The Moment Read Online Free

slammed behind her. I looked up from the book I was reading. Dad was gripping the front doorknob, no doubt wanting to pull it open and walk away from all this. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes and lit one up. A few deep inhalations of smoke and he got his rage under control. That’s when I posed a question I’d been wanting to pose for days.
“Can I go to the library?”
“No dice, Tommy. I’m heading into the office to catch up on some work.”
“Can I go alone?”
It was the first time I’d ever asked to leave the apartment by myself. Dad thought this over.
“You think you can walk there all by yourself?” he asked.
“It’s only four blocks.”
“Your mom won’t like it.”
“I won’t be long.”
“She still won’t like it.”
“Please, Dad.”
He took another long drag on his cigarette. For all his tough-guy bluster—he’d been a Marine during the war—he was in thrall to my mother, a diminutive, angry woman who could never get over the fact that she was no longer the princess she’d been raised to be.
“You’ll be back here in an hour?” Dad asked.
“I promise.”
“And you’ll remember to look both ways when crossing the street?”
“I promise.”
“If you’re late, there’ll be trouble.”
“I won’t be late, Dad.”
He reached into his pocket and handed me a dollar.
“Here’s some money,” he said.
“I don’t need money. It’s a library.”
“You can stop at the drugstore on the way back and get yourself an egg cream.”
Egg creams—milk and chocolate syrup topped up by soda water—were my favorite drink.
“They only cost a dime, Dad.” Even back then I was always cognizant of the price of things.
“Buy yourself some comics or put the change in your piggy bank.”
“So I can go?”
“Yeah, you can go.”
As I was getting into my coat, Mom emerged from the bedroom.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked me.
I told her. Immediately she turned on my father.
“How dare you give him permission to do that without first consulting me.”
“The kid is old enough to walk a couple of blocks by himself.”
“Well, I’m not allowing it.”
“Tommy, run along,” Dad said.
“Thomas, you’re to stay here,” she countered.
“Scram,” Dad told me. As Mom began to shout things at my father, I made a beeline for the door and was gone.
Once outside I felt a moment of fear. For the first time ever I was on my own. No parental supervision; no outstretched hand to guide, restrain, or discipline me. I walked to the corner of Nineteenth and Second. I waited for the light to turn green. I looked both ways many times. I crossed the street. When I made it to the other side, I didn’t feel a great sense of accomplishment or freedom. I was simply aware of the promise that I made to Dad to be back within an hour. So I continued north, exercising great prudence at every street crossing. When I reached Twenty-third Street, I turned left. The library was halfway up the street. The children’s section was on the first floor. I browsed the stacks, finding two new Hardy Boys detective books I’d yet to read. I checked them out, then hurried back to the street, retracing my steps home. Halfway there, I stopped at the drugstore on Twenty-first Street. I took a stool at the lunch counter and opened one of my books and ordered an egg cream. The soda jerk took my dollar and gave me ninety cents change. I looked at the clock on the wall. I still had twenty-eight minutes before I was due home. I nursed my egg cream. I read my book. I thought: this is nice.
I made it home five minutes before the deadline. In the time that I was absent, my father had stormed out—and I found my mother sitting in the kitchenette with her big Remington typewriter in front of her. She was smoking a Salem and clattering away on the keys. Her eyes were red from crying, but she seemed focused and determined.
“How was the library?” she asked me.
“It was good. Can I go again on