Good Friday Feast For Everyone

Fanesca- I woke up late today. Being Good Friday, I did not have to go to school.

Everyone is involved in the preparation of the traditional Ecuadorian Easter meal of Fanesa (Lenten chowder) for our Good Friday feast. Mom started by soaking the ‘bacalao‘ (Salt Cod) late yesterday and the house now has a strong fishy smell. I did not want any part of the preparations.

This soup is made with squash, Lima beans, fava beans, green beans, anyway 7 beans galore! If that wasn’t enough, mom also adds cabbage, milk, heavy cream, cream cheese, and then even more cheese. Oh I forgot – cheese empanada as a side dish!

Ugh! I’m not a fan of this dish!

My sisters and neighbors help my mother in the preparation of this feast. This is a day long event and I am not crazy for this ritual nor for the smell. Just thinking about this has me feeling overstuffed & out of place. Food to me is just to fill my stomach, nothing to spend so much time, effort & rituals over.

So I sneak out and go for a bike ride.

“Don’t go too far!” mom yells out. “I need you back in time for the feast!”

I ride off to check out the other side of the “hill.” All my friends talk about going to the “hill” on our bikes, but no one dares! They say that on the other side lies the Arthur Kill – the deadliest waterway in Jersey.

It is said that nothing lives in these waters. Nothing can! It is the filthiest body of water in Jersey. So bad that if a sailor falls off a tanker, they just leave him there. He is better off! since the acid in the water will eat you alive and the oil slick will choke you to death before they can even get to you.

Anyway, that is what they say – but I don’t believe them.

None of my friends are around and we’ve been talking about it for so long, that I decide to go by myself. The stories must be exaggerated! it can’t be that bad.

I ride off thru the abandoned, desolate grounds for about 1 mile and what I found on the other side was worse then even the roumors said. This area in loaded with homeless people; bon fires out of 50-gallon drums just to stay warm; a smell of dead fish; and plenty of black grime on the shores of the river.

flickr - pedrosimoes7 - homelessI ride down the back edge of the hill and ride alongside the baroness of the riverfront. Faces that seemed like they haven’t eaten in a long while, stare back at me as if to say “What are you doing here kid?”

I stopped in front of this old man. He had his hand stretched out. I didn’t even dare climb off my bike & dragged myself over to him. I put in his hands the snack & water that I had brought with me.

“Happy Easter kid! May God bless you.” he said.

I rode back to my house, no longer complaining and ready to partake of the feast. Even if I didn’t like the smell of it, I feel fortunate to have a home, a family & a safe haven where I can grow up a normal life.

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Beaver & Wally Live Upstairs

One morning I wake up to the news that we are moving again. We’ve lived in this house for a few years and I was just getting used to the suburban lifestyle of Carteret. How am I going to tell Leo, Karen and Anthony that we can’t be friends anymore? I was just starting to feel rooted and here we go again.

We moved in a hurry to a rented house over in Perth Amboy. “Just a layover till you finish High School next year,” mom says. MY parents sold their house on Warren Street and moved on. For some reason though, we left a few things behind. Lots of boxes, my bike, my baseball card collection and my records. Mom called them unnecessary items. Oddly enough, with those unwanted boxes we also left my father behind.

June and boys This new house is nice with lots of windows. The living room has a bay window that looks out, over the lawn, to the tree-lined street.

The window of my room faces out to the side driveway and every morning I see the landlord and her husband leave for work. The backyard is large with lots of trees and an above-ground swimming pool. Every weekend I hear the neighbors laughing and splashing in it. Unfortunately it is off-limits for us.

The neighborhood is urban, but quiet. Too quiet compared to the house on Warren Street. No kids outside playing just lots of cars going by. The road is very wide but doesn’t have too much traffic. Wide enough for two lanes of traffic each way and an isle of parking on each side of the street. It seems like they were expecting this to be a major roadway.

On the second floor, above us, lives the landlord and her family. They are a traditional family and nice neighbors also. The landlord, her husband and two daughters are extremely quiet. The only sound we ever hear from them is the shuffling of the dining room chairs. The deep bass-y sound is backed up by the 6pm chime of their grandfather clock. Almost like a beautiful Aria, I hear the sounds of them sit down together for dinner as a family.

I can only imagine the dad saying “pass me the butter” and the mother happily doing so with a soft reply “here you go dear.” At that moment, almost as if waking me up from a dream, my mom yells out “turn off the TV and take out the trash!” I can’t believe it – I’m missing my favorite episode of Leave it to Beaver. This is a rerun and they will never play this episode again!

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Footprints in the Snow

Footprints in the SnowThis morning we woke up to a beautiful white winter’s morning. The sky is glowing white with no distinction between the clouds and the sky. The blackness of the paved street is now covered by the purity of the snow. The trees glisten from the icicles dangling like ornaments on the Christmas tree.

This morning is turning out to be great! My mother is in a good mood and my brother is already outside shoveling the snow. All of Warren Street seems to be unified under a pure, clean blanket of snow.

The beauty of the white winter’s morning is disrupted only by the red glow of the police car lights. It seems that our next door neighbors were robbed last night. All their Christmas presents are gone – nothing left for tonight’s celebrations.

The police officer & my neighbors comes out of the house and are now following the footprints in the snow. They lead from the rear of the house, where the sliding door was pried opened, across the yard; to the parking lot and seem to be cutoff at the edge of the street. The cars driving by have obliterated the ‘evidence.’ Across the street, a similar set of footsteps seems to start up again. Oddly enough they seem to lead to Joe Pigney’s house. The police (under the urging of the neighbors) put two & two together and go knock on Joe’s door. Joe’s father answers the door not with a look of surprise, but with an expression of disgust. They are very familiar with the police officer’s distinctive knock.

The neighbors immediately start accusing Joe & demand that Joe come out. See a few months back their prized 1965 blue Thunderbird Convertible was keyed. Joe was nearby when they discovered it & started accusing him of causing the damage. They still believe that Joe was responsible. '65 T-birdSo now Joe shows up to the door in his boxers & immediately says “Hey, I didn’t do anything!” This is Joe’s instant reaction when seeing a police officer at his door. The image that Joe & his brother’s have is that they are criminals and we are friends with those “criminals.” The neighbors have always questioned my mother “why do you let your kids be friends with criminals?” My mother always replies “I don’t have any evidence that they are bad people.”

Joe does have one brother that has done time & in a small suburban town, once a criminal always a criminal. Needless to say, the police walk out of Joe’s house with his older brother in cuffs. They put him in the police car & drive off creating a trail of slush that uncaringly splashes over the driveway that my brother had just finished shovelling clean.

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