Breaking Brooklyn (6 page)

“
That’s crap! You are the only
person I have slept with in the past seven months.” I yelled
stormed off the porch.

Following me he grabbed my arm. I pulled away,
telling him to get his hands off of me. He let go, begging me to
forgive him.

“
Look, I wasn’t expecting this!
I’m sorry! I will be there for you and the baby,” he
pleaded.

I trumped up some tears as Sam pulled me in
closer to him. He assured me that we would figure this out
together. I was still angry, but Sam hugging me, along with his
words, brought relief to me.

April 12, 1978

Sam asked me to marry him today!!! He took me
to El Matador, my favorite restaurant. It’s a dive, but they serve
the best Mexican food in town. Flacco, the bartender, is always
willing to serve me a strong margarita without asking for ID. God
knows I wanted one today. Considering my condition I decided not
to, a coke for this mommy-to-be…

Its spring now, and after the hard winter we
had I think everyone in the city was out walking the Broad Ripple
strip. Hoosiers always get overexcited about spring. They
prematurely breakout their shorts and flip-flops. It can be 50
degrees out and in their minds it’s 70.

Sam reached in his pocket and pulled out a
little red box. He then began his “speech.”

“
Cindy, I know this is not what
either of us expected or planned. But I have loved you from the
first moment I laid eyes on you. While we have had our ups and
downs the past few months, there have been way more good times than
bad. Yes, we are young, but I know we are meant for each other.
Let’s be a family. Will you marry me?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Weren’t
these the words I was waiting to hear? My mother would be so happy…
but will I? Is this what I really want, to be a wife and
mother?

I can’t raise this baby alone. A part of me
does love Sam. We can make this work.

When I finally said yes, Sam walked around the
table. In front of everyone he placed the diamond ring on my
finger. Two couples sitting next to us raised their margarita
glasses and yelled , “Congrats! Cheers!”

Sam continued to assure me that all would be
fine, that we would make it work, especially since we had his
parents’ blessing.

My ring is nice, not something I would have
chosen, but simple and pretty.

While we were eating, Sam was talking a mile a
minute about his plans for our future.

I knew marrying Sam was the best option for me
and my baby. It will keep my mother off my back and the local
gossip to a minimum.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Many men go fishing all of their
lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.”
~ Henry David Thoreau

Jack Napier- Day 11

I asked Harleen again today about my family.
She blew it off like she did the last time. I told her I couldn't
wait any longer, demanding I see them immediately. Harleen was
expressionless, like one of those mannequins you see in a Macy’s
display window.

"I have done everything you have asked. Please
let me see my family," I pleaded again.

"Jack, I am so sorry to have to tell you this,
but your wife and children were found dead in your home the night
you were brought here."

"What!" I shouted.

"The police received a call from one of your
neighbors that Friday evening reporting that they heard what
sounded like gunshots. When the officers arrived they found your
wife and children unresponsive. You were unconscious. Tied to a
chair."

The shock that paralyzed my body quickly
morphed into anger.

"Why didn't you tell me this when we first
met?!" I shouted.

"We wanted to see if you remembered anything.
Several hours had gone by and you still had not been able to recall
or shed a light on what happened that night."

My body started to shake.

"I want to help you remember,” Harleen said,
“so we can find out what really happened. I needed to make sure you
were stable from a medical and mental standpoint. The last thing I
wanted to do was blindside you with this news. I am so sorry this
happened to you. I am here to help you, Jack."

I felt the blood rush to my face. My head was
tingling. Sweat trickled down my neck.

"Is there anything you can remember from that
evening?” Harleen prodded. “If not, what about the day?"

"You lied to me!” I screeched. “You let me
believe my family was alive, that I would get to see
them!"

"Jack, I never lied. My job was to make sure
you were mentally prepared before I could share the news. Our focus
now needs to be on finding out what happened that night. Please try
and remember. Did you go to work that morning?"

I leaned into Harleen, so my face was within
inches of hers.

I screamed, "YOU LIED TO ME!!!!"

"Jack, I never—"

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU! YOU ARE LYING TO ME
NOW!"

I could see that Harleen was scared as she
rang for the nurse. When the nurse and the guard entered the room,
all hell broke loose. Security was called and it took several
officers to hold me down so they could sedate me. Then it was
lights out…..

When I eventually woke, I realized my family
was in danger, or even worse, they were gone. Something felt very
suspicious about this whole situation, like I was being set up. I
knew I had to keep my cool if I wanted to find the
truth.

I needed to take my mind off the current
situation. I had to regroup and figure out what was really
happening.

When I was a kid, I would go to the Broad
Ripple Canal when I wanted to clear my head. That's where I met
Jim, my fishing buddy and one of my best friends.

Jim and I would cast our lines in the canal,
then we would sit and talk for hours about the mysteries of life.
Like whether or not Goofy was a dog or a human with a dog-like
face. Jim would joke around telling me that one of his
ex-girlfriends had a face like Goofy.

What I liked most about Jim was that he always
had time for me and all of my silly questions. Being that I was a
kid with no father in sight, Jim was a godsend at that time in my
life. He taught me about life and most of all, how to put the right
bait on my line to catch the big catfish, the one worth telling a
story about.

By the time I was seven I knew all the Broad
Ripple Village shortcuts, which dogs to avoid, and which old ladies
to stay clear of. I was a scrappy little guy with long, curly-blond
hair. I was bony and malnourished with a ruddy complexion from
spending every possible minute outside. I was adventurous,
wandering along the train tracks and around the canal. What the
Mississippi River was to Huckleberry Finn, the train tracks were to
me. It was my escape from reality.

The train that ran along the Monon Railroad
passed right by our three-bedroom townhouse, slicing Broad Ripple
into two equal halves. Walking along the tracks, hopping from one
tie to the next, took me through parts of town where I met the most
interesting people, many of whom became my dear friends. Best of
all, the train tracks led right to my favorite place, the Broad
Ripple canal.

The canal had carved its way through the
once-tiny village decades ago. Now it’s lined with restaurants,
bars, and the after-wash of late night riffraff.

Back when it was a child’s paradise, I would
tiptoe as soon as my feet hit the bank, so as not to stir up any
dirt. Then I’d flip a rock, catching a crawdad before it had a
chance to scurry away. I was really good at catching
crawdads.

“
They make mighty-fine bait,” Jim
would tell me.

When it got cold, Jim would go to the local
homeless shelter to live for the winter. I wouldn’t see him for
months. That was one of the many reasons I hated that season. I
could barely wait until spring, so Jim and I could get back to
fishing. We would spend hours casting our lines, hoping for a bite,
and me asking a lot of questions.

The thing about Jim was he genuinely wanted to
be my friend, which made me feel loved. I asked him once why he
lived under the bridge. He told me he couldn’t be tied down to just
one fishing hole. Then he called me Ponyboy. He liked to call me
that and he always said it with a giant smile.

Ponyboy was the main character in Jim’s
favorite book, The Outsiders. Jim kept a worn paperback copy in his
back pocket. He liked to read it to me, and I loved to listen.
While we were fishing, I would ask him to read my favorite parts
over and over again.

I never really knew why Jim loved to call me
Ponyboy until I was old enough to read the book on my own. I was
Ponyboy to him, and he wanted me to stay golden. It wasn’t until
much later in life that I realized what a gift it was to have him
as a friend.

Looking back, I suppose it was kind of weird
that my best friend was a forty-five year old black man who barely
survived the jungle hell of Vietnam, only to take up temporary
residence under a bridge in Broad Ripple. Jim’s face was worn and
callused like his hands. He was built like a soldier, lean but
muscular. His hair was long (afro style) with a chin curtain beard
that was speckled with grey. Jim would tell me all about his
adventures in Vietnam, the good ones, that is. When I would push to
hear about the bad ones, he would simply say, “Leave it alone,
Ponyboy,” and I would stop.

As soon as I woke up in the mornings on summer
break, I would run to the canal to see my old fishing buddy. Jim
was easy to spot because he was always in his Army fatigues with
all kinds of different patches on them from his service in Vietnam.
My heart would glow when I saw him sitting on the bank of the canal
with his bamboo pole in hand. He didn’t have a reel, but he managed
to catch fish just fine.

One particular morning on my way to go
fishing, I saw Jim at the canal, right at the dam where it meets
White River, where the railroad tracks cross. Jim was excited
because he just got a huge bite on his line. He yelled at me to
come help him. This was no regular fish nipping at the bait. We
both knew “who” it was. It had to be the legendary catfish that had
teased many a fisherman for years. Jim and I called him “Old Man.”
He’d lived longer and avoided more fishing hooks than seemed
possible.

The bobber didn’t just sink, it popped below
the surface, back up, and then down deep. Each time the fish made a
run for it, Jim and I grew more excited.

Just as Jim was pulling it to shore, the line
broke. The biggest fish in the canal still held the title of “The
One That Got Away.”

Jim already had six catfish and a smallmouth
bass sitting in his bucket on the bank. But this was the one he
wanted. It was the fish everyone coveted, the one we all talked
about. This guy was a catfish worth one hundred fishing
stories.

Jim balled up a piece of crawdad into a piece
of bread and went at it again. After putting the bait on his hook,
he cast his line. The bobber floated peacefully on the top of the
water like a swan. Jim and I never looked away, never relaxed,
didn’t talk, just waited and waited.

Suddenly the sinker was pulled under the
surface with such force Jim had to hang onto the pole with all his
strength. Up and down the bank he followed the giant catfish. He
wanted to tire the Old Man out.

At one point Jim got pulled so near the bank
he lost his footing, his pole slipping out of his hand. He managed
to grab it and kept fighting. He yelled for me to get the net. The
battle raged for nearly half an hour. My palms were sweaty. I felt
like I was going to jump out of my skin. Jim pulled and pulled on
the line until the Old Man was close to the shore, then he yelled
for me to throwing the net over the Old Man.

As we pulled the net out of the water, the
giant catfish fought like a prizefighter, thrashing to get out of
the net, refusing to accept his fate. Jim and I shared a grin of
victory. Jim figured the catfish to be about eight pounds. I was
pretty sure it was more like sixty.

Jim carefully cut the line. Then he grabbed
his pliers to get the hook out of the fish’s mouth. That monster
was still fighting. Catfish can cut you like a knife, you know. Jim
put his gloves on and fought to get it to hold still. Removing the
hook, he threw the Old Man in the bucket with the rest of his fish.
It was odd, because a catfish like that deserved to be in his own
bucket, not one filled with inferior fish. I would have thrown the
other fish back in the canal, freeing up the bucket for my
prize.