“What’s with all the yelling?”
His mother stepped out of her room, also in a robe and slippers. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly and, though she had just awakened, she was bright and perky.
“Ma, Natalie’s in the freaking bathroom. She knows I have to be at work on time.”
“Shush, Mikey. Let her get ready. She’s nervous. She’s got a job interview at Rikki’s today.”
“It’s a nail salon, Ma—they don’t open this early! They won’t be there before—Christ—at least eight o’clock. It’s five-thirty. I have to be at the station by seven!”
“No blasphemy in my house, young man. And tie your robe... unless you have a license to sell hot dogs.” She pointed.
Mikey looked down and saw that his penis was peeking out of the fly fold in his pajamas.
“Jeez!” he yelled, yanking his robe closed, mortified. He turned, sauntering back to his room. “Why can’t I live with normal people?”
“Get dressed,” his mother said. “I’ll make you some eggs.”
* * *
Mikey got dressed in his postal uniform—shorts, blue socks, and heavy black shoes. He pulled a light blue regulation polo over a navy, long-sleeved mock turtleneck, grabbing his cap before heading back down the hall. When he passed the bathroom door, he shouted. “She’s still in there!”
“Come,” said his mother. “Sit. Eat. Leave your sister alone.”
He joined her at the table. “I would like to wash my face at least. Maybe a quick sponge bath?”
“She’ll be out soon enough. It’s November, Mikey. Too cold to work dressed like that.”
“I get hot. You know, Nat acts like the world revolves around her. I’m the one putting food on the table. It’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair, Mikey. Here, have some eggs and toast.”
He scarfed the food down, not realizing how hungry he was.
“Slow down,” his mother said. “You’re just like your father. I won’t have you dying at the table, choking on saltimbocca.”
“Ma, Pop died of a heart attack, not choking.”
“Something brought it on. I suspect Lucia’s saltimbocca. Regardless... you eat too fast.”
“She’s still not out,” Mikey said, exasperated. “I gotta go, Ma... and I need to use the toilet before I hit the road.”
Sophia Napolitano looked at her only son, his eyes pleading. “Natalie,” she said, raising her voice. “Mikey’s leaving for work. You need to let him in there.”
They both looked down the hallway. The door slowly opened, and Natalie came out with over-sized curlers in her hair. “OK,” she said, then emphasized, “but hurry up.”
Mikey rushed into the bathroom.
“Christ! What did you eat last night?!”
* * *
On his way out, Mikey kissed his mother, told her he loved her, then hurried to the street. It was still dark out, but getting lighter as the sun rose. He hopped in his Ford Escort and cranked it, letting it run while he scraped the frost from his windshield. Once satisfied that he could see, he got back in the warm car, headed down Fawn St, then up President toward East Lombard, out of Little Italy, and toward the interstate.
The morning show had begun on DC101. Elliot was cackling at some dry remark Diane had made. The show had been on for a good ten minutes and they were rattling on about traffic in Alexandria and some new construction project in Springfield.
Thank God, Mikey thought,all Virginia. Looked like things might be starting to go his way.
He wasn’t a big fan of the modern alt music they played during the show, but he liked Diane, Elliot’s sidekick, a lot. Something about her dry sense of humor—juxtaposing the acerbic and sophomoric wit of the popular shock-jock—calmed him, especially in traffic. So, he tolerated the music specifically for her, knowing he would have the rest of the day to listen to what he wanted.
