Hammond by LaPoma Jonathan

Author:LaPoma, Jonathan [LaPoma, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9988403-4-5
Publisher: Almendro Arts
Published: 2018-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

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Miss Amalia opened a Mediterranean restaurant on the corner of my street, and I could see it from my front yard. For as far back as I could remember, every other business that had opened in that building had failed, but I knew Miss Amalia would make hers last. There was just something about her. Something special. I knew she would put everything she had into that restaurant, and it made me feel a little safer knowing a part of St. Anthony’s was so close to me.

At first, I went over there just to say hi. She wasn’t scary like most teachers, so I wasn’t afraid to see her. But after tasting the turkey sub and fries, I was hooked and would go over all the time. Sometimes, you could hear my old man screaming even with the restaurant’s doors closed, and Miss Amalia would let me stay as long as I wanted. She had a guitar in the back corner, and she told me I could play it, but I just couldn’t. She told me things like, “Trust the art inside of you,” but it sounded an awful lot like the “listen to your heart” crap Sister Adele and Mom were always trying to heap on me, so I mostly just tuned it out. You don’t play guitar in Buffalo. You shovel snow. You work two jobs and never see your kids. You get really drunk and drive into a snow pile. Uncle Tommy said playing music was for long-haired faggots, even though he loved Kris Kristofferson and Waylon Jennings and would play “Long Haired Country Boy” on his CD player at home. I had short hair and grew up in the city and couldn’t take any more of them laughing at me, so the guitar would just have to sit there in the corner.

The place was decorated with urns and candles and fake olive branches and paintings of Italy and Greece. Sitting there made me think about how big the world was—so much bigger than Buffalo, and New York even. Made me think of all the places I could go someday. But the thought of traveling made me feel guilty. There were so many problems here in Buffalo that I needed to solve. Who was I to think I could leave? It was too selfish. So, like with the guitar, I’d look but knew I could never touch. I was gonna die in that house and be buried in the yard beside Mr. Rogers’s garage. Still, it was nice getting away for a while. And it was also nice watching Miss Amalia bend over to grab napkins off the floor or to put more water bottles in the fridge. Seeing her gave me a feeling a little like the one Julia gave me. I wished I was a little older. Miss Amalia wasn’t like the girls I went to school with. If Miss Amalia were to smile while thinking about me, I’d have probably believed her. She had a way of making me feel special and making me believe there was more out there for me.

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