WHO WILL WEEP FOR ME

Julius Waxman let out a loud Ballantine ale burp. “So you get your allowance, money for teaching accordion and a weekly paycheck for working for the State Highway Department? Michael what are you going to do with the money?”

Mrs. Waxman, and Michael’s brother and sister looked at him.

“I’m goin’ to save for a used car for when I get my driver’s license, dad.” He looked at them.

“Yeah, Michael can give us and our friends rides. Right Mikey?” His brother Daniel smiled.

“Don’t call me Mikey. It’s Michael. And if you guys are okay, I’ll share takin’ you guys places with dad.”

Mr. Waxman smiled with approval. “Yeah, that’ll be good. Sometimes I can’t drive you kids if I have too much of this stuff.” He held up the green quart bottle and looked back at his wife.

“Michael, what are Dell and Mel doing for the summer?” Mrs. Waxman wiped a few dishes.

“They’re workin’ too, ma.”

She cocked her head and smiled. “Well, tell us what kind of jobs. You know we’re interested in your friends, Michael.”

“Dell’s workin’ at his father’s garage–the big one with the huge eagle neon sign out near the drive-in movie place.”

“I get gas there. It’s the cheapest prices but they’re aways tryin’ to sell you oil and other things you don’t need.” Mr. Waxman added to his Ballantine glass.

“Dell told us he’s gonna learn brake linings and work on tires mostly for this summer.” Waxman ignored the barb to Golden’s father and switched to Slinger. “And Mel is workin’ for the state highway department like me except he’s mostly out of Arlington and I’m out of Burlington.”

“You had to lie about your age to get the job. You’re learnin’ fungoola ways of breakin’ the law.” Mr. Waxman gulped two large swigs.

Mrs. Waxman continued her pursuit of the job dialogue. “My father has connections and once Michael gets a state job this summer he’s guaranteed to work with the highway department every summer. You have to be practical, Julius.”

“Ganiffs. All the fungoolas are ganiffs. And what about Carli Santo? I suppose he’s got a job with the state too?” Mr. Waxman burped and let out a punctuated fart.

“Honestly, Julius. Please excuse yourself.”

“I’m sorry about the gas but I gotta let it out just like you guys do.”

“Dad, you know Carli works at Sal’s garage all year round.” Waxman moved away from his father’s flatulent boundary.

“Oy vey zmir. Sal Pelini. You look up the definition of ganiff in the dictionary and you see Sal’s picture. His dead father’s too. I’m going down the cellar.” Mr. Waxman grabbed his Ballantine bottle and glass and left the kitchen table.

Mrs. Waxman stared at her son.

“I don’t know what Mel and I will be doin’ for the highway department. I won’t know until I start.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Just watch out for your hands. You play the accordion very well.”

“I’ll look after myself. Don’t worry mom.”