Tony Partly Cloudy Read Free Page B

before the hour his father usually returned from work, with several college brochures and application forms conspicuously spread out on the coffee table in front of him. To his right, Nona Maria dozed in her rocker, her time-etched face occasionally creasing into a secret smile while she dreamed.
    Frankie was running late. Tony fidgeted, shuffling papers and going over his sales pitch. Finally, he turned on the TV, using the remote to tune in MTV with the volume low enough not to disturb his grandmother’s nap.
    Forty minutes later than usual, Frankie stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him with a force that left the portrait of Jesus hanging at a crooked angle next to the door.
    “Anybody wanna take a number?” Frankie bellowed. “‘Cause apparently today is National Bust Frankie’s Balls Day.” He jammed a cigarette into his mouth, lit it, and closed his Zippo with a savage flick. “So go ahead. Take a freakin’ number and get in line. Gimme your best shot – everybody else has.”
    Now was not the time, Tony thought. Hurriedly he began gathering up the paperwork in front of him.
    “What’s all this crap?” Frankie demanded, his arm sweeping in the direction of Tony’s hastily assembled stack of brochures and forms.
    “Nothin’, Pops – just homework. Can I maybe get you a beer or something?” Tony squared the edges of his paperwork against the surface of the coffee table, and began to rise. “Or maybe I could ask Mama to make you something stronger?” he suggested.
    “Nah, she never makes them strong enough. I’ll do it myself. Like I do everything else around here. God forbid anybody should ever give me a freakin’ break.”
    No, this was definitely not the time, thought Tony.
    As Frankie lumbered through the room, his gaze locked on the television, where a heavily made-up man with a huge mouth sang about love in an elevator. “Jesus Freakin’ Christ,” he said. “What kind of sick bastard likes this kind of crap?” He swung to face Tony with an accusing glare. “You like this kind of crap?”
    Tony did like that kind of crap. He liked it a lot. But as he had already determined, now was not the time.
    “No, Pops,” he said. “It was just what was on when I sat down. I like to have music going when I, you know, do my homework.”
    “That ain’t music,” Frankie said, grabbing the remote and clicking it off. “Not by a long shot.” With that he stomped off to the kitchen, to find more things to complain about.
    Tony let his breath out, unaware he had been holding it. Tucking his papers under his arm, he headed toward his bedroom. Nona Maria’s voice stopped him.
    “Is gonna be okay.”
    Tony turned to look at her, surprised that she was awake. But then, who could have slept through Hurricane Frankie?
    “Is gonna be okay,” she repeated softly, her eyes bright with understanding and affection as she nodded. “You gonna tell him... another time,” she said, then closed her eyes.
    Tony was flustered. He had never mentioned his plans to Nona Maria – not about going to college, nor about pitching the idea to his father.
    “But I... how did you... ?”
    But she was asleep again. Snoring faintly, and smiling in her sleep.

NATIONAL BUST FRANKIE’S BALLS DAY WAS APPARENTLY EXTENDED into a month-long event, if Frankie’s mood on subsequent evenings was any indication. With application deadlines looming and his father remaining volcanically unapproachable, Tony finally went ahead and mailed in several college applications. His hope was that if by some freak accident he actually got accepted anywhere, his father might be swayed into at least discussing the idea. First get accepted, then figure out how to pay for it – that was Tony’s revised plan.
    Each day when he returned home from work or school, Tony would check the dining room table, where his mother put the day’s mail. Weeks, then months went by, eroding Tony’s hopes. He no longer spoke of his aspirations to