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parade in front of us like it was Christmas morning. While we helped clean the outhouse and unpack dishes, put away our clothes and make our beds, Matt and Lucas talked of nothing but Monday’s festivities. But it was Tuesday that pulled hard at
my
thoughts, the day I’d finally get to do the kind of work a man could be proud of.
    Over the next few days, more neighbors came with friendly welcomes. There were Mrs. Peek and Mrs. Vedder, who lived behind us on Avenue S; Mrs. Munn from Avenue S ½; and from still nearer the beach, Captain Lucian Minor, who seemed a tad lonely, with his whole family in Virginia for the summer. The Collums, a middle-aged couple with a house full of pets, came, too, talking a steady stream about their cats and parrots, which seemed an unlikely combination to me.
    I’d already seen the three young Masons from nextdoor and most of the six Peek children playing ball in the streets. I’d seen two of the Vedder kids, too, crawling all over their daddy’s retired hearse and a gray donkey they called Whiskers. But most of the time it was impossible to pick out who belonged where. There seemed to be plenty of room here for kids, chickens, livestock, and truck gardens, most of which everyone had in abundance. And according to Mrs. Florence Vedder, there was even a bathhouse just six blocks away on the beach.
    “We have lots of bathing parties and watermelon feasts for the children there,” she told Mama. “We have poker games for the parents, too. Or hugo and whist. And sometimes we do a little moonlight dancing and have refreshments on the bathhouse roof garden.” She pointed to the houses around us. “All these families are friends, and we’ve had many good times together. I’m sure you’ll like it here, Eliza.”
    Mama’s smile was even wider that evening when she told Papa about Mrs. Vedder’s visit. She sat at the table, teaching Kate how to make paper flowers, and all the while she chattered on and on about what she’d learned.
    She seemed to be settling in fast here and not at all upset that she had to start over in a new place. For me it was somewhat different. I didn’t miss my friends all that much—they’d quit school long ago to work—butI was finding it odd eating my meals at a rented table and seeing strange children and strange animals playing up and down the block. Even more peculiar was lying in a bed that wasn’t my own, listening to the creaks and sighs of an unfamiliar house at night.
    All three of us boys slept in one room with a chiffonier for our clothes and three narrow bunks. I didn’t mind the small beds as long as I didn’t have to share one with Matt or Lucas, but the bedsprings squeaked differently when I rolled over. And unlike my old bedroom, the curtains were plagued by salt-damp breezes and rarely fell silent. During the first night, I lingered at the open windows while the boys slept, listening to the faint crash of surf against the not-so-distant beach, filling my head with the enormity and sheer power of what lay just out of sight. It made me feel like an ant in a house of sand, with the overfull bowl of the sea lapping at my door.
    True to her word, Mama packed a lunch Monday morning, and we met Uncle Nate and his family in town to picnic in the park and watch the afternoon parade. Matt, who was never without his baseball and bat, started a game and quickly pulled in enough players for two teams. When it came time to quit, we almost had to drag him from the park.
    The parade turned out to be a splendid sight, withband music and big floats of every kind. We saw decorated buggies and bicycles, and even dogs and pigs decked out with ribbons as though they were going to the fair.
    When it was over, Peightal and Booth, contracting tinners, received first prize for their float, which was in the shape of a star with a huge eagle perched on top—all in tinwork. I heard a reporter from the
Daily News
say, “There seemed to be more good humor, snap, and