Jay Yamron was not happy. His partner, Joe Gallino returned from a field trip with what seemed to be the flu. Jay had just gotten over the flu on his own and now felt obligated to take care of Joe. Jay cared but didn’t care. The relationship between Jay and Joe had cooled down and now they were more like roommates.

Joe had a slight fever and Jay did what he could. There was love and there was compassion and there was the splitting of the rent. Jay mentioned this to their mutual friend Kim Larsen who had her own problems. Not that she didn’t care but there were other pressing matters on her mind.

Jay tucked Joe into bed and went out to pick up some soup and antihistamines. The soup was for the both of them and the antihistamines were a shot in the dark. Jay hoped that they would knock Joe out and provide a decent night of sleep. It had been a while since Jay had a good night of sleep.

Meanwhile Kim was wondering how she was going to get from midtown Manhattan to Saddle Brook NJ. She didn’t own a car and the book publisher talked about having a commuter van ferry employees back and forth, but for how long would that go on for?

She asked Demi Lemakos for her input and Demi was reluctant. Demi was looking forward to her retirement and was planning on going back to her homeland, Greece. Demi was not going to let this opportunity to pass through her fingers. That would be foolish.

Demi was tight lipped and offered no advice whatsoever. Kim would have to wait until Joe was on his feet again and who knew how long that would take?

That is about as far as I had gotten with these three names from the HBJ past. Whether or not they are still alive I couldn’t say. It’s been almost 40 years since I had crossed paths with them.

Bill was on the road and is expected back today. Mike came over on Thursday night and left yesterday. It was a good visit. Mike s the 44 year old screenager. He is constantly on his phone (and I am on my computer) and I have come to terms with that.

Today was slow at the fruit stand. Slow enough that I had online words with some guy in the Golden Girls Memes social media page. He posted the Girls at a Cheesecake Factory. So obviously made by artificial intelligence that I noted how tacky it was and lacking in creativity. He insisted that it was creative.

Entering words and direction in an artificial intelligence engine requires very little creativity, merely keystrokes. After some back and forth I eventually deleted my comments. I know that for this here blog, I do use artificial intelligence to rewrite my posts as something by various writers. I do post that they are artificially created and since no one reads this here blogs, no one is the wiser.

Tomorrow and Wednesday I am back at the major fruit stand. Tomorrow is the fiftieth anniversary of the fruit stand and major events are scheduled. I am anxious about this though my job will be what I had done before. Nothing to be alarmed before though tomorrow promises to include hundreds more people than what I am used to.

I just have to get there and I will as I usually do.

So many mistakes, so many regrets, so many things that should have been unsaid, so many feelings that were hurt.

Sister Carla Marie, Mrs. Santoro, Sister Kristen Marie, and the dreaded Mrs. Maria Luciano. Sister Carla was my home room teacher for 7th & 8th grades. She was a nice young woman, perhaps close to me and my classmates in age. She was a sensitive type and we were somewhat respectful. Mrs. Santoro taught the other 7th grade class that I was not in. I do not remember what her subjects were. Mrs. Santoro was not as sensitive as Sister Carla.

Sister Kristen was the school principal and she was nice. She followed Sister Althea who was a force of nature. You could hear her footsteps coming down the hall and the speed of her heels on the floors gave us a clue as to what her mood was. Mrs. Luciano was not a nice person. I didn’t realize it at the time but in hindsight I saw how she was especially abusive to me.

One time she had me sit on a garbage can for some reason when my class left and a new class came in. She was fond of saying there was no such thing as a mafia which was a clue that there was such a thing and she more than likely knew some members of that organization. She was also into telling us about the Manson family and how they would creepy crawl though unsuspecting peoples homes.

One time towards the end of my time at St. Francis de Sales there was a party for my graduating class. We had been learning to do a dance called the Continental which was set to the Hustle by Van McCoy. During the party Mrs. Luciano poured some soda on me. I, in turn, took my napkin and dipped it in my soda and rubbed the wet napkin on her bare arm.

This of course, made her do what any teacher would do. Shove my face in the cake in front of me. I decided to take a slice of cake and shove it in her face. It was all in good fun I thought but it was not. The class went wild and the party ended abruptly. I was called to the principal’s office and was told my graduation was in jeopardy.

I went home and told my mother who made sure I wrote a letter of apology to Mrs Luciano, telling her how wrong it was for me to do such a thing and mentioned a few times what a good teacher she was. Thankfully I was a creative writer then (as opposed to now) and hand wrote about 5 other copies of the letter in case she tore up the first one. I could give one of the letters to the principal.

I was able to graduate that year with my classmates. I was the star student, at the height of my powers, academically and socially. The graduation party was at the North Pole Restaurant in Lodi and my class all did the Continental once more, for the last time to Van McCoy’s The Hustle. I took a photo of Mrs. Luciano, who resented the fact that I had gotten away with shoving cake in her face. Mrs. Luciano hid behind the cloth napkin, not wanting to have anything to do with me, the boy whom she had abused for 2 years.

I never went back to St Francis de Sales, and why would I? It still pops up in my dreams from time to time.