Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter

At the open backyard window facing the fire escape, I leaned on the sill with my arms crossed and my head on my hands staring at the five-story pole my Uncle Mickey climbed to repair Mom’s clothesline. Rory was napping. Dad put a record on his precious RCA Victrola. Sinatra’s voice filled the room. This thrilled Mom to no end because Rory was napping. She thought I was out of earshot, but not this time, I occasionally had the hearing ability of a nocturnal animal when it came to their so-called “keep it quiet” arguments. Mom started.

“Turn that off.”

“No, I have it on low.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Listen. Sinatra’s low voice will soothe Rory.”

‘Ol’ Blue Balls, is full of shit, too.” Mom said and walked out of the room.

After that line exchange, I veered away from their car accident and without a forethought began to focus on the meaning of the words in the song, “I’m going to sit right down and write myself a letter, and make believe it came from you.”

‘What a great idea, Frank’ I thought. Write myself a letter; say all the things I want to hear. Change the conversation in this nut house.

I'm telling the rest of the tale tonight at the "City Stories: Stoops to Nuts," show, Tuesday, July 9th @ 6pm @ Cornelia Street Cafe. Our talented artists: Peter Aguero, Joey Novick, Debby Schwartz and Michael Schwartz with your host, Thomas Pryor. $8 admission includes a free drink. Time Out Magazine says, "Stoops to Nuts," is one cool thing to do.