Survival and Conscience: From the Shadows of Nazi Germany to the Jewish Boat for Gaza by Rosengarten Lillian

Author:Rosengarten, Lillian
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: e9781935982630
Publisher: Just World Books
Published: 2015-10-06T16:00:00+00:00

SIX

The Kitchen

It was 1991. Spring arrived and the scent of blossoms and a river breeze drifted once again through the open windows of my Riverside Drive apartment. I thought about how happy I had felt earlier that morning. I rode my bike to Battery Park along the Hudson River path, emptied of bikers and skaters because it was a weekday. Close to my ritual resting place at the 23rd Street pier, I had taken off my helmet to let the wind play with my waist-length silver and brown braid. I pedaled top speed to reach my destination, eager to find the best bench, determined not only by privacy but also by how directly the sun would make contact with my body. Bike parked, I peeled off my shirt, under which I wore a scant, cotton, sleeveless top for maximum sun exposure. How good to stretch out, head on backpack as the sun’s energy caressed me. I thought, “My bones are smiling!” as I sank into a meditative silent place. All I could hear was the mournful song of gulls in harmony with the swoosh of river traffic. Small boats and kayaks brought tiny waves to pulse against the pier. Momentarily, I was in a place without words or time. Then, abruptly brought back by the sound of voices, I knew it was time to pedal again. At Battery Park, I turned around to ride home to 78th Street.

The phone rang. I saw Phil’s number on the screen. My body tightened, a familiar response to Phil’s calls. I answered, my voice calm and cheerful. I did not want him to pick up the worried edge in my voice. Was he using again? Why did I have to be so careful? I knew I had no control over whether Phil did or did not use drugs, or how he lived his life generally. Then, I heard his voice on the phone, “Mom, hey, how ya doing? Listen, what’s going on tonight? You want your favorite son over for dinner? Are you missing me?” He’s all right, I thought. I could tell by the energy of his voice.

Phil’s key was in the door a few minutes past six. He flew into my kitchen with such life and charm. He was now thirty-one. I stretched out my arms for a hug. He wore those strange moon-shaped, tiny psychedelic sunglasses too small for his face. It was odd to see my eyes reflected in his glasses as I wrapped my arms around him. I loved the way he placed the glasses on his wild dark curls that reached his shoulders. He had inherited my hair and his father’s intense, brown eyes. Phil tossed his jean jacket carelessly on a chair. “I’m starving,” he said and leaned down to place a peck on my cheek. Phil began to make the rounds of my apartment, as if to rediscover the feel of home. In the front of the apartment off a long entrance hallway was a room that had once belonged to his sister, Lydia.

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