THE CHASE - PART 2

So, this is the continuation of The Chase, where I escape the cop car after me for breaking the Cumberland Farm's window, by wriggling through backyards and secret passageways - and wind up in the parking lot of Willowbrook Gardens Apartments, as the Eagles song is playing from somebody's apartment.

I sing along to 'Peaceful Easy Feeling" silently in that alley, as a soothing wind flows over me. And look at the clear, black sky to gaze at our own stars. And right there in front of me - is a payphone. What the hell is that doing here? I'd never even noticed it before. Probably been broken since the 50s. Spontaneously, I pick up the receiver, and without even really thinking about it, call Esperanza's number. I figure she won't even be home. It rings several times, and I go to hang it up...

"Hola?"

"Hi-um-is Esperanza there?"

"Yeah...this is her- who's this?"

"Oh-Esperanza- hi! It's Joe. José!"

"Oh hi, papi! How you doing? You lucky, you caught me at home tonight."

"Yeah, that's not the only thing I got lucky with – you wouldn't believe what's been going on tonight!"

I go on to relate to her the whole story of what's happened to me this crazy evening. From Philly's antics at The Fox Hole, to my brother, Paul, destroying my whole fish hobby, to my daring escape just now from the cops.

From there on, it becomes this magical experience. The perfect phone call. Just like the one I had visualized before. I mean, I don't know how it happens - but I am freakin great! I'm hilarious. I'm charming. Every joke, every ad-lib, goes over flawlessly, even as I'm depositing dime after dime to keep the call going. I did it - and we're going out this Saturday! Holy shit!

I practically skip all the way back home. Forgetting all about the cop chase, the wounds, and the blood soaking through my pants. None of it matters. I have such a peaceful, easy feeling. I approach my driveway, still floating in ecstasy.

"GOTCHA!"

An arm grabs me around my neck, another pulls my arms back, and I feel something cold and metallic being roughly thrust upon my wrists.

"Son, I reckon you're about in more trouble than a cat in a roomful of broomsticks," says a voice behind me with a deep Southern twang

BUSTED.

Officer Roccio. He must have been hiding behind the trees in front of my house. I knew him. Everybody did. This clown. He grew up in Roselle. Half Italian- half Irish. A while back he goes off to North Carolina, and when he comes back about a year later, he suddenly has the thickest of Southern accents, wears a cowboy hat, and incessantly chews on a piece of grass. Or straw, or whatever it is. Then he joins the police force and thinks he's McCloud.

Being dragged up my front steps in handcuffs is a memory that now becomes seared into my consciousness. It isn't that I broke the window that makes me feel horrible. It's not even getting caught. It's getting caught by this pseudo Conway Twitty that's so embarrassing. I couldn't be any more ashamed than, like, if I'd been busted wearing my sister's dress at my father's Friday night poker game in the living room with my uncles. Worse yet, is the reaction of my parents. My father, well, he's beyond pissed, but the most soul devouring part by far, is the expression on my mother's face. While my father may be furious, my mother's face reads disappointment. Real and total severe disappointment. In me. Pure hurt. Like she can't even look at me. That kind of hurt. What a total skeeve I feel like! That look alone is much more devastating than the one-month grounding I receive as my punishment.