26 Fairmount Avenue (6 page)

When I told Mom and Dad what had happened, my dad said, “You handle this one, Floss.” And he went back to work.

My mom sat down next to me. “You know,” she said, “if you don't go to kindergarten, you won't pass. And if you don't pass, you'll never get into first grade, and you'll never learn to read.”

So I went back to school, but I never really liked kindergarten.

Chapter Six

N
ow it was time to start “the backyard project.” The first thing we had to do was to burn off all the stuff that was growing there. It was a Saturday, so Buddy and I weren't at school, and our friends and neighbors came to help. Carol Crane came, too.

It was a sunny day, with no wind blowing. “That's very important,” my dad told us.

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, if it's windy, the fire could spread and the house might burn down.” I sure didn't want that to happen.

“Okay,” my dad said. “Let's begin!”

“All right kids,” my mom said. “Stand back out of the way.”

My dad, Mr. Tony Nesci, Mr. Johnny Papallo, Mr. Crane, and a bunch of other people stood around all three sides of the field with old brooms, buckets of water, and wet burlap bags. My mom stood holding a hose attached to the one water faucet that worked. Everyone was ready.

They lit the fire at the edges, and it blazed right up. They wet their brooms and put out the flames around the outside of the circle. They did such a good job keeping the flames low that the whole fire went out.

“Try again, Joe!” someone called to my dad. This time he lit the fire in the middle, and it caught and burned bright and strong. Everyone shouted, “Hurray!”

But then the smoke started to get in people's eyes. They ran from the edges. Suddenly the fire was really big. Everyone was shouting and banging the flames with wet brooms and burlap bags.

Brooms caught fire. Burlap bags caught fire. The smoke got thicker.

“Quick, Floss,” my dad shouted. “The hose, the hose!”

“Buddy! Turn on the faucet!” Mom shouted. Water streamed out of the hose.

“Wet down the house,” Uncle Charles yelled. My mom did.

“Put out the flames!” Mrs. Florence Nesci shouted. My mom aimed the hose at the fire. She kept squirting water all over the place until the fire was out. What a mess!

The weeds and grasses were black and smoking. So were the people. Everyone had black, sooty faces and smoky clothes. And everyone except my mom was soaking wet.

“Look what you've done to us,” Mr. Tony Nesci said.

“Well, I saved the house, didn't I?” Mom said, laughing.

She sure did, and I was glad. Can you imagine having to start all over again? No, thank you.

With the backyard all burned down, my dad hired an old Italian man who had a horse and a plow. It took a few days for the man to plow the backyard. It was fun to watch. Rocks kept popping up, and my dad saved them so he could use them later to build the wall in front of the house.

After the yard was plowed, the old man attached a contraption made out of chains to the horse where the plow had been. He and the horse pulled the contraption along the ground to make it smooth and flat. Back and forth they went, back and forth. It looked pretty good, until the next day.

Chapter Seven

T
hat night it began to rain—no, not rain, pour. And it was still pouring the next morning. The radio said, “It is a nor‘easter,” and the streets were full of water.

That morning my mom drove my dad to work and then came home to drive Buddy, Carol Crane, and some of the other neighborhood kids to school. I went with her.

I didn't go to school until the afternoon, so after we dropped everyone off, Mom and I drove up to Fairmount Avenue. The street looked like a huge river. Muddy water was rushing down it.

Mom stopped the car at the corner. She didn't dare drive up that sea of mud. “We'll get stuck for sure,” she said.

We looked up toward 26 Fairmount Avenue. What used to be the newly plowed backyard was roaring down in two muddy streams on either side of the house into the street.

“I hope the inside of the house is all right,” Mom said.

“We could take our shoes off and go see,” I suggested.

“I don't think so,” Mom answered. “Your father will just have to check it when he gets home from work.”

I was disappointed. I thought it would be fun to squish through all the muddy water.

That night when my dad got home, he told us that everything was fine.

“A little bit of muddy water went into the cellar, but it'll be easy to clean up,” Dad said. “But the backyard, well, that's a different story. And the street! The City is going to have to redo the whole street. It's a mess!”

“Oh, no,” Mom said. I thought she might start to cry again. But she just said, “I guess that will mean waiting even longer to move into the house.”