Joseph W. Montaperto, click
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Blogs by Joseph W. Montaperto
A FANTASY? 6/16/2023 10:18:27 PM
It’s second period in Silverstein’s art class now, the next morning, and my heart is heavy. I’m suddenly dissatisfied, disillusioned with my mural. I’m staring up at it. Noticing every imperfection, every mistake I made.
This is shit! She’s gonna hate this! I can’t show her this! It takes all the strength I have to avoid a full-scale breakdown. I tell Silverstein I have to go to the bathroom, and then pace the halls frantically the next fifteen minutes, trying to breath.
Three o’clock finally arrives, and I dash out of the school to catch the #59 up to Broad Street. We gotta get back here before 4 o’clock, when they lock the doors. On the ride up I’m anxious, wondering if she’ll even remember I was up there yesterday. If she even knew what was going on at all. I’m supposed to be at work at The Fox Hole by around 4. I’m really putting this whole job in jeopardy. I don’t even know what kind of a state she’s going to be in today. I hop off on Broad Street at 3:22. We can still make it if everything goes right!
I burst into the shop, trying unsuccessfully to make it look like I’m laid back, ready for anything…
Now, she’s the old Esperanza again! The light is back in her eyes - she has life again! And she is so beautiful. I gaze at her hopefully. She smiles at me, and a glow comes up from my heart. It’s radiating onto my face, and now I’m tingling with anticipation.
“Gimme a minute, baby, and we’ll get out of here, OK?”
The other ladies beam at me, calling out greetings as I smile back, and wave. Esperanza slips on her short-waisted white leather jacket, delicately places her shades on top of her head, and grabs her purse. Every move is graceful again.
“Hasta manyaaana, chicas” she draws it out playfully.
We stride outside together, and I head towards the bus stop. She inexplicably sashays to the other corner.
Where is she going?
Then I realize - the parking lot. Uh-oh. I think that she thinks I have a car. Great. I sprint over to catch up to her, ready to apologize and grovel, and feel like a fool, but she keeps going.
“Esperanza – Esperanza - I don’t-”
We’re in the parking lot now, and she abruptly stops right in front of this white MG Midget Convertible. Brand new. Whoa.
It glistens in the fading sunlight, among all the beat up Dodge Darts and Chevy Impalas. She pulls keys out from her purse.
“This is your car?”
“You know there’s no way I be taking that damn bus, honey, mmm-mmm” -
“Oh my God.”
I mean, I’m definitely not one of those trade-school car freaks, or anything, but this ride is jamming. Could I be any more in awe of her?
She offers me a stick of Dentyne.
“You want a Chiclet?”
I don’t know why, but Puerto Ricans always call every kind of gum Chiclets, no matter if it’s Trident, Juicy Fruit, or indeed, Chiclets. I stuff it in my mouth, mainly to keep my jaw from being permanently dropped.
She lights up her ever present Virginia Slim, opens the door, pushes a button that brings the top down, and hops in.
“What are you waiting for, honey?”
She pulls her shades down over her eyes. It’s a nice sunny day for November 3rd.
It’s a two seater with no other room - the Midget is. She grabs the clutch, peels out of the parking lot, and goes screeching down East Grand Avenue, like Mario Andretti. She’s messing with the radio knob, rifling through all these R&B and Spanish stations, until she hits on this acoustic guitar solo that plays on for, like, ten seconds.
“Oh shit! I love this song!” she cries out happily, cranking up the volume now.
“Whoa! That’s the Eagles new jam, I think.”
“I don’t know who this be, papi, I just love it! Aaaay!”
I grin to myself, because, secretly, I really like the Eagles, also. We have something in common now, too. Yeah. The words break in now, and she starts singing along, but she’s getting all the words wrong, which usually really annoys me, but in this situation…
“There she stood in the doorway
With the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
This could be heaven or this could be hell…”
“Yeah, Hotel California!” Woo! I cry out gleefully.
We’re cruising down East Grand Avenue in Elizabeth, the late day sun setting in our eyes, the cancerous breeze from the nearby Exxon Bayway refineries blowing through our hair - and it’s all perfect.
Suddenly, she’s Ali McGraw, and I’m Ryan O’Neal, and it’s Love Story, and we’re cruising down the Boulevard in Hollywood, the salty breeze off the Pacific Ocean cooling us off. This is it. The defining moment of my life.
That whole ride to the school is magic, timeless…
I’ve never felt so - free! The only thing I have to be conscious of, is to catch myself from permanently fawning over her, as I’m taking it all in.
When we get to the Roselle High parking lot, I leap out of the car, practically prancing my way up the stairs to the green door. Like that freaking leprechaun from those Lucky Charms, commercials. I peer up at the clock in one of the classrooms - it’s only 3:50. Excellent! We still got time. I excitedly go to pull open the door - LOCKED! What the f***?! It can’t be, it’s not four o’clock yet!!
