I was excited at the thought of seeing him. Memories were warm ones.
Matt had been willing to take me as I was. Before Norma: the arguments that weren't about money or impressing the neighbors were about me—
that I should be let alone instead of being pushed to do what other kids did.
And after Norma: that I had a right to a life of my own even though I wasn't like other children. Always defending me.
I couldn't wait to see the expression on his face. He was someone I'd be able to share this with.
Wentworth Street was a rundown section of the Bronx.
Most of the stores on the street had "For Rent" signs in the windows, and others were closed for the day.
But halfway down the block from the bus stop there was a barber pole reflecting a candy cane of light from the window.
The shop was empty except for the barber reading a magazine in the chair nearest the window.
When he looked up at me, I recognized Matt— stocky, red-cheeked, a lot older and nearly bald
with a fringe of gray hair bordering the sides of his head—but still Matt.
Seeing me at the door, he tossed the magazine aside. "No waiting. You're next." I hesitated, and he misunderstood.
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