A ‘BIG APPLE’ HOLIDAY
The following is an excerpt of one of my favorite New York stories, “Curtain Call,” [from my collection For All the Right Seasons]. Set in 1988 and concluding on New Years Eve 2017, a boy named Aaron first recounts the delights of Manhattan life with his father––on their every-other-weekend visits.
Some Saturdays we take the subway downtown and ride the “wiggly” elevators up and down at the World Trade Center. Especially on windy days they’re so scary. We giggle like two kids trying not to be scared in a graveyard. The elevator makes spooky noises and whips us all around like a Coney Island ride!
Other times, Dad takes me on the Big Red Apple Tour bus when his friend Sal is driving. Sal lets us ride free. Dad says he’s a bookie on the side, but he doesn’t look to me like he reads very much.
Or Dad’ll take me over to the zoo and we make faces at the gorillas till they get mad and shake the bars.
But no matter what adventures we’re having, we always make it to the Carnegie Deli on Seventh Avenue –– before noon, ahead of the crowd––to get our favorite table under the famous people photographs. They kind of expect us there. Dad says we’re like Carnegie Deli celebrities ourselves–– “Dad and Aaron”–– like “Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy,” whoever they are.
Aaron’s life is altered forever one Saturday as he shares a “Woody Allen” sandwich at their favorite spot with his father, David. A visitor comes to their table and his father disappears out the deli’s back door with the man––never to be seen again. Many years later, the boy––now a man––continues his narration on New Years Eve, standing vigil outside the Carnegie Deli––the night the deli owners turn off its lights for the last time. In a wistful denouement, he closes a chapter in his life and completes their story.
A savage north wind howls down the city’s avenues, the promise of snowfall on its breath. Despite the temperature, thousands of noisy revelers throng Times Square tonight, ringing in 2017. Few people are moving over here on Seventh Avenue where I stand under the tattered red canopy, keeping a solitary vigil for the Carnegie Deli’s very last Saturday. When the neon lights in the rusted red and yellow marquee flicker off for the final time, my head sinks to my chest. Unwelcome tears and mucus stream down my face and commingle, freezing as bitter crystals in my mustache. I rattle the locked door handle, and stand staring into the darkened window. My reflection stares back. He looks like my father. I stop to blow my nose, wipe my eyes, inhale enough night air to go on, and glance up and down Seventh, wondering if anyone is watching me talk to the window. I remind myself it’s New York. No one would. And I find some words at last.
“Hey. Happy New Year’s Eve, Dad. Can you believe your kiddo is 38? I’m older than you were. I know now––everything has its time. The elevators at World Trade? Gone. Your guy Woody Allen? Nobody goes to see his movies anymore. Our deli? Closed forever now.
“Nothing lasts, Dad. Guess you know that. I brought my kid here Saturdays starting with his 5th birthday. His name’s David, too. And you know what? We always sat at the table you can see the kitchen from. We ate “sharesies” and called out famous peoples’ pictures and I told him all the stories. The last thing we did every time we came, was look down that back hall. I really hoped you’d come through the door. David just pretended for my sake.
©copyright by Jayne M. Adams 2017, 2023
I have to leave the story there for space considerations. When For All the Right Seasons is eventually published, I hope you’ll read and enjoy it in full.
Happy New Year, All. Wishing you found a great book or two among your holiday presents and that 2026 will be a delightful, healthy, fulfilling year for us all!