Leaving the Big Four by Joni Caggiano

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During the third year of school and living on the big four, I was divided into pieces by a swift sword, perching on my safety edge.  My brown eyes must have turned black as I heard mom’s words, but I was sure I was suffocating.  “Joy, honey, we are moving to Brooklyn, New York.

Your father has gotten us an apartment, and we are leaving at the end of the week.  Say goodbye to all your friends today at school.  I will need you to help me to clean, pack and get ready,” said my mom with a blank face. 

The apartment faced the Brooklyn Bridge, and my bed was a cot in the tiny living room.  There was a back bedroom, a kitchen, and a small bathroom.  None of that mattered to me, but something was different this morning.  Mom woke me very early, and my dad looked at me sternly and said, “young lady, it is time you went to school.” 

I went from a small school, living on a road that was not paved, and a candy store at the end of the road that sold gas.  That was the only part of town I knew.  Now I found myself in a six-foot story building surrounded by skyscrapers.  My mom picked out some clothes, fed me a small breakfast, and walked with me down to the creepy basement, a smelly room full of washers and dryers.  “Why are we here?” I said, frightened half to death.

“Well, in a few minutes, a school bus will pick you up.  It will take you to a tall school called P.S. 104.  The first adult you see, give them this piece of paper, and they will know to take you to the third-grade classroom.  Here is your bag for lunch, and be a good girl.”  As I started to cry, she gave me that intimidating look that I knew meant to shut up.  So, I did.

My mom waited until the bus pulled up, and she told me to get a good look at the outside of the building and make sure to get off at the right stop.  On the bus, my eyes stare at the building as if it were part of a cord that was attached to me.  If cut, I would be eaten by these giant buildings surrounding me. 

Walking up the stairs, I continually asked everyone I saw to read the letter, but no one helped me.  They just kept directing me up the stairs.  When I started to cry loudly, and panic, a woman who looked my mom’s age grabbed me rather roughly.  You know the rules; you are never allowed to speak in the stairwell, hallways, or on the way to the auditorium for lunch.

“I don’t know anything, this is my first day at school, and we just moved here.  My mom told me to show this note to the first person I saw, and they would know what to do.  I am crying because I am already afraid!  I won’t know where to get on or off the bus when school is over, and I have never seen a skyscraper before, and no one will look at my note.  What should I do?”

Watching the lady read my note, I suddenly saw how strange everyone was there.  No children were laughing or talking; they just moved around like groceries did on that funny belt in the grocery store.  

She informed me that I was in the third grade and that Mrs. Curls was my teacher.  She offered to walk me to my classroom.  When I opened my quivering mouth to thank her, she put her finger up to her mouth to let me know to keep mine shut.  Following her up to the top flight of the stairs, six flights, just like our new apartment, she took my hand and walked down a long hall.

The teacher was not there yet, so she pointed to an empty desk in the front row and put the note right in the center of the desk.  Tears jumped down my chin, over my homemade dress, and landed on my knees. 

I thought of the trees, my fort, pretended home in the woods, and finally, the package of well-hidden Camel unfiltered cigarettes.  I had stolen them and a pack of matches and buried them in plastic under a massive oak.  When I would be mad at my parents, I would light one and take a puff.  The last time I did; however, it didn’t work out as planned.  When I lit the match, I smelled this horrid smell and realized I had caught my bangs on fire.  There was barely an inch left, and mama knew somehow what I had done as soon as I walked into the house that day.

She got a pair of scissors and cut them off, so they were so short they just stuck straight out. Then she made me chew up and swallow two whole cigarettes.  I vomited and vomited, and she smiled like those silly boys who would tape mirrors to their shoes so they could try and see under a girl’s dress while they were talking to her.

I suddenly realized how alone I was, and I didn’t even have a phone to call as we did at the red brick house.  So, if I got lost in this hideous place, no one would know how or where to find me.  Maybe that was mom and dad’s plan all along.  I was getting many stares, and a few girls said hello to me in kind voices.  Then everyone got quiet.  I looked up and saw a woman that was also extremely tall, like the buildings in this strange world.  She had a beige coat with little curls on it, and they matched the circles on her head too. 

She walked right up to me and introduced herself as Mrs. Curl, and I was immediately fascinated as I thought she had to be some glorious princess.  She asked me to stand up as she read the note.  She explained that I was from a small town and would be living in New York for a while and that I was to be treated with all the kindness that everyone deserved. 

She walked me to the right bus after school and told me how to remember the spot.  While we walked, she explained all the rules too.  I knew right away she would be my safe place, like the woods on the big four, where the red brick house had a hold on the monsters.

She would be a fairy princess that lived in a very tall building.  After all, she was not your usual woman.  Beautiful in every way was how I would describe Mrs. Curl, and her coat and hair matched in color and style.  She would be my hero in this story, and I would keep her all to myself.  If my parents ask any questions about my first day, I will tell them nothing.  Of course, they never did ask any questions.

-JONI CAGGIANO

Joni is an internationally known and published poet, photographer, and author.  She is a co-author of the Amazon #1 bestselling poetry anthology “Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women”, and the upcoming poetry anthology, “Hidden in Childhood” to be released late January 2023 by Literary Revelations.  She is a regular contributor to MasticadoresIndia and a regular contributor to MasticadoresUSA and Spillwords Press NYC, where she has been twice nominated and won Publication of the Month for, “Love Me Like a Luna”, (November 2022).  As a surviving Adult Child of Alcoholics (ACOA), Joni’s blog is Rum and Robots and her complete list of books, anthologies, magazines and contests can be found at Joni Caggiano’s Publications.  Joni’s blog is an effort to help other ACOAs through faith and a strong kinship with nature.  Joni is also a retired nurse.

You can also read her writing on Instagram @jonicaggiano and Twitter @theinnerchild1.

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