Chapter 4
As the train rattled along the tracks, I sat up in my seat to look out the window. I liked watching the buildings pass by.
“Dad,” I asked. “Why is it called Queens? I don’t see any castles.”
My dad chuckled. “That’s a good question, sweetie,” he said. “I came here looking for the same thing. And when I met your mother, I knew she was going to be my queen forever.”
Mom smiled and rolled her eyes. Dad could be a real joker sometimes.
“The truth is,” Mom explained, “that Queens gets its name from Queen Catherine of Braganza. She was the wife of King Charles the Second of England.”
Dad’s mouth dropped open. He was pleasantly surprised with his wife.
“Yes, my dear, sometimes I pay attention to your history lessons, too,” Mom told him.
Once we arrived and walked out into the city, I was super excited. “Don’t you just love being here?” I asked my parents. “All the people and the lights and the buildings.”
I find skyscrapers to be totally amazing.
The shorter buildings had huge billboards on top of them. They were lit up like movie screens.
My favorites were the billboards that had toys and candy on them. They were so colorful.
On every street corner, vendors had set up carts selling salty pretzels or sweet smelling treats. People hurried up and down the sidewalks. Manhattan is always buzzing with activity.
Daddy said we were only a few blocks away from Grandma’s apartment building. “Right this way,” he pointed. “We’ll cut through 52nd Street and pass the Roseland Ballroom.”
As he led us up the street, the concert hall came into view.
It had a big, lit-up sign that read: ARMY OF ARES—TONIGHT ONLY!
Suddenly, my body began to tingle again, like I was getting goose bumps. I tugged on my father’s sleeve. “This is not the way to go,” I said. “Look!”
I pointed to the long line of people standing outside the entrance. It snaked all the way down the block and around the corner.
Mom noticed the way they were dressed. They had on ripped shirts, tight pants, and leather jackets with lots of zippers.
Their hair was dyed bright neon colors. Some only had a strip of hair down the center, spiked up into something Dad called a Mohawk.
Everyone was covered in tattoos.
“I’m assuming Army of Ares is a punk band,” Mom stated.
I looked at them more closely, and yelled, “The Martians from my dream!”
As a group of punks walked by, I hid behind Dad. They looked pretty scary up close.
One of them looked over and smiled.
“Nice outfit, kid,” she said to me. Hmm, maybe they aren’t so bad after all, I thought.
Daddy was rubbing his chin. He usually did that when he was thinking.
“Interesting,” he said. “Ares was the ancient Greek god of war. The Romans called him Mars. Did you know our planets are all named after Roman gods?”
“Mars is where I went in my dream,” I said. “I saw Martians that looked like these people, and then it got scary.”
“Well, that’s that,” said my mother. “If Krystal says this is not the way to go, we’ll go around the block.”
And so, we immediately changed course right when a large bus pulled up to the side door of the Roseland. It had the band’s name spray painted on the side and filled the tiny street.
The punks standing in line cheered. They snapped pictures with their phones and cameras. The flashes lit up the alley like a strobe light. The fans ran up to the vehicle, scrambling over each other to meet the members of Army of Ares.
“Wow, cool!” Dad said, looking over his shoulder. “I remember those days.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I listened to punk music when I was a teenager,” Dad said. “But I did not dress like that.”
“That was a hundred years ago,” Mom said.
“Har, har!” Dad replied. “For you, it was only ninety-eight.”
“Okay, you guys, be nice,” I said jokingly. Sometimes I think I’m the grown-up in the family. And, after my birthday this weekend, I was going to be one year closer.
Then I saw it. “Hey, there’s Grandma’s apartment building!”
Grandma’s apartment building was brand new with glass doors and a large lobby. Joe, the nice doorman, greeted us. He was wearing a black uniform with gold buttons on the jacket.
There was a large bouquet of flowers in a fancy pot near the front desk. I walked over to smell them. They were gardenias.
“Gardenias are my favorite flowers,” I told the young lady at the front desk.
“They’re your grandmother’s favorite, too,” she replied. Her name tag read Mary-Kate. She knew that we came to visit Grandma. “I’ll call up and tell her you’re here.”
Walking around the desk, Mary-Kate picked a gardenia from the vase and slipped the stem into my hair.
“You look just like your grandma,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied.
It made me feel good to hear someone else say it. Maybe I was pretty after all. I looked at my reflection in one of the lobby’s many mirrors. I was beaming, smiling from ear to ear.
Then Mom, Dad, and I took the elevator up to the eleventh floor.
We smelled the delicious and spicy aromas of a Grandma’s meal. The smell grew stronger as we approached the apartment.
Before Dad could knock, the door swung open. Grandma stood in the doorway with her arms outstretched. She looked gorgeous. Strands of curly white hair were pulled up into a scarf tied around her head. A sash hung from her waist, covering her skirt. A fresh gardenia rested atop her ear. She did look just like me!
“Welcome, my darlings,” Grandma said. “Lovely to see you!”
I ran over to hug her, and she kissed me on both cheeks.
“Hello, Mother,” Dad said. “Sorry we’re late.”
“We would have been here sooner,” Mom added. “But—”
“That rock-and-roll riffraff put you out of your way,” Grandma replied, tapping her temple with her finger. “I know all about it. Not to worry.”
Then she looked at me with a twinkle in her eye and winked.