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THE PUNISHMENT 12/8/2021 9:53:21 PM
So, after ‘The Cumberland Farms Incident’, and the ensuing capture at the hands of the faux McCloud cop, Officer Roccio, I’m grounded for a month, besides the utter embarrassment of it all. Talk about adding insult to injury!
My father winds up having to pay for half the cost of replacing the window. Which is even more guilt inducing, since he’s still out of work, and can ill afford it. Actually, he has to negotiate with the suits in management at Cumberland Farms, because Fat Jim, for all his newfound holiness, was really pushing to press charges - to punish me for my sins. So my father saves me from that ignomious fate. But to do so, he has to borrow money from my Uncle Richie now, to pay for it all. I know that’s a major blow to his ego, since he so fiercely prides himself on his self-sufficiency and independence. Yeah, it’s a guilt fest, alright. Thank God they’re still allowing me to work at the Fox Hole though, otherwise it would probably be a death sentence. I still have to go to school, of course, but on the days I’m not working, I’m confined to my room. No phone calls, no visits, no TV - and that includes the weekends!
In an attempt at some form of reparations, I vow to give my father $25 every week till I pay off the debt, but even that gesture does little to soothe my twisted conscience.
Otherwise, that awful sense of doom infiltrates my guilt, as I realize I’ve utterly blown it with Esperanza. There’s no way to explain this one away. I make several attempts to call her to try to explain, but each time, I hang up the phone ashamedly, before she can even answer. I mean, what the hell am I going to tell her? That I’m grounded? Gimme a freakin’ break.
Me - standing Esperanza up! What a sad joke. I lay there on my bed that Saturday, the first day of my solitary confinement, a beautiful crisp late October day outside. My room, which has always been my sanctuary, now looms instead as my mausoleum. I guess that Skinny and Ricky are out playing baseball or football on Floral Street, with Daniel Webb and Bobby Turski, and the guys. I can almost hear their shouts of excitement if I lie still and listen hard enough. That all seems like such a faraway time ago. Then I think about Skinny and Kyla McBride, and now anger intermingled eally going out with each other? How could he do this to me? I wonder if all this stuff I had done …the boxing, the black clothes, The Fox Hole, and – especially - this pursuit of Esperanza. I mean, is it all really worth it?
Tears begin to roll down my face, as my eyes dart around the room in an attempt to evade the crushing swell of thoughts. My gaze finally resting on this statue, a bust of Napoleon, which is perched on the bookshelf atop my desk. I’ve always been kind of matter-of-factly aware of its presence, but never in any profound type of way. Until now.
As I think back, though, it starts to freak me out. Napoleon has always been there! As long I can remember, even way back when we lived in Brooklyn! Always there in the same spot, on the shelf above my desk. Why was it there - and where did it come from? What is the reason behind it? Insidiously staring at me…unblinking in its smugness.
Conspiracy theories thunder through my head, forcing my heart to pound wildly. What does Napoleon mean? A Napoleon complex? Hmmm…yes-but-but-there must be more. I mean, otherwise it could be just any bust! George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, or even Sammy Davis Jr., for that matter. Why Napoleon specifically?
Ah! Napoleon had met his Waterloo! Of course! An omen. Is this my Waterloo?with the melancholy. What are they doing, anyway? Are they r My father winds up having to pay for half the cost of replacing the window. Which is even more guilt inducing, since he’s still out of work, and can ill afford it. Actually, he has to negotiate with the suits in management at Cumberland Farms, because Fat Jim, for all his newfound holiness, was really pushing to press charges - to punish me for my sins. So my father saves me from that ignomious fate. But to do so, he has to borrow money from my Uncle Richie now, to pay for it all. I know that’s a major blow to his ego, since he so fiercely prides himself on his self-sufficiency and independence. Yeah, it’s a guilt fest, alright. Thank God they’re still allowing me to work at the Fox Hole though, otherwise it would probably be a death sentence. I still have to go to school, of course, but on the days I’m not working, I’m confined to my room. No phone calls, no visits, no TV - and that includes the weekends!
In an attempt at some form of reparations, I vow to give my father $25 every week till I pay off the debt, but even that gesture does little to soothe my twisted conscience.
Otherwise, that awful sense of doom infiltrates my guilt, as I realize I’ve utterly blown it with Esperanza. There’s no way to explain this one away. I make several attempts to call her to try to explain, but each time, I hang up the phone ashamedly, before she can even answer. I mean, what the hell am I going to tell her? That I’m grounded? Gimme a freakin’ break.
Me - standing Esperanza up! What a sad joke. I lay there on my bed that Saturday, the first day of my solitary confinement, a beautiful crisp late October day outside. My room, which has always been my sanctuary, now looms instead as my mausoleum. I guess that Skinny and Ricky are out playing baseball or football on Floral Street, with Daniel Webb and Bobby Turski, and the guys. I can almost hear their shouts of excitement if I lie still and listen hard enough. That all seems like such a faraway time ago. Then I think about Skinny and Kyla McBride, and now anger intermingled with the melancholy. What are they doing, anyway? Are they really going out with each other? How could he do this to me? I wonder if all this stuff I had done …the boxing, the black clothes, The Fox Hole, and – especially - this pursuit of Esperanza. I mean, is it all really worth it?
Tears begin to roll down my face, as my eyes dart around the room in an attempt to evade the crushing swell of thoughts. My gaze finally resting on this statue, a bust of Napoleon, which is perched on the bookshelf atop my desk. I’ve always been kind of matter-of-factly aware of its presence, but never in any profound type of way. Until now.
As I think back, though, it starts to freak me out. Napoleon has always been there! As long I can remember, even way back when we lived in Brooklyn! Always there in the same spot, on the shelf above my desk. Why was it there - and where did it come from? What is the reason behind it? Insidiously staring at me…unblinking in its smugness.
Conspiracy theories thunder through my head, forcing my heart to pound wildly. What does Napoleon mean? A Napoleon complex? Hmmm…yes-but-but-there must be more. I mean, otherwise it could be just any bust! George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, or even Sammy Davis Jr., for that matter. Why Napoleon specifically?
Ah! Napoleon had met his Waterloo! Of course! An omen. Is this my Waterloo?
