WHO WILL WEEP FOR ME

Lena Masiello was a good dance teacher. She felt comfortable with Sorelli and led him to move smoothly over the dance floor during the slow songs. She smiled at him as he could now anticipate her steps to change direction. “We’re good dance partners Edmund. Do you like Perry Como and Tony Bennett?”

“Because they’re both Italian?” Sorelli was still learning social skills and his awkwardness was ebbing but still there.

Lena laughed. “No, Silly–because of the words, the music, and their voices.”

“Yeah. I like their voices better than some of the weird ones who do the fast songs.”

“You’re getting real good with the rock-‘n-roll too, Edmund. What weird Singers do you mean–not Elvis I hope?”

“No, I like Elvis. Gene Vincent and Little Richard have good music but the words are ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but they’re great to dance to. Here comes one now.” She pulled Sorelli onto the gym dance floor. The Latin High School annual Thanksgiving record hop was well attended and chaperoned. Lena had taught Sorelli to jump around and move her in twirling, twisting motions to the fast rhythms.

Josie Arrigo came over to them as the on-and-off dimming of the lights signaled the evening was coming to an end. “One last dance and we head to my car.”

Lena and Sorelli danced slowly and with cheek-to-cheek to the words of “Goodnight Sweetheart” and “Dream” as the mellow tones and words of regret to the close of an evening were absorbed.

They went to Josie’s car and waited a few minutes listening to the rock-‘n-roll station as the heater took the chill from the late November night air. Josie and her boyfriend Sandy were kissing frantically in the front seat.

Lena put her arms around Sorelli and whispered in his ear, “I like you a lot Edmund. Do you mind if we make out a little. I do like you a lot. That’s why I’m not shy with you.”

Sorelli felt okay with being asked for such intimacy and hugged her as their lips made contact. As the air in the car became heated Sorelli became a little anxious as Lena’s breathing became heavier. She began clutching his chest and her hands moved to his groin where he felt himself responding. Fear began to creep in. Oh, no. My mother must do this with her men. How can Lena be so nice and so vulgar too? He pushed away. “Lena, I can’t.”

“Oh, Edmund, I can tell you like me.” She squeezed his developing erection.

“No. I can’t tell you why. I’m just not ready for this kind of thing.”

She pouted and moved away. “It’s okay. We’ll get used to each other.”

The car windows were clouding up with the breathing from the hyper-hormoned teenagers. Josie turned the defroster on full and began driving when the windshield cleared. She dropped Lena off first and then Sorelli. He waved goodbye and used his key to open his front door.

“Mom, I’m home.” He looked around the kitchen and into her bedroom and couldn’t find her. The television was on with the volume on low. He saw her sprawled on the couch with several empty beer bottles on the coffee table. He shook her.

“Mom, I’m home. You all right?” She smelled of beer and there were red welts on the right side of her face and on both arms. He shook her.

“Ow. Henry you hit me once more and I’ll call the cops.” She gave a beer belch and turned onto her side. She wore only a short nightshirt. Her panties were on the floor. The ashtrays were full of butts–half with lipstick and half without.

Sorelli was angry. “You had sex on the couch. You let him beat you up.” He shook her and watched his mother’s eyes roll in alcoholic stupor. “Grandma was right wasn’t she? You’re a slut.”

She turned again on the couch and her pinoir rode up revealing her thigh and bare bottom. “Henry, don’t touch me. You hurt.” Her eyes opened and closed.

Sorelli looked with horror and disgust at the bite marks on her left thigh and left buttock. “You whore. You deserve to get wacked around.” Rage overtook him. He slapped her face. “Wake up.” He slapped her again.

She moved slowly and moaned calling out against “Henry”.

“I’ll give you something to remember what you are.” Sorelli hit her first on one eye and then the other. “When you look at yourself all next week, you’ll know what you are. You whore.” He slapped her hard on her mouth until the upper lip began to bleed and swell. “No wonder your men hit you. You’re disgusting.” It felt good smacking her. He was glad he could hit her and not Lena. Lena was nice and respected his feelings and shyness.