Brooklyn Secrets by Triss Stein Read Free Book Online Page B

on almost deserted streets, he stopped suddenly.
    â€œI know this street.”
    I was flipping through my notebook, checking addresses, not listening. “Sure you do. You know every street, everywhere in Brooklyn.”
    â€œNo, I mean I really know this street. I remember it.”
    The change in his voice finally caught my attention.
    â€œDad? Why are we stopping here? This is not one of my addresses.”
    â€œOne of mine, I guess.” He pointed. “Look over there.”
    â€œWhere? What am I looking at?”
    â€œMy grandparents lived there, upstairs, above the store. It was a coffee shop then. Theirs, I think.”
    That was all news to me.
    â€œYeah, I just barely remember but my folks, your grandparents, had a photo that was taken outside. And you could see that building over there.” He pointed to a large sign painted on the side of the building. Bricks showed through the ghostly, faded paint. “Abrams. Finest wedding clothes for rent. Brides and grooms.” A second of surprise flitted across my brain and made a note. I didn’t know you could rent bridal gowns.
    He looked around. “Everything else is different. Or who knows? I’m not remembering it all anyways.”
    â€œDad. How come you didn’t say anything about this before? I’m working on this chapter and you never told me we had a family connection?”
    â€œTo tell the truth, I forgot. We moved away when I was real little. My grandpa died and grandma moved to Aunt Sally’s building in Rockaway. I don’t think I’ve been on this street even once since then.”
    â€œYou know, you’re useless when it comes to family history. Didn’t your parents ever talk about it? Growing up here?”
    â€œNot really. Not really at all. They were not at all interested in reminiscing about those so-called good old days. They weren’t as good as the ones we were in then, I guess.”
    I knew it was true. Being very poor was being very poor, even in good times. I had Maurice Cohen to say it for me in print. And their early times were not good times for anyone. But the 1950s, that silent decade I had studied in a class? In the conforming suburbs of identical homes? Heck. For them, after the war, a brand new house of their very own, with a bit of lawn, was more than they had ever dreamed of. It was paradise. Not my idea of paradise, which is why I live in Park Slope, but then, I didn’t grow up in Brownsville. Hmmm. Was this something I should write about? Or maybe a museum exhibit?
    Not for the first time, I wished I had asked them more while I had the chance.
    â€œIs it weird to think that your childhood is now part of history? Like, studied in class? Did your parents ever think about all the events they had lived through?”
    â€œNaah, not really. It was just regular everyday life to us at the time. You know? Especially when I was a kid. I thought about stuff like, when would we get a TV? And how could the Dodgers leave Brooklyn?”
    â€œFunny thing is…” Dad said as he started the car, interrupting my free-associating. “Wait. Where to next?”
    I told him. “And you were saying funny thing is….”
    â€œFunny thing about my grandmother and their past. I always had a feeling there was more to it. It wasn’t just that she had no interest to talking about those days, she refused. Like, quick, change the subject and mutter a prayer. Or maybe it was a curse. Then she would bring out cake and that was that.”
    â€œYour grandmother? Not mine?”
    â€œYes. Ya know, later, I knew a few guys who lived in this end of Brooklyn, and Grandma did not like that at all either.”
    â€œDad. What is this, dad’s time machine day? You never told me any of this!”
    He shrugged. “Never any reason to. I’m telling you now.”
    â€œNo, you’re not. You’re just throwing me crumbs. Who did you know from around