THE PICNIC PANTS EPISODE
School is about to start next week. With all the excitement that’s been going on - Espernaza, the kiss, the new mod shag afro she gave me - I’ve completely forgotten about it, the summer just whizzed by. Still, I’m feeling pretty good. I’m not plagued with that horrible sense of gnawing and dread, like I usually have going to this high school.
That is, not until I come home to find the black Hefty bags waiting for me on the living room floor. Yeah - those black trash bags. The ones full of recycled picnic pants (they look like pants that used to be a picnic table-cloth). Damn! All summer I’ve been wearing gym shorts and cut-offs, the picnic pants becoming a distant memory. Now that they’re upon me again, a distressed nausea is returning to my stomach.
I had come too far, worked too hard to have to wear these freaking pants again, I think to myself, cringing as my mother unties the knot of the bag. She reaches inside, and I shut my eyes tightly, waiting for the nightmare to pass.
“Joseph - look at these!” I hear my mother’s voice, as I reluctantly open my eyes again.
I cannot believe what I am seeing. To my utter shock and amazement - they aren’t picnic pants at all! No - they are - they are - black clothes! Not the color black, but black people clothes! How could this be? Had the bag somehow been switched, in some kind of macabre plot? As implausible as it seems, there are not one - I’m telling you - but two pairs of pleated double knit polyester pants! One baby blue, and the other rust-colored. As if that isn’t fortuitous enough, there are also two silkscreen shirts! And they fit perfectly! This becomes one of the great unsolved mysteries of all time. Is God himself speaking to me through these pants, I wonder?
A series of strange events occurs over the next few days, which seems to confirm that suspicion. First, my mother takes me on the annual pre-school trip to the shoe store, Thom McAnn’s. Now, usually she buys me Hush Puppies, or something of that nature, but this time she actually agrees - to my great astonishment - to buy the pair of black platform shoes that I’ve spied there!
The next miraculous event occurs when my mother inadvertently plows over my glasses with the gas-powered lawn mower, as I lay out in the backyard, catching some rays. Ordinarily, this would be a disaster of the highest magnitude, but in this auspicious time period, apparently anything is possible. Since I now can’t see much of anything (at least not anything far away), and school is starting in only a few more days, my parents and I have to make an unexpected visit to Dr. Pine, the local optician.
As I resignedly pore over his unsightly collection of black and brown-framed nerd glasses, I shudder at the eminent possibility that I will be forced to have to wear something even more atrocious than the hated Benjamins. A dark muck of despair coats my insides, until at the last second in the far left corner of the display cabinet, I spot these elaborate gold framed, tinted lens, Isaac Hayes-type pimp glasses. They’re about five times the size of the Benjamin Franklin’s, and the only pair of glasses in the shop which caters to black clientele. There’s no way my father’s gonna go for this though, never mind paying the somewhat exorbitant price.
But with nothing to lose, I decide to beg and grovel anyway. A few adamant nays to my request pass. Then in a dramatic turn of events, Dr. Pine initiates a secret huddle between himself and my parents. I have no idea what transpires in that meeting of the Holy Triumvirate, but a tense few moments later, I am the proud owner of those amazing pimp glasses! What in the heavens is going on?!
Lastly, to complete this wheel of good fortune, the next night I’m on my way to Cumberland Farms to buy a gallon of milk. When right there, on the sidewalk in front of me, lays a thick linked gold chain - with an Italian Horn! It appears to be brand new. It’s not even broken! I slip it around my neck and kiss the Italian Horn, thanking God profusely for all the recent blessings He has bestowed upon me. Boy, wait till Esperanza sees me again - she’s really going to be in love.
THE KISS
So Esperanza has just given me my mod shag afro - my first mod haircut!
Then she does something that I totally don’t expect…something I would have believed there was no possibility of ever happening. She kisses me!
I mean, it isn’t just a peck on the cheek, either. She kisses me right on the mouth!
Oh my God! I think she even slips in a little tongue, too. At least, it feels like a tongue - or what a tongue might feel like. Her lips and her tongue actually taste sweet. Maybe it’s her lip-gloss, I don’t know. And her breath… it feels hot - and fresh - like Dentyne. Now I have just been kissed by the most beautiful girl in the world!
Who would have ever thought that by risking my life to go work out at the PAL that it would ever turn into something like this? The chattering and tittering which has been raging throughout the shop now transforms into shrill whistles. I sit there, right in the middle of the sweetest dream I’ve ever had in my life. I close my eyes. One of the ladies comes over, and puts a glass of water in my hand. Esperanza laughs.
“The haircut’s on me, baby, but I gotta get back to work now, OK? I got customers”.
I think I drank the water. I believe I waved goodbye. I have a slight recollection of staggering over to the bus stop. The next thing I know, I’m on Chestnut Street, three blocks from my house. I have just sprinted about five miles, without even realizing it! It’s right then that the magnitude of the event shakes me - Oh my God, she wants to be my girlfriend! She must! I mean, she kissed me, right? She gave me a haircut. Yes- yes- she must be in love with me!
As I reach my house, strutting into the dining room all flushed and giddy, dinner is already underway. The usual suppertime clamor stops abruptly, all eyes trained on me in stunned disbelief.
“What in God’s name happened to your head?!” My father finally bellows.
“Joseph?! What is that in your ear?!” My mother shrieks, referring to my gold hoop earring I forgot to remove.
“Oh my God, he looks like - Leo Sayers!” cries out my sister, Maryanne.
“No-no - Peter Frampton!” chimes in my other sister, Karen.
“No…he kinda looks like-like- Lionel Richie!” One-ups Maryanne.
“Where did you go?! I know Jack the Barber didn’t give you that haircut!” exclaims my mother.
“Jack the Barber still uses Brill Cream.” I retort.
“What the hell is wrong with Brill Cream now?” My father demands.
I sit down at the table, grinning and obviously very pleased with myself. The food, although it’s only macaroni and cheese (my father is still out of work), has never tasted so good to me, the flavors never so distinctive, so sharp. Amidst all the uproar, I experience a feeling of deep down satisfaction.
I start humming The Allman Brothers - ‘Lord I Was Born a Rambling Man.’
THE MOD SHAG AFRO
Remember - this is July, 1976. Elizabeth, NJ
I have just revealed (told) to Esperanza that I am, indeed, Sicilian - not Puerto Rican.
Suddenly, another loud clatter emerges among the ladies in the salon, and this kind of tongue rolling sound.
“Oooh - Siciliano! Mafioso...muy peligroso! Cuidado Esperanza!”
I feel my face flush - really red - and hot. Esperanza laughs, and shushes them.
“Oh, pobracito! El esta muy nervioso.”
She touches my face, caressing it with her fingers.
“ Ay, so smooth... you don’t shave yet, papi?”
“Um - yeah! I mean - I shave...I just shaved this morning!’ I shoot back defensively.
More tittering from the salon ladies. Esperanza is smiling, looking me up and down. I feel my knees buckling.
“What did you say your name was, baby?”
“Um - Joe-”
“Oh - Joe! You mean like - Jose, right? How old are you, Jose?” She purrs.
“Um - seventeen”- I blurt out, even though I just really turned 16 about three months ago.
“Oh, Dios Mio! Diecesiete?! Tu eres saltacuna, Esperanza! Cuidado!”
Esperanza looks amused, as she pinches my face.
“Hmmm....you sure you are seventeen, Jose?
I just stand there - not knowing what to say. I’m busted.
“That’s ok - you got a cute face.”
I just gulp and get redder.
“Jose? You want me to give you a haircut? I’ll make you look so good.”
I just smile. What could I even say? This is developing into some kind of fantasy now.
“You don’t got no kind of style wit’ your hair, baby.”
She’s right. My hair is just a formless mess of crazy curls, which had suddenly transformed from straight hair in the past year.
“C’mon, Joselito, I’m gonna fix you up.”
She takes my hand and leads me to a chair, then takes off my glasses. The hated Benjamin Franklin glasses that I’ve been wearing since sixth grade. How embarrassing! I can’t see now - I’m nearsighted. I’m at her mercy! She cuts and shapes and runs her fingers through my hair, talking to me quietly, as I sit in the chair in total disbelief. She bends over - and her tits - are in my face. Gulp. I just melt into a melange of scents, sounds and touch, until after what seems like a long time, she puts down her scissors. She fluffs up my hair here and there. She declares she is finished.
“Oh, Jose - muy guapo.”
She turns the chair around so all the other ladies can see. The chatter resounds like a tropical jungle.
“Le gusta?”
“Oh, que lindo…”
“Si, muy caliente…”
“Ohh, muy bonito…”
I am holding my breath - I still can’t see what I look like. She looks again - but decides it needs one final touch, and takes a gold hoop earring - the clip-on type - and puts it on my ear.
“Now papi - you be hot!”
She gives me back my glasses. I fumble with the Benjamins, anxious to be able to see again. I cannot believe what I then see in the mirror. I look totally different. Better. Cool.
A shag afro. A mod afro shag. My first mod haircut. I am cool.
Man, I gotta get some contact lenses.
THE MAGICAL MEETING
The time has come...the moment that I have both feared and desperately longed for - for quite some time. She is so beautiful. I’m talking about Esperanza - at the beauty salon Tijeras de Oro in Elizabeth, NJ. I can’t even look at her - she is so breathtaking.
She has finally busted me. I’ve been peering at her through the picture window of the salon for at least two weeks now - trying to jump out of view when she looks my way. I’m 16 years old and it’s 1976. She continues to look my way with a smile and wiggles her finger for me to come in. I want to turn and run. I want to make up some excuse about having to go - yet I yearn to go in there too. Paralyzing conflict knots up my whole body. I feel like I’m the Scarecrow from The Wizard Of Oz. My body is jerking all over the place. My left foot headed away, my right foot headed towards her - what a mess!!
I somehow orchestrate my extremities into making it to the front door, as she opens it up to invite me in. Instantly, it’s like I have crossed the threshold into another dimension. A strange, exotic, secret world. The first thing to rock my senses is the distinctive aroma filling the air. A sultry mix of hairspray, perfume, and cigarette smoke. The powerful hint of alcohol stings my olfactory senses. A feeling of awe and reverence fills my body, making me feel even more lightheaded. There are lights everywhere. Bright bulbs surround the mirrors in front of the barber chairs. Rapid-fire chattering in Spanish, loud tittering, clicking heels, snapping gum and blaring Puerto Rican music congeals into an enchanting, yet insanely intimidating cocktail.
Then I notice everyone in there smiling and laughing with anticipation.
These are women - not girls. They smell differently - each bearing their own particular scent and perfume. I gulp as I look around wide-eyed, trying to force some moisture into my depleted mouth and lips.
“Ay papi, come te llamas?” She asks in a lilting tone.
“What?”
A second of confused silence.
“No hablas Espanol? Papi?”
“Espanol? No...um...I don’t ...speak Spanish….”
“Oh baby - I thought you was Boriqua…”
“What?”
“I thought you was Puerto Rican - no?”
“Where you from, papi?’
“Um….here.... well...I mean, from Brooklyn…”
“Ay - what are you - Italian?”
“Yeah. Sicilian.”