She sat at her indestructible Singer factory sewing machine, hands flying like an octopus knitting a scarf.
I peeked around the corner into her sewing room. Without lifting her head, she sensed my presence. “What is it, principessa?” she asked.
“Can we go to Post Arrow?” The little family diner with a few kiddie rides was one of my favorite places to go. We’d get pastrami sandwiches, fries and ride the bumper cars, Ferris wheel and carousel – heaven on earth for an 8-year-old kid.
Without missing a stitch, my mother replied “Cara, can’t you see how much work I have left to do? Besides, dinner is already in the oven.”
I stood on the threshold saying nothing. My mother knew I was there but kept sewing at warp speed. When she looked up, she saw my red, swollen eyes and tear-stained face. Her usual stern expression softened a bit. “If I finish my work maybe we will go on Saturday” and she returned to the task at hand.
I drew a big red circle around Saturday on my calendar. Two days to wait.
First thing on Saturday I asked my mother about going to Post Arrow. Again she said “maybe”; she had to deliver her finished projects to the shop first.
Hours went by. I kept vigil at the window until my mother returned. She looked up at me and grinning, motioned me to come down.
“Andiamo, cara! Go get your daddy. Now we have some fun!”
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