#samplesunday (1st entry)
by Marsha Leigh St.Claire-B
This memoir piece is posted with permission from:
The Palo Alto Review ( Spring 2007 issue)
Archie,Veronica, Jughead and Me.
Tuesday afternoons began like this. I’m sitting near my front door with a folder full of piano music propped against my feet. The door is slightly ajar so I can peek around it from time to time to see if the taxicab has pulled up in front of our apartment…..
I check if I have everything — folder, music for today’s lesson, small bag of quarters. The change has been carefully counted out to ensure a seven mile ride to Braveroff’s on E Street, a couple more quarters for the tip, and one precious leftover for my reward…..
The yellow cab pulls up out front and I gather my things, lock the front door, and carefully slip the key inside my folder. I get in and tell the man where I’m going. It’s approximately four in the afternoon — I’m eleven years old…..
Some of the drivers recognize me from previous weeks. They are always polite — they don’t talk much and neither do I…..
In those seven miles I inhale my surroundings like I’ve always done — the integral part of my nature, recording for future reference, the scent memories like a time machine taking me back to this very hour…..
Some of the oddest odor combinations are found inside taxis — people’s fading perfumes, musty leather seats and stale cigarettes. The back seat always seemed to swallow me up, like an Alice in Wonderland story, such a tiny girl as I, never sitting up straight, preferring to slouch down or put my feet up if I could get away with it — always the desire to hide…..
Arriving at Braveroff’s, I would slide across the leather seat, part with a few more quarters, and then watch the taxi speed away. ….
Once inside the piano store, every corner buzzed with activity — music playing from different rooms would clash and assault your eardrums — people listening to demonstrations of pianos for sale, while children were coming and going, all with their neat little folders, in and out of tiny lesson rooms…..
One hour later, emerging from my own small room, depositing more coins on a piano bench for my teacher, I’d gather up my things and walk across the street…..
On the opposite corner from Braveroff’s a gigantic sign looms high above the store front like a beacon in a storm. It reads SAGE’S. The SAGE’S sign has bright green and white stripes; a color scheme that is seen inside and throughout, including the waitresses’ uniforms…..
SAGE’S was similar to a Target Store of today, but much classier. SAGE’S had an adjoining restaurant. They also had a detached toy store in the back. Sometimes I might take a walk there, if time permitted, where just a stroll through the door would be like stepping into heaven…..
But most Tuesdays I walked to the very back of this enormous building, my satchel of books swishing to and fro as I shuffled along — past cosmetics, past clothing for all ages, photo processing and prescriptions, finally arriving at my next stop for the evening…..
I had arrived at the coffee shop…..
I always learned to politely wait for the “hostess” to notice me…..
“Heeeey, hi ya honey,” the hostess would smile looking down from her podium…..
“Hi,” I whispered back, almost embarrassed that I actually had to talk…..
Some nights, Evelyn was the hostess on duty. She was always the sweetest to me, and always smiled real big when she talked…..
Evelyn escorted me back to the booth on the far north corner. This was my booth. I felt very special getting to sit there as customers were not seated in this area, being an unassigned station, and out of their view — I could pretend my celebrity status…..
My favorite part of the evening was getting closer. I would tell Evelyn my dinner selection, and it was always the same thing, at least from what I remember. It was a French dipped sandwich and a coke. The only thing on the plate besides the sandwich and dipping juice was a large dill pickle half and a sprig of parsley. The coke came in tall glass with no ice and a straw. This was the only time I remember eating out as a child…..
Sometimes during the meal, in which I ate entirely alone, the faint smell of the most wonderful ..Avon.. perfume would cause me to smile — I would even chew slower than I’d been doing. It was Edith…..
“Hi mom!” I would say muffled, with a mouthful of sandwich…..
“Hi honey,” she’d say, almost out of breath. Then she’d beam a smile at me as she glided past. She sometimes had a minute to talk before she had to run (and run she sometimes did) but mostly it was the fast paced walk the very best waitresses would do if they wanted good tips. And Edith always made good tips…..
After my stomach was full and the plates cleared away, I would slip out of my booth for a walk to my second favorite spot in the store (the toy store being my first): the magazine aisle…..
I would then catch a glimpse of the bright colored rack that would have me standing in a trance of complete concentration. These were no ordinary comic books. These little newsprints would change my life, give me endless comfort, and put me in a world far away from this troubled one, but unfortunately also give me an udder distain for my appearance…..
After a time of flipping through pages, this would become a place of much indecision, a weight upon my shoulders which was hard to bear. The small issues were 10 cents and the giant issues were 25 cents. Most of the time I had one quarter left from my “tip” money that paid for my lesson and taxi. I could spend my quarter for either one giant or two regulars. This was sheer agony every single week, which of those choices to make. There were so….
many — like freshly caught fish that must be thrown back — I could choose only one. ….
My favorite comics were about “Archie.” Some were entitled “Archie and Veronica.” Others were “Archie and Jughead.” Although each issue featured the titled names, all of the aforementioned characters attended the same high school — Riverdale, which was the same name as the school in ….New York…. that Archie’s creator, John L. Goldwater attended…..
These cartoon characters dressed in 50′s outfits, and drove hot-rod cars very much like “Happy Days” shows. Archie always loved and pursued Veronica, who was the richest girl in school…..
Betty, the not-so-rich average girl, always loved and pursued Archie, who was ambivalent to her; there by creating the endearing love triangle I would soon learn to crave…..
I became enamored of Veronica and Betty, and after careful study of their art, could soon scribble and draw them from memory all the while being troubled by their appearance, their interchangeability, the switching of Veronica’s dark hair to Betty’s blonde hair, everything else being exactly the same, a delicate turned up Michael Jackson-like nose, an unbelievably small waist and bulging breasts…..
I could never read enough stories about them and every Tuesday I looked forward to the last part of the night, past the taxi ride, past the noisy music store, and the French dipped sandwich — a journey to a world full of exciting high school dances and gobs of pretty clothes and boyfriends; a wonderful escape — a picture perfect life…..
In that last booth, with my comic book close to my face, my shoes slipped off and lying underneath, I would devour with delight every tiny conversation inside little cloud-like text bubbles, until the lights dimmed and my mother, finished with her shift, would sit down next to me…..
She began counting her tips on the table top with me lying next to her. I would read and read some more silently, walking the halls of Riverdale High, as she would lay each bill out like dealt cards and whisper,….
“Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty five, thirty…”
Google Plus Stream Widget