Simple Read Online Free PDF Page A

genuinely.  “Yep, that’s what my dad said.  That’s why he brought my mom and me here.  We drove our car right up to the parking lot, but it ran out of gas.  We were running to get to the doors, and my mom fell down.”  Barbara rubbed her hand on the little boy’s back.  His words choked in his throat.
    “That’s okay Jacob, you don’t have to tell me the rest.  I know it’s hard to talk about.”  He raised his trembling chin.
    “I don’t cry no more.  I used to a lot, but my tears stopped coming.”
    “Mine too,” I said.
    “I guess I’ll see you guys later, huh?”  I managed to push the elevator button and watched as Barbara and the little boy walked away hand in hand.  There wasn’t much sense in trying to continue the polite awkwardness.  Anyone who had managed to survive this far had their scars and fair helping of pain.  What good did it do to talk about it?  It felt somewhat comforting to know that there were other people in the building, but I didn’t want to form a commune.  Been there, done that.  My family is Italian, and we lived in a neighborhood that was referred to as Little Italy.  When things went bad, everyone pulled together.  It was kind of cool at first.  All of the men swore to protect the women and children, and the women cooked as if every day was a holiday.  It was one big happy family sharing food, arguing over the ingredients in the sauce, and everyone adding their own flavor to our false sense of security. 
    We lulled ourselves into thinking we were safe and foolishly believed that we all knew one another well enough that it was impossible for a stranger (a simp) to infiltrate our little protected world.  Everyone knew each other, and had for many years.  As kids, we all played together, and our parents played together when they were young.  The older folks were like six generations of aunts and uncles, and all of them would tell you what to do.  It truly was one big happy family.  Unfortunately, our deep cultural commitments to family did us in.  Sophia Casciaiuoli and her husband Vince were older than dirt but deeply respected on our block, because they had deep ancestral roots to the old country and could trace them back umpteen generations.  Mamma Sophie, as we all called her may have been old but God help anyone who argued her memories.  When her niece and husband showed up, she and Vince pulled away from the rest of us.  They took their meals at their own home and we all just figured they wanted to have some time to catch up.  We never saw Mamma Sophie or her husband after that.  As it turns out, her niece wasn’t anyone at all.  She was a sack of electronics, and so was her husband.  Poor Mamma Sophie was suffering from the early stages of Alzheimer’s and didn’t want anyone to know it, and her husband would have believed anything that woman said — even though he knew better in his heart.  Simp niece and hubby held that poor old couple hostage for days while they mingled amongst us learning our weaknesses. 
    Niece Mary looked like us, she talked like us, and her husband sucked down red wine and cigars like the rest of the men I’d known all my life.  Who would have thought the enemy could worm right in like that?  Those two simps came with Mamma Sophie’s blessing and, in turn, we accepted them as our own.  I remember so clearly the day I learned the truth.  It was the middle of August, and hot as hell.  My mother had made a fresh batch of vanilla panna cotta with a mixed berry compote and she sent me over to give some to Mamma Sophie and Vince.  I walked up to their house with the Tupperware in my hands and I was sweating like a pig when I rang their doorbell.  All I could think about was how badly I wanted to jump into the water that was spraying from the fire hydrant a block behind me.  My cousin Jimmy had opened it up and everyone was jumping in the water.
    I rang the doorbell and wiped the sweat from my forehead.