Inching Up The Wall

Short Story by Denise McCabe

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When we were kids growing up on Long Island, we used to go to my grandparents’ brownstone in Brooklyn every Sunday for dinner. My aunt and uncle would be there too, and my cousins, Robert and Roy, were twin boys around the same age as my brother Alexander. I was younger by two years, and completely left out of whatever it was that boys got into before they reached the age of realizing girls might have something to offer.

My parents had moved to the suburbs just after my brother was born, thinking it was a better place to raise a family. I never knew another life and was perfectly happy with our backyard and trees to sit under and fireflies to collect on a summer evening. But from a very early age, I was fascinated by my grandparents’ home, on a busy street with constant traffic and sidewalks that sizzled in the summer heat. While Grandma cooked, Grandpa would take all the kids to the Italian ice stand on the corner, or the pretzel shop or the bakery if we promised to be good (we always promised, and always got a treat). The boys ignored me, horsing around amongst themselves, but Grandpa always held my hand and told me stories about the neighborhood.