twisted. They were locked out of the house. Mrs. Benedetti probably passed out again.

"Hungry," said John through his tears.

"What did she give you for lunch?" asked Paul.

"Nuffin," cried John, and he pointed to the bench in front of their apartment. She had locked him out and told him to sit on the bench. She's done it to Paul, too.

"Did she give you any breakfast?" John shook his head no. "No cereal? No toast?" John started crying harder. A window opened in the apartment next to them and a woman leaned out and said, "He's been squalling there all day."

"Did you call my folks? Did you call the cops?" asked Paul.

"He ain't my kid," she said and slammed the window closed.

"Come on," said Paul and he left his book bag on the bench next to the door and led John by the hand. "I know where to get free food, but you can't tell anyone. They'll make us move to Lackawanna."

Lackawanna was a dying steel town filled with unemployed, bitter, hard drinking steel workers. The steel mills were all closed, the union bosses took their money and ran, and the only thing that was made in Lackawanna anymore was nightmares. At Cleveland Hill Middle School, "Lackawanna" was synonymous with "Hell."

"Ok," said John.

The poor little guy was starving. Mrs. Benedetti didn't feed either of them breakfast and she didn't feed John lunch either. She sent him outside and locked the door so she could become better acquainted with a bottle of rye and was left uninterrupted.

Paul could go all day on one meal. In fact, with Mrs. Benedetti watching them, he hadn't had breakfast in weeks, and lunch was always stolen by Albert Crowe or his minions. But John was four. He couldn't go all day without food. In fact, Paul was feeling weak himself.

Holding his little brother's hand, Paul led John a few blocks to Genesee Street, a big, busy four-lane road that Paul was forbidden to cross with John. John automatically stood on tiptoes and reached up to push the crossing light button, and it was almost out of his reach. "You can do it," said Paul as he held John up to the button. The cute little guy pressed it and broke into a huge, happy grin. "You did it!" gushed Paul.

"Uh huh!"

When the light changed, Paul led John into forbidden territory. They crossed the street with moments to spare, and they had just stepped onto the sidewalk when the light changed and traffic started moving. "Come on," said Paul. "Do you like sketti?" John nodded his head vigorously. Icy rainwater splashed from his long raven hair as he nodded his head.

Paul led John through a restaurant parking lot and in the back was a battered old jade green dumpster. He moved John next to the dumpster so no one would see and then opened the lid and climbed in. "Paw?" asked John. Paw was how he pronounced Paul.

"Shush! I'm right here," said Paul as he rooted through the trash until he found what he was looking for. He's done this before, trying to deliver papers while he was so hungry he was shaking, but he saw good food being thrown in this dumpster and he helped himself. He knew in his heart he was stealing, but he was so hungry. Paul was sure there was probably some food there waiting for him. Sure enough, Paul found a large treasure trove of uneaten spaghetti. He popped above the rim of the dumpster and leaned over...

Anna Maria "Mama" Giardino was on the prowl for her husband Donatello Giardino. He's always disappearing to have one of those nasty black De Nobili cigars. He's usually right out back, but she didn't see him anywhere. She stepped outside and looked around for Donnie, but didn't see him in his usual spot. Then she heard a sound by the dumpster, and, in the waning light, she saw a tiny boy standing in the freezing rain voraciously eating a handful of spaghetti. "Madre di Dio... Mother of God!" Momma gasped and crossed herself. Such a thing doesn't happen in America! She burst into tears as a second boy popped up from the dumpster with a handful of pasta and leaned over to hand it to the tiny boy.

"No! Don't put that in your mouth! You boys come here!" cried Momma as she dashed across the parking lot.

"John run!" cried a terrified Paul. "They'll put us in the home!" No one knows exactly what 'the home' was, but everyone at Cleveland Hill Middle School knew for sure that the home is where you go until there's room for you in Attica prison. Paul couldn't run because he was trapped in the dumpster and John wouldn't move. "Johnnie! Run!" But this was the first solid food John had in over 24 hours, and he was not giving it up.

"No! That's nasty!" said Momma as she lifted Paul out of the dumpster. He was so light! Then she led the both of them by the wrists into the restaurant, where Donny waited for her. John still had a fistful of spaghetti clenched in his fist and several noodles hanging off his trembling chin.

"Here, you sit down," said Momma. "Why were you doing that?" she demanded.

Paul was terrified. He has never been in trouble, so he doesn't know how to deal with it. "I was just trying to feed my brother," said Paul.

"Hungry," whined John.

"I know baby," said Mama Giardino. "Where are your parents?"

"Working," said Paul, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry!" he burst out. "I didn't mean to steal but John was so hungry and we were locked out..."

"Sahwee!" cried John, and he burst into tears.

"I can't pay you, but I can work," said Paul as he panicked. "I can work hard, don't send Johnnie to jail, please." On Thursdays, he delivers The Shopping News, a free local paper full of ads. He puts ten at each local business on Genesee street and one at each home in Tiorunda. For that, he gets a few dollars a month. Paul isn't averse to hard work.

"Who is watching you?" asked Donnie, who was standing behind Momma. Both were middle age and had dark hair and Italian accents.

"Mrs. Benedetti.

"Serafina Benedetti?" asked Momma.

"Maybe, Mom calls her Sara. She lives in our building. Is she going to jail with us?" said Paul, trying to hold back the terror. John cried even harder.

"Hungry!"

"No one is going to jail, except maybe la puttana," spat Momma.

"Momma!" Donnie warned. Even her husband called Anna Maria, Momma. "Can you give me a phone number so I can tell your parents you're ok?" said Donnie as a boy a few years older than Paul gave Paul and John towels to dry off.

"555-632-2315" said Paul. "Please don't drag my parents into this, we can't afford a lawyer!" Now Paul was crying alongside John. He wrapped his arms around John and said, "Take me, he's too young to go..." Paul watched a lot of police dramas with his dad. He knew what was next. Shame, humiliation, a speedy trial and a long sentence. "It's my fault!" wailed Paul. "Please don't send my brother to jail!"

"Sahwee!" John shrieked. "Please!"

"Bambino, shush" Momma said as she took a damp cloth and she wiped John's face and grubby little hands. "Nobody is going to jail, now hush. You have been a good brother Paolo, taking care of fratellino like that."

She washed off Paul's face and hands too and when she was done, Donnie appeared with two massive plates of spaghetti crowned with a giant meatball and a side of garlic bread and placed it before them. A boy not much older than Paul, their son Danny, brought two ice cold glasses of milk and set them on the table.

Paul stared in awe at the feast set before him and said, "I can't afford this!" He looked completely terrified. "Johnnie, you eat, I will wash dishes."

"You eat too!" ordered Momma. "This is my restaurant, you eat, we'll worry about dishes later!"

Donnie couldn't hold back his tears and left. Those poor kids! Momma remained and tucked a napkin under John's chin and said, "You can wash dishes? Fine. That's your job. Now eat!"

"Thank you!" And just as John tried to eat, Paul said, "John... grace!"

"Grace," agreed John. He closed his hands together, closed his eyes, and lowered his head.

"Bless us oh lord and these thy gifts which we are about to receive..." Now Momma couldn't hold back the tears.

<><><><><>

Cyryl "Cecil" Jarecki got off the phone, and he turned to his wife, who was also the company secretary and bookkeeper. There were signs of progress in the books of Jarecki Motors. The economic doldrums appeared to be over, and more people were on the lot today than this time last week, and it was a cold, rainy day. Five sales were closed on new cars, and another six were on used cars. The garage was showing good numbers as well. Car maintenance and repair were what Cecil loved, but sales were what he did best, and it drove him crazy because he hated sales. Right now, he's got a nice fat preliminary contract with the city of Cheektowaga for several large trucks.

Sitting across from him was Katarina, his wife, and his partner in all he does. She's a genius at accounting and she seems to know trends before they became trends, and she's hot. Smoking hot. It's said that Polish women are some of the most beautiful women on earth, and Katarina was the pride of the litter. She was a sexy little thing when they met and after four children (their first child, a girl, died at 2 months due to SIDS and their third born 2 years after Paul died of respiratory illness) she's sexier than ever. She has an hourglass figure that is even sexier than when he first gazed on her naked body on their wedding night. Now nearing forty, she still has radiant blond hair above and below, but she wants to try dyeing it black and changing her name to Magda because Gypsies are so sexy.

"Who was that?" she asked as Cecil hung up the phone.

"That was Donnie Giardino, he's got a restaurant on Genesee street. They got the boys." He looked upset.

"What?"

"His wife Anna Maria found them in the dumpster. They want us to come get them quickly." He dialed his home phone number as he pulled on his overcoat, but there was no answer. "Something must have happened," he growled.

Katarina was confused. What were they doing in a dumpster? "That's on the other side of Genesee street! Paul knows he's only allowed to cross Genesee Street to deliver his papers and he's not allowed to take John!" Katarina began closing up her books and putting them in a safe. "What was he thinking?" She spun the dial several times then pulled the lever to insure it was locked, then she set the dial to 88. Her dad's car was a Delta 88. That's how she remembers the number this week. Too often they find the safe was touched. Paul use a step stool and threw a switch mounted over the door and they quickly left after locking up the office. They normally leave earlier, but there was something in the books they were trying to track down.

"We're going, Charlie," Cecil called to his sales manager, Charlie Giffard.

"Have a good night boss!"

Jarecki Motors isn't far from home, just a few blocks up Harlem road from Genesee street. "This can't be some kind of kidnapping thing, can it?" asked Katarina.

"It's a sick world darling, you never know." Cecil set his jaw and prepared his mind to beat anyone who touched his boys to death. Driving through the rainy night in their old Ford Torino, they quickly found Giardino's Family Italian Restaurant and pulled in. At the door, a cheerful Italian woman met them and picked two menus off a pile. "Just two?"

"We're Cecil and Katarina Jarecki..."

"Paul and John's parents! Come..." As they walked, she introduced herself. "I'm Anna Maria Giardino, but everyone calls me momma. Don't worry your boys are here and they're fine." She led them to a small table and said, "They will be right out. They're making a surprise for you."

"What were our boys doing in your dumpster?" asked Katarina.

"Just Paul was in the dumpster," said Mama.

"What was John doing?" asked Cecil.

"Paul and John haven't had anything to eat since dinner last night and..."

"What about breakfast?" Katarina asked.

"It appears that Mrs. Benedetti sent them both to school without breakfast."

"John isn't in school!" gasped Katarina.

"Paul's lunch was stolen, and John was locked out of the apartment all day so when Paul got home he had to feed his baby brother, so he brought him here."

"Oh no!" gasped Katarina.

"Paul got in the dumpster and found some spaghetti that we had tossed out and gave some to John, but I stopped him the minute I saw them and brought them inside, dried them off and gave them a proper meal."

"Oh God, I'm sorry," groaned Cecil. "Of course we will pay for everything that..."

"Paul already made plans on paying. He insisted on working it off before we even served them. And you know what they did before they ate?"

"Washed their hands I hope," said Katarina.

"That, and they said grace," said Mama. "I cried my eyes out, these poor starving boys, and they paused to say grace before eating... that shows good parents! But Mrs. Benedetti is known to us and I'm sorry you had to learn the hard way. We call her la puttana."

"Mama!" said her husband Donnie as he came up to the table. "I'm Donnie Giardino, and I'm going to be Paul's boss. Such a good kid!"

"He's too young to work in a restaurant," gasped Katarina.

"Not too young to work in the kitchen and help clean. Restaurants have different rules." Just then, Paul and John came up to the table, each carrying a large plate of spaghetti topped with a huge meatball. It was heavy for John, but he was helped by Mama and Donnie's son Danny.

"Mangiare! (eat)" cried John.

"Supper is on me tonight!" said Paul proudly. "I don't make enough to afford wine," he said as he gave his parents' glasses of ice water.

Cecil looked like he was going to say something disparaging, but Katarina said, "Thank you honey! It looks delicious."

John crawled up on a chair to watch, fascinated by how his parents used a spoon to roll up the noodles. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," said Paul. "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean."

"He seems to love the work," said Donnie. "I don't know if it's the work or if it's doing the job he likes the most."

"Paul has to keep his mind active," said Cecil. "He skipped two grades, and we may skip a third. He's taught himself to play guitar and harmonica and wants to play the bass."