Make My Day

Monday after school my friends and I are in our usual hang out …. Bellantoni Brother’s grocery store. We go for snacks, soda, gum …. typical things 12 year old boys like. I’m craving chips but I forgot my money. My friends don’t have any to loan me so I just walk around the store but those chips keep calling out to me. Next thing I know, I snatch a bag of Ripples and bolt out the side door. Then I heard the voice of Willie Bellantoni, the meanest man in grocery business: “Drop the bag, punk, or I’m calling the cops! Go ahead …. make my day!”

Look, I may be 12 but I got a reputation to maintain. Old man Bellantoni never saw it coming. BAM! BAM BAM!! Three shots to the chest. And just like Michael Corleone after he shot Sollozzo and McCluskey at Louis’ Restaurant, I walk away nice and easy, looking nobody in the eye.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking; in your dreams, kid!

Here’s what really happened. Instead of running away as fast as lightning, I tossed the bag of Ripples into a nearby trash can and squatted down on the ground next to it. What an idiot! Suddenly mean old Willie is looming over me! He grabbed the bag of chips and snarled “Get out of here, you filthy little thief, and never come back!”  

And I ran away like a 6-year-old girl. That night I prayed for Bellantoni Brother’s grocery store to burn down. No such luck.

Every day that week I gazed longingly at the store through my school bus window. One thought kept haunting me: Sunday morning …. when Dad and I take our customary walk to Bellantoni’s for a loaf of Italian bread, a box of macaroni and the newspaper. The jig would definitely be up. I can already see the headlines for Sunday’s paper:

KID COMMITS CRIME OF THE CENTURY!

Running away from home sounded like a really good idea. 

Sunday arrived far too soon; right after breakfast Dad started calling for me to “get a move on!” I kept making up excuses why I couldn’t go but he didn’t buy any of them. 

Dead man walking. I dilly-dallied the whole way to Bellantoni’s …. stopping on the overpass to watch a train, kicking pebbles down the road, jumping over the cracks in the sidewalk so I wouldn’t break my Mother’s back. 

“C’mon, kiddo! What is this …. a funeral?” Yeah. Mine! And just like that I started crying, blubbering gibberish, giant booger bubbles escaping from my nose. Dad knelt down and took hold of my shoulders. “Whoa, bud! What’s wrong? What’s going on with you?”  

Sobbing pathetically, I told Dad the whole sordid chip story. Dad took out his handkerchief, wiped my face, held it to my nose and said “Blow. Listen, kiddo …. what you did was wrong and really dumb. You know that. Mom and I taught you better. What’s done is done but we can still try to make things right.”

I looked up at my Dad, eyes red and swollen, and asked breathlessly “How do we do that, Dad?”

“We apologize!” he said and then, like a conspiratorial afterthought, added “And not a word about any of this to your Mother. This stays between us guys.” 

We walked into the store, picked out our usual items and walked up to the front counter. “Mr. Bellantoni, my son has something to say” Dad announced.

I managed to squeak out “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll never steal anything from you or anybody else ever again, so help me God” and I extended my hand.

An eternity seemed to go by and I had the sickening feeling that I just made the biggest mistake of my life because old man Willie Bellantoni looked like he had no idea what I was talking about! But, to my shock, the meanest guy in the grocery business took my pale little hand in his big meaty one, gave it a solid shake and grunted in agreement. 

“Anything else?” he asked my Dad.

“Just this” Dad replied as he tossed a bag of Ripples onto the counter. 

To this day I don’t think Mom ever found out. 

NAR©2024

This is “Crime Of The Century” by Supertramp

All text, graphics and videos are copyright for Nancy (The Sicilian Storyteller), The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk, and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.