RAY

Ray seemed to drop out of the sky one day and he ended up in my seventh grade class. That was the year that Sister Marie Elise was our teacher, and we experienced how a truly kind and beautiful woman could counterbalance the Sister Alberta's and Sister Evarista's of our grammar school world. Ray was quiet, and seemed to have just entered the world recently, as he didn't talk about much of where he had been before. I think it was actually Shadyside via Atlanta. Ray and I became friends that year...we were both 12 years old, and he's still one of my best friends all these years later.

My parents always loved Ray...and somehow if I was with him, they didn't worry about me. (little did they know). Ray actually talked ME into doing things like leaving the school at lunchtime to hang out at "Greasy Nick's" Deli, where he knew the girl behind the counter who would let him take anything he wanted. She also let him feed the jukebox even though it had an "out of order" sign on it because it was stuck on " Happy Happy Birthday Baby" which played over and over again all the while we were there drinking chocolate cokes. Ray would eventually lead us back to school where we were now prisoners of Sister Alberta who would simply hold her had out when we sauntered in..saying "notes please". Ray would mumble something and we'd all sit down while she'd stand there staring at him.

Ray's mother was Italian, and as unforgettable as they come. She would often invite us to their house for an Italian dinner and serve us wine. Now remember we were now 13 years old. I'd stumble home with my newfound buzz and garlic breath. Ray's mom also liked to redecorate...especially when his Dad was out of the country for business for extended periods of time. On entering their home one might enter an Oriental palace...or a Danish inspired living room, or a Maharaja's salon....new paint, new carpet, all new furniture.

She also said Mass in a little closet for Ray when  they didn't feel like going to church. I remember her putting her foot down once however when Ray called me to read one of his dirty poems that he'd written...and she was on the extension. After something about "while walking through the strawberry patch"

 she just softly said " Raymond"...and Ray said " I gotta go".

His mom was wonderfully kind, fun, and really different. There was something actually innocent about those days...drinking wine in the new Tuscan dining room....surrounded by artificial grapevines....eating lasagna...and being 13.