One sunny Saturday morning, I got the idea to go back to my old neighborhood, 92nd Street in Jackson Heights, for a while, just to see what it’s like now. I also really wanted to visit St. Gabriel’s five blocks away in East Elmhurst. When I first got into my car, it was the perfect day, with sunshine and clear skies. Unfortunately, though, that didn’t last. By the time I got to Astoria Boulevard, about an hour after I first left, the sky became very dark and it began to rain terribly. On my way from 92nd Street to St. Gabriel’s I decided to pull over and to park for a while on Astoria Boulevard. In order to pass the time until the weather conditions improved I walked into the first store I noticed. It was a dark, forlorn looking antique store, filled with quite a collection of artifacts, books and mounds of what appeared to be decades-old dust. I was so happy simply to be inside someplace, safe from the bad weather, that I didn’t mind taking a chance on staying inside for a while. After a few minutes, I rang the bell on the desk, hoping to get some service. A large, gaunt, very old man, dressed entirely in black and grey, came out of the back room and asked me what I wanted. He introduced himself as Igor and explained that he and his wife, Olga, were the owners. His glassy-eyed fixed stare and weak voice gave the impression that he was very ill. He asked where I was from. I told him that although I’m now living in Long Beach, I was a neighborhood kid, having lived on 92nd Street long ago. The more I looked around the old place, the more I got the idea that I appeared to have wandered into another world entirely. It was one big cliche, something from an episode of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” or “The Twilight Zone”. He gave me a tour of the establishment, even taking me down the long winding stairs to the cellar, explaining that that was where the couple kept all their supplies and records. I couldn’t help noticing how cold, damp and musty it was down there. Although it was quite a genuinely seriously terrifying experience I kept trying to convince myself that no real harm could possibly come to me. I wondered when would the predictable plot twists kick in? Maybe he’d try to sell me some obscure artifact that would grant me three wishes-or would some long lost ghost appear from beyond the grave? Eventually I was able to conclude that the fellow was merely a harmless eccentric old gentleman, no more threatening to my well being than anyone. After a few hours we passed a window, through which I noticed that the weather had gotten very much nicer, with sunshine in a cloudless sky. I politely excused myself and explained to the old fellow that I was in a hurry and that I wanted to take advantage of my chance to visit St. Gabriel’s. We bade each other good-bye in quite a gentlemanly fashion. I took a brief walk over to my old parish, relieved finally to be able to enjoy an afternoon in one of my favorite places. Perhaps, though, that brief detour through such a tense unwelcoming environment can serve as a warning to me that certain things from the past must never again be referred to.
http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/sudden-downpour/
http://marthakennedy.wordpress.com/2014/07/28/dusty-old-love/
http://angloswiss-chronicles.com/2014/07/28/daily-prompt-sudden-downpour-wrong-street/
http://wonderfullworldofjenisms.wordpress.com/2014/07/28/sudden-downpour-daily-prompt/
Mi piace:
Mi piace Caricamento...
Donna’s speech was good, but it wasn’t as interesting as being twenty years old, seeing the real Ramones. They were my fellow squares from Queens.
I’m originally from Jackson Heights, Queens. Having just recently found out that Bruno’s On the Boulevard (Astoria Boulevard) will soon be hosting a fund raiser for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, I couldn’t help giving them a bit of publicity. If you’re in that part of Queens next week, please patronize this worthy event.
e meetings seem to be working out very well so far too. Compared to my last two groups, this one has quite an exceptionally large membership. They said last night that there are over forty official members. The Seaford and Wilkes Barre groups only had around a dozen each. Karen Lee gave me a form to fill out so I can officially transfer from my Pennsylvania group. Next month there will be a day of recollection at the Immaculate Conception Center in Douglaston, Queens. I’m hoping to be able to go. I haven’t been there in quite a very long time. It would be so good if someday I could say that I’ve gotten things all figured out and all was right in the world.