Far Rockaway

We’re going somewhere, my mother and I — but where?

The sidewalks are so much smaller than in Manhattan — almost like paths, really. And lining them are not tall brick buildings but bungalows: little, flimsy houses that a wolf could huff and puff and blow down. They have screen doors in front — unlocked!

There are some small shops on what must be this town’s main street — selling tchotchkes, and towels, and sometimes ice cream.

— A year ago, my mother says, you were so handsome, you could have been a child model!

I look at her curiously. How could that be? I, this chubby, round, plodding thing, a model?

— Your mother is one of the tallest moms around, my mother says, looking for the right bungalow.

— Ah — there! Little Edie and her mother, Eva, waiting for us behind the partially opened screen door.

Normally they live down 162nd Street from us, in a big building like our own.

Edie and I love to play detectives. Running up and down the echoey hallways of her building. On her floor. On other floors. Free!

While Eva, who survived the Holocaust by hiding in a closet, and my mother chat at their kitchen table.

This is how the world is divided up: between adults who chat and children who romp. May the romping never end!

That saltwater smell pervading the balmy air. The sun, beating down on us with no smog to stop it.

Do I hear waves? I cannot tell. I cannot tell you right now whether I can hear waves. I can’t remember.

— You and Edie, go play! says one of the moms.

Yay! We go running across a small wooden bridge.

And now — yes — we do hear waves! Edie and I are near the ocean.

— I’m a detective, and you’re a detective, Edie announces.

We pull out imaginary magnifying glasses.

Someone has disappeared! We must find them!

In this town Eva and Bunny do not have to worry about the safety of their children. There is an overall sense of benevolence.

— Detective! Let’s go here!

— Yes, detective!

We’re on a beach. The beach. Yes, I can hear the waves rolling in, the subdued chatter of families on vacation. Gentle sounds.

— Where to next, other detective?

In this pleasant way, a week goes by. Then Mom and I say goodbye to Eva and Edie at their bungalow and take the long bus ride back to Manhattan.

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— I thought he might try to kidnap you, my mother tells me. It’s almost 60 years later.

— We were arguing over custody, your father and I. I was afraid he was going to take you away from me. So we hid out. Eventually we got things sorted.

I help her drink water from a straw in a cup.

— You were so handsome then, she says. I even thought of hiring you out as a child model!

— You had one of the tallest mommies around, she says.