Leaving Eastern Parkway by Matthew Daub

Author:Matthew Daub
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Delphinium Books
Published: 2022-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

KINGSTON AVENUE: south chicago, illinois

So now I will explain how I ended up on Kingston Avenue again, only this time not in Brooklyn. Chicago was Joe Carcone’s idea. We were at the Big Green Wall late on a Friday afternoon. It was one of the first kind days of early spring and I stayed on the court a little longer than I should have. Frida would not be happy with me charging in the door at the last minute and rushing through dinner so I could be ready when the Kotins came to pick me up for shul.

Joe still had his gloves on and did not seem in any hurry to leave.

He said, “I think it’s about time we complete your education, Junior.”

I was nearing the end of my sophomore year at Urbana High, but I had the feeling he was not referring to school.

“I have to go home now,” I said.

“I don’t mean right this second, but it’s about time you learned the finer points of the game, and it wouldn’t hurt for us to make a little money either … you know, the way we do it in Brooklyn.”

“You mean gambling?”

He said, “There are opportunities … clubs up in Chicago, and I’m not talking this rec center bullshit. I’m talking doctors, lawyers, that sort of thing. You have Band C-players who think they’re hot shit, just begging to get hustled by a kid in a yarmulke. I’m telling you we couldn’t ask for a better setup. How about we head up north tomorrow and check things out?”

“Does that mean I’ll have to gamble on Shabbos too?” I asked.

Joe had seen me take plenty of liberties with the 613 Mitzvot before, but gambling on Shabbos was a new one.

He said, “You know, I think Religion confuses you, Junior. You’re always caught in the middle somewhere, like you don’t know whether to shit or go blind.”

That was an expression I’d never heard before. I had no idea what making shit had to do with going blind. This made no sense.

“You’re always somewhere between half in and half out,” he said. “You need to make up your mind—either you’re a black hat or you’re not. Figure it out. I was all caught up in a bunch of Catholic school bullshit when I was a kid too, afraid God was gonna send me to hell if I ate meat on Friday. You really think God gives a rat’s ass what you eat or whether it’s Friday or Saturday?”

I did not know what God gave a rat’s ass about. In shul that night I pondered everything Joe said. He was right. Religion confused me.

Frida and Paul were arguing again when I shuffled up the driveway after Shabbos services. I could hear them going at it before I got to the door and did not want to barge in on them, so I turned around and paced the dark Urbana streets for almost half an hour. The house was quiet when I returned, but I made a point of clanging the garbage cans and rattling the side door before opening it.

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