Read Online Just Kids From the Bronx by Arlene Alda - Free Book Online
Authors: Arlene Alda
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right, you bastard.” That wasn’t such a bad word. We used bad language but “bastard” is as bad as it’s going to get for now. After six hours in the theater, when we went out, we were blinded by the daylight and brought back to reality. No complaints.
HW : We’d go into the Tuxedo Theater and we were talkative. Sitting there, waiting, we’d make spitballs to throw at the girls in front of us. And when we talked too much, the matron would come with a flashlight and then we’d shit in our pants, Matron coming . We’d duck down, and she’d leave, and we’d do the same thing all over again. The matron, fear, the spitballs, the girls—we were unruly, as they would say. Unruly! We had a great time.
So we’re older now and we’re dating. And we’re on a double blind date. Someone fixed us up. Neither one of us ever met the dates before. And you’re going to recognize the name of this theater—the Loew’s Paradise, this magnificent theater with the stars in the ceiling where they gave away dishes and stuff. Now this was not a very good double blind date. Georgie and I said to the girls, “We gotta go to the men’s room,” whatever. And we went and never came back. That’s not nice. We never came back. We left. All because we didn’t like the looks of the girls.
GS : There was this metal railing on Mosholu Parkway, where all the kids used to sit. It was better than any singles bar today. People would just come and go. It was the park and you were meeting girls. It was a gathering place where we talked and flirted, even at night when we were out of P.S. 80. We also had parties. Pot wasn’t in, but if it were available then, I’m sure we would’ve been smoking it. We had delicatessen and drinks. We all drank and then some of us would throw up, rest a little, and walk home. We always found places to have a party. No one had a car so we all walked. That was one of the beauties of growing up in the Bronx. You were so mobile. You walked to schools and to the parties or you took the subway or the bus.
HW : We drank a lot at the parties. Whose parents aren’t home? Who has an empty house? Whose parents are away? Whose parents don’t come back until midnight? We drank and ate and tried to have sex, mostly unsuccessfully. You’d find a bedroom. Someone would stand guard.
GS : When we were seventeen years old, Howie and I stole a car. You’re asking embarrassing questions, but I say to that, “No tengo miedo.” I am not afraid , in Spanish. I speak Spanish because in southern California es muy importante hablar español. Porque todos personas hablan español.
Before we could officially drive, Howie and I used to dream about having a car. People who had parked their cars on the street would often leave the doors open, so we’d go in and sit and talk about when we could drive and go out on dates with girls, or to be able to go up to Yonkers Raceway. Places that were hard to get to without a car. So one time we were in a parked car and we saw there was like this little switch. It wasn’t a key. We turned the switch and it started. We knew a little bit about driving because one of my uncles had taught me to drive in his car. So we drove around up and down streets, you know, not far—but it was stolen. We stole it—and then we brought it back. We had our joy ride and then we parked it again a block or two from Howie’s house on Kossuth Avenue.
HW : When we saw the car, it was parked close to one of our favorite candy stores, Mr. Baum’s. I lived a block and a half away from there. There’s a car —and I opened the door. We got in and challenged each other. We didn’t know it could start. We turned a knob in the car and it started. Let’s go for a ride. So we did, and then we started to crap in our pants. That we’d be in a stolen car, we’d get stopped, we’d get locked up, we’d be in jail—and we’d better go back. We went back and parked the car exactly the way we found it, including
HW : We’d go into the Tuxedo Theater and we were talkative. Sitting there, waiting, we’d make spitballs to throw at the girls in front of us. And when we talked too much, the matron would come with a flashlight and then we’d shit in our pants, Matron coming . We’d duck down, and she’d leave, and we’d do the same thing all over again. The matron, fear, the spitballs, the girls—we were unruly, as they would say. Unruly! We had a great time.
So we’re older now and we’re dating. And we’re on a double blind date. Someone fixed us up. Neither one of us ever met the dates before. And you’re going to recognize the name of this theater—the Loew’s Paradise, this magnificent theater with the stars in the ceiling where they gave away dishes and stuff. Now this was not a very good double blind date. Georgie and I said to the girls, “We gotta go to the men’s room,” whatever. And we went and never came back. That’s not nice. We never came back. We left. All because we didn’t like the looks of the girls.
GS : There was this metal railing on Mosholu Parkway, where all the kids used to sit. It was better than any singles bar today. People would just come and go. It was the park and you were meeting girls. It was a gathering place where we talked and flirted, even at night when we were out of P.S. 80. We also had parties. Pot wasn’t in, but if it were available then, I’m sure we would’ve been smoking it. We had delicatessen and drinks. We all drank and then some of us would throw up, rest a little, and walk home. We always found places to have a party. No one had a car so we all walked. That was one of the beauties of growing up in the Bronx. You were so mobile. You walked to schools and to the parties or you took the subway or the bus.
HW : We drank a lot at the parties. Whose parents aren’t home? Who has an empty house? Whose parents are away? Whose parents don’t come back until midnight? We drank and ate and tried to have sex, mostly unsuccessfully. You’d find a bedroom. Someone would stand guard.
GS : When we were seventeen years old, Howie and I stole a car. You’re asking embarrassing questions, but I say to that, “No tengo miedo.” I am not afraid , in Spanish. I speak Spanish because in southern California es muy importante hablar español. Porque todos personas hablan español.
Before we could officially drive, Howie and I used to dream about having a car. People who had parked their cars on the street would often leave the doors open, so we’d go in and sit and talk about when we could drive and go out on dates with girls, or to be able to go up to Yonkers Raceway. Places that were hard to get to without a car. So one time we were in a parked car and we saw there was like this little switch. It wasn’t a key. We turned the switch and it started. We knew a little bit about driving because one of my uncles had taught me to drive in his car. So we drove around up and down streets, you know, not far—but it was stolen. We stole it—and then we brought it back. We had our joy ride and then we parked it again a block or two from Howie’s house on Kossuth Avenue.
HW : When we saw the car, it was parked close to one of our favorite candy stores, Mr. Baum’s. I lived a block and a half away from there. There’s a car —and I opened the door. We got in and challenged each other. We didn’t know it could start. We turned a knob in the car and it started. Let’s go for a ride. So we did, and then we started to crap in our pants. That we’d be in a stolen car, we’d get stopped, we’d get locked up, we’d be in jail—and we’d better go back. We went back and parked the car exactly the way we found it, including
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