"How Much is That Epiphone in the Window?" Summer 1935

Summer 1935

Marzine stood, as she did most afternoons that summer, clutching her book sack that slouched at her left shoulder, as she leaned on her right foot. Teddy and Freddy were up in the trees, with a stolen pair of binoculars from the five and dime. They were looking into Francis Morotzki's rear window, where each afternoon she'd take off her skivvies and lie naked in her bedroom with the window cracked open. Ample foliage covered most of the angels around the window from the Kansas heat and the leering watch of teenage boys. Every angle, that is, except the one found up in the great sycamore.

Marzine took little to no interest in this, she was fascinated by the scratchy sound coming from the Victrola in Francis's parlor. Sometimes she'd become so entranced with the music, that she'd sing aloud, causing an acorn to be thrown from atop the tree, usually accompanied by the sound of muffled laughter and shushing .Fog from the railroads would come in around 4pm, which resulted in the boys climbing down, punching Marzine on the shoulder, as they exchanged barbs.

"You always do that, sheesh Marzine, didn't anyone tell you it's not ladylike for a girl to hang out with us?"

"It's a good thing your pop's so understanding."

"Yeah, if mama ever found out, I'd never be let out again."

If they weren't sneaking in to penny arcades, to drop a nickel for a short peep show, fogging up the viewer before they'd inevitably be found by the attendant, they'd be trying to kiss Marzine while she eyed the sunburst-finished Epiphone that hung in the music shop, mocking her as she'd pushed her glasses up, shoved the twins away and set upon the task of returning home.

Facing her mother for the two hours before her father was due home was like an enternity. She'd run to the door when Hershel would knock the door down to lift Marzie up in the air, spin her around smiling while singing his special song for her.

Marzie, Marzie, how did the earth go on?
Before you and your eyes were born?
Can we morn, can we morn,
for the time before sweet Marzie was born?

He'd finish off the song with a casual peck on Marzine's mom's cheek. Marge would dismiss the song, and the kiss by returning to the cauldron of overcooked corned beef and cabbage that stunk the neighborhood for at least twelve blocks in either direction.