The Meatball Caper

Brooklyn, NY - jack - Sunday, March 26th, 2006 : goo

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The Meatball Caper (1955)

It was a beautiful spring day, and as I gazed out the classroom window I could see myself flying over the treetops and hear all the school children calling my name. It was at that moment I was brought back to reality, hearing my name actually called by Sister Frances Catherine. Yes, my teacher, the beautiful, the tall, the deeply graveled voiced, beautiful, brilliant, (did I say beautiful?) well anyway, she called my name along with my school chum Joseph. Joe and I jumped out of our seats and began to follow Sister’s lead. We quizzically looked at each other and in student facial/sign language, questioned each other as to why we were going to be punished. Joe, shrugging his shoulders, was totally clueless as was I. As we neared the door and headed for the hall, we saw our buddies James (the mick) and Joe (the misch) beginning to chuckle with that “you got caught look,” the girls starting to make the sign of the cross and whispering silent prayers for the repose of our souls, and I believe I even spotted Joe quickly wiping away a tear while I was mustering every bit of strength just to keep myself composed.

Already I was crafting an alibi that was sure to clear me of any blame while also devising a plot convicting other classmates nick and bernie for whatever it was that caused Sister Frances Catherine to walk us out of our classroom that particular day. Now I must take this opportunity to explain how magnificently Sister looked when she walked. First of all, her habit flowed in undulating white waves from the long strides she habitually took. She seemed to glide down the halls of the school, her feet never touching the ground; the scent that wafted among her robes was more fragrant than a florist shop.

Joe and I had to walk pretty fast just to keep up with her. Our classroom was on the second floor looking over the center of the back schoolyard and Sister just kept walking to the end staircase with nary a word of explanation. We hustled downstairs after her and reached the first floor. The silent dialogue Joe and I had been having increased in fervor as we passed the statue of St. Michael and then the dreaded principal’s office. What was this? Not the usual form of punishment? It was then we realized just how much trouble we were in, and that sense of impending doom that had been building ever since Sister had first uttered our names reached fever pitch, especially when Sister, with her black veil billowing and fluttering in her fragrant wake, headed straight towards the convent door.

Oh no! The convent door! No male had ever gone into those sacred doors, and yet Sister was taking us there. I knew then for the first time that my young life was coming to an end. What could we have possibly done to deserve death, especially death behind the convent door? How could Joe have done this horrible thing and include me in it? 12 years of stickball, throwing snowballs, and my grandfather’s tomatoes passed before my eyes as we crossed over the threshold of life and into certain death.
We quivered silently there in the entrance, and Sister, turning to us and gazing down at us from her cool height, calmly told us to sit and wait for her in the kitchen. Clutching each other in fear, we mustered enough bravery to step into the kitchen and wait for her at the table. We sat there, knees shaking, when she returned suddenly with a meatball hero. A meatball hero. “Boys,” she said in her beautifully melodic voice, “we have this hero sandwich, and it is too much for us to eat, so I want you to enjoy it. When you’re all through, come back to class.”

So there we sat, on the other side, in heaven, Joe and I, eating this meatball hero in the convent where no male had ever entered. And we gorged ourselves, the taste of the sauce and our salty tears running together as we sat in the very chairs the nuns occupied at meals. Of course walking back to class, Joe and I argued over which one of us had been sitting in Sister Frances Catherine’s chair. Naturally, when we told the gang later on, they never believed us. But to this day, I will never forget that meatball hero.

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Rahul: Nice Story

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