It was cold and damp, a steely grey day typical of November in NYC. No one was around, I was bored. As I often did, I found things to keep my time occupied. Dog crap on the end of a stick chasing girls on my block was a favorite. But no one was around now. I was cold, nose red, chaffed, and running. My lips were chapped. Why was I even outside? No one to play with, dad watching his college game day parlay sheet go to crap, mom smoking cigs and talking on the phone, and generally nothing to do inside our cramped house. So I found myself just wandering up and down the block, freezing my little butt off. Such is the life of a 6 year old in the Bronx!
I saw him first. But when he saw me, he immediately altered his direction. I froze as he approached me. He lived next door in the house that was totally out of place in the sea of 1940′s red brick row houses I lived in. To me his house was a mansion. It stood alone, with 6 foot hedges encircling the property. It was like a house from the suburbs, maybe Westchester, parked right here in Morris Park. The house was occupied by Him, his daughter, adn his grandson, who was 3 years older than me and taunted me whenever he had the chance. The Man was old, with a black hat, black trench-coat, and walking cane. I feared him. Typically when I saw him, I ran inside. But I could not move and he came right at me. Once he approached, he reached out grabbing my chin hard, jerking my head up and twisting my face so my nose was pointed right into his glare. He pushed his hat back with his cane. His breadth smelled of garlic and his nose was swollen large nostrils and dark black heads. His face was wrinkled with deep with dark lines. In broken English he said “a boy, y dunt ya wipe u nosa? Comma wit me, I taka care of you”, and he grabbed my arm directing me up his stairs and into his home. I was helpless. I was afraid. But his eyes said “let me help you”.