A heavy rain had started to crash down onto Brooklyn. Black clouds shadowed the low buildings, as Manhattan looked down at it all in perfect sunshine. The Southside of Williamsburg seemed to be taking most of the storm, with rain almost flooding down the streets. On Scholes Street, the old brick house seemed to be shaking off its foundation, for inside all hell was breaking loose. A little boy about the age of 7 sat in the garage trying to put the yelling and fighting of his parents out of his head. The voices of a woman and man shatter through the house and onto the street as the rain keeps pouring. The two voices shout loudly about jobs and money and insults, and the little boy continues to sit clutching his small hands together. All of the sudden, a loud smack rings out, and the two voices cease to yell. The sound of footsteps above him, coming towards the stairwell door, catch the boy’s senses, and the door from the house to the garage breaks open, hanging off its hinges.  A tall muscular man comes in.  The man looks down at the boy, and smiles.

Man- Bye Jimmy, maybe you’ll be with me again, sometime later. See ya, James.

James just looks up at his father with understanding eyes, as he drives away into the storm.

 

James- Goodbye, Dada.

 

Seven years later, James MacRay has grown to be 14 years old. He sits in Our Lady Mount Carmel’s Catholic Church. He and many other locals sat in the wooden benches listening to Ernest, an older member of the congregation.

 

Ernest– Let there be none to extend mercy unto him, neither let there be any to favor his fatherless children.

 

James looks up sternly at Ernest with a serious gaze, but does not say a word.  As it is announced that the session is over, the people start leaving the church.  Snow covers the ground outside as James and his friends make their way home. James sometimes wondered about where his Father was now.  While he was gone the Southside was his Father.  The sky was his feelings, James’ house his head, and the Brooklyn streets were his Dad’s arms, keeping James close.  His home was a 2-story brick building that was once a firehouse; the whole first floor was a garage where the fire engines used to be kept. James pulled out his keys and waved to the neighbors as he went inside.  His mother was in the kitchen making lunch for him.

 

Mother- Hey Jimmy, how was church?

 

James- Oh, pretty good ma, what’s for lunch?

 

Mother- Your teacher called, says you been misbehaving in his class and not doing your work.

 

James- That’s cause I don’t want to, I don’t care about school.

 

Mother- You goddamn idiot, you’re gonna fail your classes and get held back.  Don’t tell me you wanna end up like your old man and be a failure and drive a truck the rest of your life.

 

James- Look, you can say what you want, you can call me whatever you want, I wouldn’t give a hoot, but don’t say a word about my Father. Don’t tell me he was a failure when you’re the one getting paid by un-employment.

 

Mother- James, you can think that about your Father. Wanna think he was an angel? Go ahead, I didn’t go lookin for ‘em back then, because there was nothing to find. That’s the hard truth, so you’re gonna have to go ahead and bear it. Now get yourself outta this kitchen or so help me.

 

James walks out of the kitchen and into the backroom of the house, it is full of boxes and shelving, dust blankets every corner of the room.  The only source of light is a window in the corner with bars protecting it.  Outside the window were trees and the other houses. James stood in front of a mirror, cracked and broken, making his face distorted.  His fists clenched into two rocks.

 

James- She’s right. I can’t believe it she’s right. GODDAMNIT!

 

James let his fists run into the drywall, furiously, with a deep anger in his eyes.  He was losing himself, in the anger.  His fists pounded into the wall, blood dripping from his knuckles, but he couldn’t even feel them anymore.  Finally his fists fell to his sides and he slumped to the floor.  On his knees,

 

James- Dad, where are you, I need you Dad.

 

A moment goes by.

 

James- What’s the point?  He’s gone. So is Mom.

 

James walks over to the window, leaning on a cardboard box watching the rain.  The lid of the box slips off a bit, revealing its contents.  A ripped open letter is what the box holds, a startled expression lies on James’ face as he sees the return address.

 

James- Newburgh, NY. Chamberlin Factories…Marshall MacRay.

 

The letter was ripped in two and crumpled but James could still read it. James stands at the window and starts to read.

 

James- Dear Jimmy, what a shock you just got, finding this in the mail with the Newburgh return address.  Wish I could’ve seen your face.  Come to think of it you probably didn’t find it in the mail box; it’d be hard to find it if your Ma got to it first. Well anyway, how’s it been Jim? I hope everything’s better over there in the Southside, I sure do miss it. This is the first time I’ve written a letter to you or to anyone else.

James grips the two sides of the letter. He looks at the rain lashing the window.

 

James-Why did you wait so long, dad?

 

He looks back at the letter and continues to read.

 

James- I remember when you were 6 and I took you over to McCarren Park to the new soccer league that was starting. We went over there with a little worn out ball and a water bottle, and when it was our turn to register the guy asked for the usual stuff like your name and age, and when he said that’ll be 250, I handed him 2 bucks and 50 cents and he said “I mean 250 dollars sir.”

James smiles sadly, remembering that day. He lets go of the right side of the letter, flexes his hand, and looks at his outstretched hand.

 

James- That guy had no idea. He mighta been asking for a million bucks.

 

He returns to the letter.

 

James- So we had to go, and I remember walking with you back home and you told me “Dada, it’s alright if we don’t have enough, cause I still got you to play with and you still got me.” I’ll never forget that James, you were a sweet little guy.

 

James stares at the floor. His eyes are moist.

James- Say what you want—

He notices the torn envelope on the floor. Picking it up, he sees the postmark. It’s from last month, near his birthday. He looks back at the letter.

 

James- Listen, I know it’s tough for you and it’s been tough for years, but remember what you told me Jim, we got each other. Even if I’m up here working to get back, we’ll see each other again, and there ain’t nothing else that matters.

James shuts his eyes tight.

 

James- I can almost see your face. Where are you, dad?

He turns back to the letter.

 

James- And I just wanted to tell you that, Jim. I’ll be back even if it means not being with your ma no more, I’ll be back. I just hope you know that, because one of these rainy days I’ll be back with you at McCarren with the ball and this time, we’ll afford the League.

Love,

Dada

 

James looks out the window with tears dripping down his face. The storm seems to have lessened, and behind the trees the sun seems to be beaming.  He places the letter in his pocket and smiles.  As he picks up a pen and paper and starts to leave the room,

 

James- That’s the Southside I know.

 

James MacRay leaves the room, the door closes, and so does the curtain.

Roman Junceau
Age 14, Grade 9
Writopia Lab
Silver Key