The Cement Guy

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I wonder if anyone ever told that stupid, dirty man that little kids don’t understand sarcasm.  He told my mom I ruined his whole morning’s work.  Then the landlady came out and he told her that he’d have to start over because I ruined everything.  She shook her head and looked at me like I was a terror.  My mom was embarrassed.  I could tell because she kept looking at me and gritting her teeth and squeezing my hand.  It really hurt, but I knew better than to say anything.  I tried to explain it all, but no one listens to little kids.


So, it’s a nice sunny summer day.  It was early, so not too hot yet.  The problem was no one was outside so I was playing by myself.  I played with my dolls, but that was boring.  Then I decided to climb the tree out back, but it was no fun sitting in the tree all alone.  I tried collecting stuff, but there was nothing good except for a few neat looking rocks.  They were really pebbles, they were so small.  One was very dark gray and looked like a little triangle.  Another looked like a pink diamond.  I put it on my finger to see if it would make a good ring, but it was so small I thought you would need five of them to make a nice ring.  My aunt has a diamond.  It’s as big as my fingernail and very bright.  When the light hits it, it could blind you.  Anyway, back to the cement guy.


Like I was saying, it was boring.  Then I see this guy in front of our house.  It’s actually a duplex.  We live downstairs and our landlady lives upstairs.  There are two steps to get to the walkway that leads to the house.  Then our door is to the right and the landlady, Mrs. Greenberg, is straight ahead and up some more steps. He’s fixing the block of cement at the bottom of the stairs.  He demolished the old block yesterday. Demolished, I like that word. It means to totally destroy something. Anyway, he already has it poured.  He’s using this flat metal thing to make it all even.  I’m watching him because it was pretty neat what he was doing with the wet cement and the metal thing.  He stopped working and looked up. 


“What,” he said roughly.


“Just watching you.”  I said. “It’s neat the way you make that all smooth and stuff.”


“Uh huh,” he said and went back to his work.


As he was smoothing the cement, I got a great idea.  I would write my name in the cement.  I was great at writing my name since I’d been doing it since I was, like, three years old.  


“Hey, mister, can I write my name in the cement,” I asked with excitement in my voice.  Imagine my name on the sidewalk forever!


“Sure, sure you can, kid.”  He said.  I guess he didn’t mean it, but he sure sounded like it was okay.


“What should I use?”  I asked.


“Your nose,” he said.  I guess I should have known that he wasn’t serious then, but I was just thinking about my name in the cement -- forever.


I looked around and found a popsicle stick.  Lucky we threw our sticks in the street instead of the trash can.  


“How ‘bout if I just use this stick,” I said, and he nodded -- or so I thought.


I carefully formed the letter B in a corner of the cement block. The vertical line of the B was about as big as my kid-size index finger. Next thing I know, I had just finished the first letter in my name when this guy throws his metal thing into the cement and grips me up and starts yelling that I ruined his whole morning’s work.  I guess my mom heard the yelling and poked her head out the door to see this big, fat cement guy who had me by the arm.  She came out of the house and asked what was going on.  You’re gonna get it now, I thought.  Don’t mess with my mom, she has a temper and can yell really loud. 


She did start yelling but not at the sweaty cement guy.  At me.  Then Mrs. Greenberg came out of the house and the cement guy started telling her and my mom how I was bothering him all morning (I wasn’t) and then how I just picked up a stick and started making designs in his fresh cement (not what happened).  My mom was looking at me with that “how could you embarrass me” look and Mrs. Greenberg was shaking her head as though I was the worst child she had ever met.  


Then, on like the nicest day of the whole summer, I get sent to my room

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