Christopher Prato - Little Boy or, Enola Gay

“ My Way ,” Maria answered, anticipating his next sentence.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, excitedly, as excitedly as an old Italian man with one lung could. “ My Way . Like Sinatra says in that song— Regrets, I’ve had a few. But then again, too few to mention .” He took a deep breath, and whistled as he exhaled. “Well, I’ve had too few regrets to mention. Like you’re grandfather, I’m sure, I’ve lived through the Great Depression, World War II, the Kennedy Assassination, a thousand historical events that you kids couldn’t possibly comprehend.” He paused to catch his breath. “I’ve also lived through some personal tragedies, most of which I regret deeply. A failed marriage, a lifetime of cigarette smoking, a few extra-marital affairs that my son has no knowledge of.” Another deep, wheezing breath. I felt a damp plume of sweet sambuca engulf me as he exhaled. Maria was still smiling, frozen, and beet-red. “None of these things is worth mentioning or even thinking about. And yet I think about them all the time. Hell, I’m an old fart, so why bother, you may ask. But I do think about them, A.J. I ponder them day-in, day-out. I live each day carrying a cross called regret.

“You don’t know what regret is, you’re too damn young. From what Maria tells me you’re the kind of young man that’s never tasted remorse, grief, or sorrow. As a man sixty years your senior, I must warn you, A.J.—and please don’t take this as a sign of disrespect: Regret is just around the corner.

“From what my son tells me, you’re a shoe-in for the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. He’s recommended you highly, I know that. He has faith in you. Maria has faith in you. And, frankly, so do I. But when she comes to me every week, and chats with me and reminds me to take my medicine”—he winked at Maria and reconnected with my eyes without missing a beat—she always says, in so many words, ‘I love A.J., Grandpa. But why does he have to act this way sometimes?’ And I wonder what to say to her. And I wondered this for a long time. But now that I’ve met you—and I like you, A.J., don’t get me wrong—I’ve decided that I don’t have to say anything to her. It’s you I need to speak to.

“Maria is a special girl, A.J. Not special in the workaday sense of the word, but truly special. She’s done the laundry and studied for tests as she listened to her drunken pop bellow incomprehensible commands at her mother. He has his demons, as do I. And he’ll regret allowing those demons to thrive most of his life once he’s my age, if he lives to be that long. But at least he’s trying now to slay his demons while he still has the strength…” Grandpa Della Verita trailed off and lifted a cigar from the crystal ashtray beside him. He placed the cigar between his thin lips and lighted it with a wooden match.

Dry as as the Sahara, my mouth remained motionless and speechless as I attempted repeatedly to swallow. My throat closed up and it seemed as if it would never reopen.

“Listen, A.J. I don’t mean to bore or frighten you. I don’t mean to ramble on. I’m just an old man, like I said. Maria’s told me a lot about you, and, being a contemplative old man, I can’t resist the chance to think about you and try to rescue your potential. You seem to be afraid of my granddaughter, afraid of her past, afraid of her mistakes. Perhaps even afraid of her future. Well, let me give you some advice…” He leaned forward and sat on the edge of the chair.

“ Don’t be . Instead, be her hero. Be a man. Don’t be her keeper, but don’t go AWOL. Moderate yourself. Listen to her every word patiently, sympathetically, because, not too long from now, I won’t be around to do it. Humor me for a moment, and allow me to give you one last snippet of advice: Don’t be afraid of little Maria. Don’t do too much of anything . Relax. Enjoy life. Enjoy Maria, life’s gift to you. Don’t allow petty fears to pollute your love.

“In short, to borrow a phrase you’ll hear many times over the next few years: At ease, L’Enfant .”

Dumfounded, I gently extended my hand toward the old man, and he shook it firmly with his callused paw. “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I knew this morning at mass that this was a unique day, a day of transition, of rekindling. I didn’t know why until just now. This morning I felt guilt, a guilt that, possibly, could have lasted a lifetime. I was unaware of its meaning. You’ve given me the spark I need to slay my demon, sir. To kill the hate. And to give to both myself and Maria what we’re worthy of accepting: a new A.J. L’Enfant.”

Maria and I departed Grandpa’s apartment in silence. Old A.J. would have been disgusted with Maria for divulging secrets about me to others. New A.J., however, placed his hand on her face and simply said, “Maria, I love you very much.”

I hadn’t said that to Maria for the longest time.

I asked Maggie out the next evening. I resolved to meet her in Central Park, confess my love for Maria, and end it with that. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t end it without bringing her to Central Park, even if it was to break up with her.

We sat on the very same spot that Maria and I had sat the previous spring. Maggie looked around, up at the Elms and London Plane trees, and at the glistening water. “It’s so beautiful,” she sighed. From where we were, I could see the giant pine in the distance that bore mine and Maria’s initials. It had been a long time since I’d been there on my first date with Maria. It had also been so long since I’d really been with a girl, really had a plan to impress her.

I reached over and rubbed Maggie’s bare shoulder. She leaned across the blanket and nestled her body into my arms. I was so happy. There was nothing in particular about Maggie that I liked; but the idea of introducing her to something new really made me happy. It had only been a few days since we met, but I felt like I’d known Maggie for a long time. I really enjoyed hearing about her life, and her family. She wasn’t as dumb as I’d thought.

Still, I remember being all set to break up with her. I swear to God that I was. But in the few hours we were together that afternoon in the park, I really grew to like her. Old A.J. would have liked her so much that he’d fuck her. New A.J., however, liked her so much that he had to confess the truth.

I was about to start talking, to start explaining the situation with Maria, when I grew too worried to speak. It wasn’t even about Maria finding out, or Maggie getting angry when I told her the truth. I was worried about having unprotected sex in the back seat of my car. Disease and pregnancy didn’t enter my mind around the corner from Kearney’s, on 46 thStreet, where we fucked in a drunken stupor. But now I knew I’d never see Maggie again. Terrified that I’d gotten a disease, or worse, would transact one to Maria unknowingly, nervous jitters overwhelmed my body. It was a warm day and yet I shook. I had to end these worries. I had to probe a bit.

“So, hav-have you have sex with lots of guys?” I asked her, nervously squeaking out ‘guys’ on a high note. I’m not sure which I feared most—getting a disease or Maggie popping me in the chin for even asking.

She giggled like a little school girl. But, then again, that’s what she was, I guess. Running her fingers through her hair, Maggie slid away from me and sat Indian-style, leaned back, and stretched out her neck and arms. She smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world. For a moment, it seemed like she’d forgotten I’d even asked her a question. For that moment, I hated her.

Finally, she noticed the stern look on my face and responded: “Does it really matter?” She laughed.