Italian Block Party

One block of the street was closed off. Decorations were everywhere, not just flags, but all sorts of items. With music in the background, conversation and joy filled the air. These people surely saw each other every day, according to movies about them, but tonight they talked as if they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. I don’t know if this was what was called Little Italy or not, but they were a bunch of truly patriotic Italian Americans and this was their own Times Square. Perhaps they had fled from Mussolini, as numerous people had fled from Hitler. But I felt they were not that new to America. They could have been in New York for decades, even born in America, some of them. We didn’t hear much of the Italian language tonight; we heard English. What was astounding about them was that they treated us as if we three had won the war, when we were merely in training to help win it. They offered us food from the bounteous table spread under a streetlight and there must have been wine, but no one seemed intoxicated. But we did not eat or drink. We’d had dinner with only a few minutes to get to barracks before midnight. However, we did need a restroom. One nice lady took us into her home for that purpose. She was a bit nervous, as if her house might not be presentable enough, but what we saw of it was charming and full of family memorabilia.

Soon after that, with hugs all around again, we headed on to barracks, arriving just before midnight, carrying our high-heeled pumps in our hands the minute we stepped inside the building. They really were glass slippers, as if they could make heroes of us, if not princesses. To be continued.

♥