"Does this kind of thing happen a lot around here?" My mom had been the one to ask the question, and it was loud and directed toward the policemen. It made me cringe. "Because our daughters are moving in upstairs," she added when they stopped walking and turned to her.
"Mom," I whispered, urging her to stop.
"Is it a safe neighborhood?" she repeated, ignoring me.
"Oh, yes ma'am, it's fine. We don't usually have any trouble around here."
"We didn't until that boxing gym moved in," the lady said, still sitting at her window. "And since then, we had a bike stolen, and now this."
"That bike being stolen was a year ago," Dale said, looking up at Mrs. Harper. "And the boxing gym had nothing to do with this," He promised, looking at us. "My son and I go over there on Saturdays. Marvin has a free class for officers and our families." He paused and looked up at Mrs. Harper. "You know Marvin runs a tight ship over there. That gym had nothing to do with whatever happened here today. It was something between Nathaniel's boy and one of his friends. And they've got it settled."
"I've seen Daniel and his friends a hundred times, and I've never seen that boy around here before. And Daniel's been doing that boxing across the street. I saw him leaving there the other day without a shirt on. He walked all the way across the street half-naked."
"Miss Harper, with all due respect, we do live at the beach. If I had a dime for all the shirtless boys I saw running around this town, I'd be a rich man. I'll talk to Daniel about it later, and to Marvin, just to make sure it wasn't one of his guys, but there's nothing to worry about. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon." The sheriff squinted into the sun as he waved at Mrs. Harper. "There's nothing to worry about," he said quieter, looking at us again. He gestured across the street and we looked that way. There was a small sign over a door that said Bank Street Boxing. "Marvin Jones moved his boxing gym into the building across the street," he said. "It used to be called East Beach Boxing, but Marvin changed the name when he moved to Bank Street. Do you know who Marvin Jones is?"
My dad would be the one to answer, but even I knew who Marvin Jones was. He was an old boxer from the thirties or forties who was famous for his showmanship. I hadn't seen him fight, but I had seen moving pictures of him shuffling around, shadowboxing and doing fancy footwork to entertain the crowd. I knew he was from Texas, but I didn't know he lived in Galveston. I certainly didn't know his gym was right across the street from the apartment I had rented.
"The real Marvin Jones?" my dad asked, sounding impressed.
"Yes sir," Sheriff Nelson said, proudly.
"He's been coaching here for years, but he used to have a building over by the shipyard. One of his students donated him this building last year as a gift for all of his community service. It's state of the art in there. There's a whole workout facility and even a regulation size boxing ring. Twenty-two feet. It's a nice place, and Marvin keeps out the riff-raff. He's a good friend of mine. Don't let what Mrs. Harper was saying worry you."
"Oh, we won't," my dad said.
"It's nice to know you're so fast to respond just in case our girls ever did need you," Mom added.
"Yes ma'am," the sheriff agreed, reaching up to touch the brim of his policeman's hat.
"This is Esther, she goes by Tess, and our younger daughter, Abigail." My mom was still talking even though the man was clearly on his way to his car.
"Nice to meet you, ladies."
I waved at him and smiled.
"We're from Starks. Over in Louisiana. It's on the Texas line, but it's about three hours from here."
"I've been through Starks," the sheriff said. "I had a cousin who lived in DeRidder."
"I have a cousin who lives in DeRidder!" my mom said. "Shirley Trahan."
Dale shook his head, not recalling anyone by that name. He gave us a collective smile and nod. "It was nice meeting you, Esther and Abigail. What'd you say your last name was?"
"Cohen," my mom answered before anyone else could."
"The Cohens," Sheriff Nelson repeated, nodding and trying it out. "All right, well, welcome to Galveston."
Chapter 3
Mom and Dad stayed with us all day, helping us clean and unpack most of the boxes and bags we had brought with us. They thought about spending the night, but they ultimately decided to head back home.
My mother cried when they drove off, and I made a face like I was having a hard time with saying goodbye, but parting ways was always harder for the person whose surroundings didn't change, and in this case, that was our parents.
I was more excited than I had ever been in my life. Abigail's clothes took up most of the closet, and I was so happy that I didn't even care. My stuff took up most of the bedroom, anyway. The window in the living room looked out at the alley, so I set up my art station in the bedroom, which had a window that faced 23rd Avenue. I didn't have a ton of supplies, but I did have an easel and a few canvases and paints to get me started.
I was just happy to be living in a big city, finally. When I parked down the block, by the lawyer's office, I noticed a place called Carson's Diner on the corner of 24th and Bank. Ever since then, I had visions of myself sitting in there, hanging out, and making all sorts of friends.
Abigail was the boy-crazy one, but for some reason, I kept going back to what the sheriff said about shirtless guys and how he wished he had a dime for every one he saw.
I pictured a few of them in the fantasy of me in the diner. I'd laugh and talk and make new friends and crack all the best jokes at the best moments. I'd watch what I ate, sit up straight, and captivate everyone with my charm. They'd all wonder how someone so worldly and wise came from a little country town.
I was sitting on the living room floor later that evening, pondering these sorts of things. I was smiling and planning, and daydreaming about a glamorous future in Galveston.
I had my back propped against the front of the couch, but then I realized it would be more comfortable to go ahead and sit on the couch rather than just lean against it. It had been a long day, and sitting quickly turn to lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.
It was only seven o'clock, but we thought we might be in for the night, so Abigail had gone to take a bath. She went in there when a record was playing the last song on side A. I was consumed with thoughts, so rather than get up and turn the record over, I just stayed there, in the quiet, staring up at the ceiling and thinking.
"Get that cigarette out of your mouth, boy," I heard the man's deep voice say. He wasn't speaking loudly, but my window was open and my head was positioned right next to it. It sounded like they were just below me, in the alley.
"You smoke," I heard the other guy say. The man had called him 'boy' but his voice was deep. "First of all, I only smoke three a day, and I do it because I'm an old man. My body's broken down, anyway. It's different for you. Second, you don't talk to me like that, boy, I'll pop you upside your head."
I heard a slapping sound. "Owww," he said. I smiled and covered my mouth to keep myself from letting out a giggle.