Pizza Delight

A Story Of A Small Ontario Town

inspired by my dad

Charlie took a sip from his glass, gaze fixed on his daughter who sat cross-legged across from him. He unwittingly recoiled at the strange woman who he had to assure himself was the same small girl he would read bedtime stories to.

Charlie was nearing his late 50’s, and where his thriving mullet once flowed, a sad patch of dwindling hairs and receding hairline took over. His cheekbones, always so sharp, fell - and his mind- albeit never so sharp- failed him in its ability, atleast, to recall names.

The signs of aging, and maybe exasperated- as he drank too much wine to age like it. Time was never his friend, Charlie’s.

He took one more sip. He looked back at his daughter, his legacy, his one hope.

He wanted to tell a story.

“Did I ever tell you the story-” he began.

“Probably.”

Without even looking up from her phone, she hurt him a bit. But she was a teenager; they warned him.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this one yet,” persisting as he always did with the integrity of an excited child.

Reluctantly she detached herself from whatever was on the screen, and finally, she joined him at the table.

“This story didn’t happen to me, actually,” he continued.

Oh but get on with it old man the girl thought, used to this, of course. But she knew her father too well to misunderstand his purposeful tension building, she pitifully played into it.

“Well, What’s it about?”

He, in his own world again laughed at the synopsis of the tail ahead. “About idiots. What else”

She smiled back- quick witted- “Are you sure it's not about you?”

But Charlie, ever the poor listener- did not even register the insult. The excitable man had found his starting point and into his memory archives he went. Flipping through the files, one could imagine a mini Charlie in his head, cross legged amongst the aisles of his memories with glee. Back in the real world he settled into his storytelling stance after preparing his presentation- leaning backwards, arms crossed, ready.

His daughter-secretly-(as she would never glorify his ego by admitting it), she enjoyed all his stories. Nothing could make Charlie come alive the way he did while he was telling one.

While speaking a light glistened behind his eyes, brighter than any reaction produced in him by drinking or drugs. She saw that, but Charlie- well he never could.

Nevertheless he was a storyteller, maybe his vices should be thanked for pulling him into such interesting scenarios as to colour his memories with such gold. He was born, it seemed, to tell a story, and he spent his life collecting them.

Charlie did not just tell stories though, he lived them, and his lucky listeners, they too would find themselves living them with the same resolution as if they were happening to themselves.

And so we begin. One story of countless.

. . .

It was 1977.

September, Rexdale.

The summer(s) of love had just ended, the hippies returning from the front lines to pick up an office job. Still, it was before the colourful and exciting 80’s had defined a new era for the youth to gawk under. This middle state of time left the young people bored, and restlessness swept the town like an epidemic. Under the influence of this dangerous aura- they were poisoned and almost everyone dared to seek danger to make a monday or tuesday more exciting.

Oh, nothing could really capture the feeling of Rexdale in the 70s.

Rexdale in particular was especially prone to this infectious aura. It was (still is) a middle to low income area, a suburban Ontarian village- its most notable achievement- being positioned near the kipling stop on line 2 of the ttc.

The streets, under-attended, cracked -and got worse by the minute. Government meetings overlooked the low income area in their sweep of pressing matters, and road repair was nothing but a complaint for residents to scream about after their tires grew weary by the bumpy, brittle pavement. The fences were never white picket and there was always a money hungry kid willing to knock at your door and offer their hand in doing it- for just a small fee!

It was a small town. Secrets were hidden in plain sight. Everyone knew your name, and knew the rumors attributable to you. Grocery store trips were lengthened by the small talk which familiarity produced. Kids were troublemakers, Parents drank too much, so subjects of gossip never ran dry, and so it goes when people are too poor to go golfing on the weekends. Kids knew what not to say when someone came to school with a bruise from “falling.”, they knew this better than they knew 2+2.

But this is the atmosphere, let's welcome the night. Charlie’s house is where the story begins.

Charlie was accustomed to Rexdale's way of living, as it was all he knew at age 12. He was thoughtlessly restless himself, always leaving the house, knocking on so and so’s door, “what's happening tonight” always something. He had a thirst for excitement- which he knew could not be satiated in his childhood home’s walls. He developed a plethora of troublemakers he called his friends and would always find some exciting way to spend an evening, albeit, as a follower. Therefore dinner was a burden- it was a pleasantry which he accommodated out of respect to his poor mother. Charlie would shovel down his meal, almost choking sometimes, to hasten his exit. Maybe, in part, he was saving his taste buds from his mothers, bless her souls, god awful cooking.

Tonight, It was a real home-cooked specialty. Mashed potatoes, pork chops drier than the summer sun, and creamed corn straight from the can. He didn’t care, he didn’t even know that food could be better than this.

He really just wanted to finish as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the chops were so tough he was struggling to do that.

But dinner was a must- the picturesque ritual that assured them that yes, they were in fact a normal family. It was expected- but no one loitered upon the table longer than they had to.

His mother had had dinner ready by 5:00 sharp. She always did this so she could play bingo right after. A harmless addiction, in comparison to others, in comparison to his uncle who gambled away his house at the racetrack a few years ago. Ah but everyone has their vices.

At the head of the table sat his father, who would usually eat silently, seemingly grateful for every morsel- canned food could be mistaken for filet mignon if one just looked at his mannerisms. He had a factory job which he did not say much about, and when prompted by his mother, the only time he would speak of the matter, usually he would utter a trademark “alright” or if especially wearisome “tough today”.

There was also sometimes the 4th’s presence at the table. His sister, Doreen. When she would make an appearance, she would pick at her food in a way almost intended to irritate Charlie. She would say, “Mom, I’m going to so-and-so’s.” A girl’s name. But Charlie knew it was never a girl who she was seeing. He knew from his friends at school who teased him and the older boys who felt it appropriate to yell at “Doorknob” Campbell’s brother on the walk home. But more or less- it didn’t bother him yet, She was still sweet to him. She still brought him around her pretty friends, who made him blush, saying he would grow up to be a “real heartthrob.”And the boys he did meet, well, they seemed fine enough.

Anyway, she had her own places to be. And it wasn’t really Charlie’s business.

This night, she decided to not grace the family with her presence, attempting to slip unnoticed out the front door. “You’re not gonna have dinner?” his mom questioned halfheartedly. She tried. “Me and Suzanne are gonna grab burgers - i’ll be home before 11!” and without awaiting a response- out the door.

Charlie slipped out soon after her. Tonight, he had a plan. He was heading to Rexdale mall on the command of good old Tommy Marsh. It was declared today during school that there would be a great story told, and Charlie knew, if Tommy was telling it- truly great it would be.

How would one describe Tommy Marsh?

The kinda guy you would expect to be in and out of prison a few times. The one you wanted at a party, but not with too many people, and definitely not around your girlfriend. He was jumpy, even at 14, as if he was in between lines. But Charlie liked him anyway.

He attributes his fondness to a memory, once the two of them had hitched his Dad’s ride and crashed it into a mailbox with Charlie in the passenger seat. "I’m screwed,” Tommy had said and while it was Tommy’s dad’s car- Tommy’s idea- he knew word travelled fast and he too was likely “screwed”. But that night, after they went home, although he anticipated the worst- Charlie’s mom didn’t get a call from Mrs. Marsh. The next day too, no words, and Tommy laughed about it with him at lunch. “I’m no snitch,” he said, slapping his back. So Charlie got off entirely, even though Tommy had a bruised lip. He thought Tommy was pretty cool after that.

Anyways tonight, Tommy the troublemaker had a story to tell, and it had to be good.

He had been telling everyone about it all day. Charlie watched him going up to different guys, like a drug dealer peddling a new product (Which eventually, he was). He had targeted Charlie in class. Leaning back on his chair to the row behind, where Charlie was zoning out, “Psst,” he whispered, but not really taking care to be quiet. “You would not believe what I did last night,” leaning so far back he almost fell down, “We really pulled some shit off, you wouldn't even believe,”

Charlie, who had been sent to the principal's office enough times and trying to avoid yet another trip, tried to ignore Tommy, thinking it better to catch him after class.

Tommy was not the kind of guy to need someone’s attention to talk, though.

“Meet me and some of the guys at the mall tonight, around 6. I can’t tell you in here,”

He made a point to stop and look around the classroom, indirectly suspecting them all as secret agents, “In case anyone’s listening, can’t be too careful nowadays.”

“MR MARSH” the teacher bellowed, finally turning around to catch the conversation- but atleast Charlie was safe.

Tommy Marsh was the only guy to brag about how good he was at keeping a secret and also needed everyone to know that he had a secret to keep. A few of the guys could mean anyone with Tommy, he discovered it meant everyone in between classes during a conversation with his sometimes pal, Brad Beatty.

“Are you going to the mall tonight?” .

A few guys. How funny. Brad Beatty was in no one’s definition of a “few guys.”

So clearly, Tommy was not trying to be covert. Still, this bolstered excitement for Charlie as it must be something worth corralling a group for, and he had no plans anyways- the mall glistened as a golden opportunity for excitement- and he was a little excited.

Entering the familiar mall around 6 p.m., Charlie was greeted by overwhelming brightness.

The late summer sunlight beaming from the skylights, the fluorescent hue of the storefronts. He knew his way around this mall like the back of his hand.

Charlie instinctively walked to the food court. They always met there, so he had needed no further instruction from Tommy ahead of time. He saw the crowd from a mile away.

The usual groups of kids towards the end of the bunch.

Rexdale mall's food court, if one could find no other way to spend the evening- they would usually end up doting around here. It was sure that the girls formed around the Dairy Queen, so picking up a date was always just a few steps away. The families were scattered sporadically, it wasn’t really their turf as the sun began to set.

Charlie's group was scruffier. He could see, sometimes, Mom’s grabbing their toddler’s hands a little harder when they walked past his friends. They weren’t bad guys. None of his friends were bad guys. It was just that the rougher end of the neighbourhood had washed them with whatever it was that made kids look like they were from the wrong side of the tracks. Charlie was fond of his motley crew though, they produced better stories- and they never looked down at him for his hand me down apparel.

Anyways, he approached the crowd- and while he knew it would be big- he did not expect the small baseball team he found seated anticipating Tommy’s tale. It was a few guys, if a few meant, like, 15. And, not uncommon to Tommy, his few guys also meant a few girls. Not unwelcome to a freshly pubescent Charlie, but he wished he had combed his hair.

Sitting on the table, was the man of the hour. Feet on the bench, butt on the tabletop, laughing, loud, generally unaware of his surroundings. He glowed in his usual manner, almost soaking in the power - a natural born leader- if the pack was being led down the wrong track, he supposed.

Next to him was Enzo Tribiani, the Italian guy. Standing off to the side, authoritative in nature, Enzo was more befitting to the position of henchman. He and Charlie played soccer together, where he got a lot of red cards. Always the angry type- he got into a lot of fights- but he lost a lot of them, too. Charlie remembers how he had to pull Enzo off an opposing player once, seeing that the brawl would end in his demise and wanting to save his compatriots from the upcoming shame. “He shoved me first,” he yelled in his defence, yeah, sure, Enzo.

Charlie knew he was just itching to punch something all the time.

Things were a bit weird at home for Enzo. Apparently, (from his mother he heard this) his grandfather came on a boat, and somewhere along the journey, he got crazy, making Enzo’s father crazy.

Nevertheless, standing as he was, Charlie noted that he was pretty tall for an eighth-grader. Soon, Enzo would decide to start winning fights, get stronger and tougher, so much so he would stoop lower than the food court and his group of safe hoodlums, trying his hand at the real deal. But for now, he was still just a kid.

On the other side Tommy was Mark Mcneal, who would have been forgotten had he not been under his arm in a headlock. He was always the quiet type, never exactly looking for attention. He seemed like the guy you’d want to do your taxes, you know?

Still he hung out with Charlie’s guys, who would bug him often. “What’s up point dexter” they’d laugh, poor guy didn’t even get 20/20 vision to help his case. Never real malice with good old Mark though. Never.

These were the lead actors in the story, spotlighted at the centre of the table.

“CHARLIE, hey, CHARLIE,”

Tommy screamed at him, hands cupped over his mouth like a megaphone,

oblivious to proper, polite public behaviour. “Where ya been, man? Everyone got here, like, 30 minutes ago. I want to tell this story all in one go.”

Brenda Alice was standing across from Tommy and playfully smacked his shoulder. “Hey Be nice to Charlie.”

At her perfect, cherry red lips pronouncing his name, Charlie blushed- but this was to go unnoticed to a smitten Brenda who’s eyes were fixed upon the great Tommy.

They would go on to get married. She popped out like 5 kids for him.

Just what the world needed, More Tommy’s, Charlie had thought when he heard.

He now hoped she was doing alright. She was the prettiest 8th grader and one of those girls who was always really nice to him, for no reason in particular, in the way guys were never really nice to girls if there was no particular reason.

“I’m just bugging him, Char knows I’m playing with him.” Tommy consoled his beaux. Charlie was annoyed to be used in their romantic banter, growing a little jealous at Tommy’s charisma then.

But back to the table, the group. There were definitely too many people there.

They were the largest group in the food court.

Looking back now-While it was unknown how they got caught-

who snitched,

Charlie supposed it could have been any of the angry-looking tables,

feeling they ought to do something about the delinquents, loudly interfering in their evening.

But that was after the story.

“So how do I begin,”

Tommy looked around at his “audience,” . He allowed a silence to befall the group, the perfect moment- before motioning with an open arm for everyone to lean in. He then reached his hand into his overstuffed pockets, and pulled out a wad of cash. “SO THAT'S WHAT THE BULGE WAS EH” someone yelled. “Shattup” Tommy quickly retorted, directing his eyes upon the money.

Wow, it was a lot.

It was more than anyone had seen, fatter than the wad Charlie collected when he worked an entire summer mowing lawns for his shitty record player. Everyone, poor and desperately so, looked upon the stack like it was a gold bar glistening.

Enzo, though, smarter than his accomplice, covered the stack quickly. “Man, watch it.”

Marsh laughed it off, stuck it back in his pocket, and resumed his stance.

“Now that I have your attention, let me tell you how we got this.”

“You stole it.”

Brad Beatty. Duh.

Tommy waved it off, not bothered. If anything, excited.

He raised his eyebrows. “Stole isn’t the right word, my friend,” he paused.

“It was like taking candy from a baby.”

Tommy’s demeanor shifted then.

Like the air got tighter, and a silence fell like a blanket upon the table. Maybe on the whole food court- It was like everyone stopped to hear Tommy tell his tale.

And so he began

There was this Pizza Delight around the corner from school.

It was the perfect spot for shooting pinball, at least it was when Mr. Barucci owned the joint.

They had a dollar slice, a dollar 50 with a coke or root beer. The owner was pretty cool with the kids loitering, chatting and mucking around the machines hours after buying a measly slice.

“Ahhh, you kids, always in my store, scaring customers,” he’d sometimes chastise the kids.

“Mr. Barucci, you’re the man, dude.” was all it took though and he’d wave off the delinquents, resolving to go back to making his pizzas.

Everyone liked him.

But as things go- the Baruccis had an accident in the family, something with his wife, it was unclear. They had to sell the shop the year before.

The new owner wasn’t cool. He was a new type of businessman, an industry-type guy.

Bottom-line guys weren’t too common back then. They were most ardently hated by the youth. He kept the name, but the Pizza Delight became less popular, at least to his crowd.

It attracted new clientele, a pretty big hit with families. Charlie’s mom had brought home a box of Pizza Delight one night when she really had to rush out of the house for bingo. Almost disgusted at how the mighty had fallen, Charlie dared to take a bite- previously having sworn off the pizza as a symbol of his resilience against the bourgeois overtaker.

Charlie swore it tasted worse now.

Anyway, Enzo’s brother Mario worked part-time under old Mr. Barucci before going to college. “The smart brother,” Enzo called him. Mario had told Enzo a secret.

There was a spot, a loose tile in the ceiling in the men’s bathroom, above the single stall.

It was where one of Barucci’s old cooks kept his cigarettes.

Mario showed Enzo the spot- and a scheming Enzo had thought

“You could fit a whole lot more than a pack of cigarettes up there.”

Like a person. Or a few.

They would never have even considered stealing from Barucci, but with the new owner?

Enzo was thinking about that loose tile again.

So, Enzo had naturally decided to tell Tommy about it, this loose ceiling tile.

Tommy was always the one you’d call to do something illegal.

Thus our masterminds concocted their heist. They planned to stay until the store almost closed. Go to the bathroom and climb into that hole.

And when the owners locked up and went home, go down,

and the whole store,

the cash drawers,

It was theirs.

This plan was pretty impressive to Charlie.

He wasn’t too familiar with well-thought-out robberies,

So this felt like a job from the movies. What interested him, though, was what the hell Mark had to do with it. Even now, Charlie wasn’t really sure why this good kid –why this generally respected, smart kid – would even join them in this?

He knew he had a lot more to lose than the others if he got caught.

Money, maybe? But he came from a pretty good family, better than most in the town.

His mom had commented about Mrs. Mcneals’s expensive shoe collection. His father had gotten a new car which the kids whooped at when they saw Mark exiting it on a September morning before class.

Hey, maybe he got a kick out of it. Maybe he was one of those guys who liked the thrill.

Anyway, what happened was that Tommy told Mark the plan. This was natural as Tommy liked Mark a whole lot. And you know, most thought Tommy pitied him or hung around for his money.

But Charlie knew that Tommy and Mark had been friends since diapers. Neighbours.

They were brothers. He once said there was no one else he would trust with his life,

“I’d go to war with that guy.”

Mark, surprising Tommy aswell, had asked to join. Apparently, he thought it was a pretty smart plan. Enzo, as he explained, didn’t think he had it in him, but he didn’t have the heart to tell him, only now adding in “I thought you’d chicken out to be honest” to a red faced Mark.

What can you say? People genuinely liked Mark.

Anyways that's how the trio formed. And yesterday, about an hour before closing time, they went into the bathroom, waited, went up, and when they were sure the lights were out…They jumped down.

And the idiots made pizza.

They made a few, Tommy said.

“Mine were really good, better than this Italian’s here.”

Enzo pushed him for that. “This caker”. Only Italian when he needed to be, that Enzo.

They played pinball, which was essentially the same -but cool since it was in an abandoned store. They played music off Mr. Baruccci’s radio, which they had found tucked away in the office. Tommy made a point to talk about how he recovered the radio from the “evil new owners” to the table. “I took it home. It’s sitting in my room right now.”

“Like robin hood huh!” Brenda quipped, sarcastically.

“Your hero right?” he smiled back.

This is where Mark, our unsuspecting criminal, proved his value to the mission. The boys found themselves almost at a loss of hope when faced with a locked register. Ah but the secretive Mark- he knew how to get the register open.

“Where’d you learn that!” someone yelled, eyes now all shifting to the shyly posited professional. He took a moment, but looking up with unmistakable pride, said “a magician never reveals his secrets” and almost everyone, boys and girls, swooned for the magnificent Mark- atta boy!

When the registers opened, apparently the three of them stood awe-struck for a moment. Charlie doesn’t remember now, the number when totalled and divided- but it was more than any of those kids had seen. More than what could have been expected from such a sad bunch of boys.

After that they yelled, they felt like prospectors sifting for Gold and had all but shrieked eureka. Tommy kissed Mark on the cheek. Enzo danced to the crackling radio. Mark, who did not need the money- he high fived his fellow criminals and told them he was fine in accepting a smaller cut. Unthinkable! They were all too joyous to even allow the talk of money to spoil their fun.

Surprisingly the new owners had no alarm in place, no cameras, nothing which they thought could have spoiled their good time. Considering their job well done, the 3 corralled their bounty and decided to make their exit. They ran.

They left behind a blaring alarm. Now it kicked in at the front doors opening.

They ran with stomachs full of pizza and pockets full of cash.

“into the sunset I guess” Marsh finished with a grin.

“Bullshit”

Brad, the skeptic, had to chime in.

“You’re gonna get caught you idiot”

Brenda

“What are you gonna do with the money”

The crowd descended upon Tommy. Like seagulls, they picked away at him

Charlie envied Tommy, his ability to just do.

His way with words, with girls.

Mark did too, Charlie was sure of it, watching him smiling, watching Tommy.

He was high from just being around the guy. To be a Tommy for the night. To do something.

But that was the tale- and it did not disappoint- especially since the good vibes trickled into the rest of the evening and the group shot the shit until almost closing time in the mall.

How Charlie missed nights like this.

But eventually the bubble the story had built over the table began to evaporate.

“My parents want me home”

Girls were always the first to leave

One by one

The table shrunk, everyone went home.

A regular night in Rexdale.

Oh but this happy tale- it was not to end in sunshine and rainbows.

Because the next night, just before dinner.

The police knocked on all of their doors. But only Tommy got in trouble

“His poor mother” Charlie’s mother had said after relaying the news at the next 5pm dinner. His poor mother had raised a litter of Tommy-esque troublemakers. The police officer knew her by name.

“Cheryl, your kid robbed the Pizza Delight?”

But- She knew nothing. She never did.

You’d think she had a lobotomy, the way she never really seemed to understand what was going on. Charlie loved to go to Tommy’s when his dad wasn’t home for he knew he could drink beer cold from the fridge- indulge in his first few cigarettes on the patio.

Maybe though, Cheryl Marsh- she was just the best actress in town. Because like most parents in Rexdale who were so good at performing to the world, no one saw how she trembled when making the officer a coffee, cutting him a slice of cake, the way her smile fell. Charlie imagined it- fond of the older woman- who had once, when Tommy wasn’t around- asked him “He’s alright, my Tommy? I mean all things considered” and to calm her evidently weary eyes, he (a little tipsy) said “he’s got a good head on his shoulders, a natural born leader” and earned a little smile from her.

Anyways though- she surely was disappointed, but not exactly surprised when the cops came for her youngest.

See though- it was almost deserved- Charlie had to admit, as much as he liked the guy. They didn’t get caught because of the security cameras- no small stores had security cameras back then. They didn’t even get caught from the rumor- as even the most corrupt cops wouldn’t put some kids in chains for a little gossip-

But the way they were able to pin it on him-

It was because of the radio, which was sitting in Tommy Marsh’s bedroom when the cops came to question him. One of the objects listed as stolen alongside the money itself.

Womp womp.

. . .

“So what happened to him?”

Charlie’s daughter shook him out of the past.

He looked down at his hands, which were suddenly wrinkled;

the wine he would have traded for beer at one point;

the shiny floor of his suburban home. A few miles outside Rexdale, nothing more.

“To Tommy?”

He looked at his daughter, who sat enthralled by the tale.

“Tommy did some time; he was alright.”

Tommy wasn’t a snitch- he denied to claim the others for accomplices- and took a thrice heavy charge- a few nights in the slammer and a return of his profits, while his father paid off the other 2’s. Everyone worried he’d be changed after the whole affair- that Rexdale would lose the good old Tommy Marsh and his idiocy. No but that wasn’t the case- he came back twice as hungry for more- Charlie had always respected Tommy. He would get into some trouble because of him in years to come.

The real tragedy was Mark.

Mark was moved to the Catholic School.

His folks were not keen on his involvement even though he wasn’t in any trouble with the law. The cops showing up at his door was too much for his parents to bear.

“What did I say about that no good Marsh Kid?”

The blame fell on Tommy

Tommy later, much later, told Charlie how Marks dad berated him out in public for “corrupting his kid” at one point.

“Stay on your side of the tracks alright? No handouts from my son”

Now that one got on Tommy’s nerves

“Who does he think I am, I would never accept someone’s hand outs”

But after that Mark and Tommy did not really hang out anymore. Mark did not hang out with any of them anymore. He wore a letterman jacket in high school. He played football

And Charlie didn’t really know what happened to him after

“What did you do dad?”

He looked at his daughter. Smirking at her interest- oh now she cares? The way she seemed just as interested as he did the day Tommy told him the tale

Charlie never did the things you see. Not until he was much older. But he remembered the stories. The stories that bonded the groups. The stories they gathered to recount.

They went out all the time, trying to gather these stories

Is that not what life is all about?

Charlie thought about his old friends

What did they all do now?

Jail, Lawyer, Police Officer…

It's kind of blurry

Charlie tried to ignore what he heard when running back into old friends from Rexdale. Those weren't his friends- they were adults.

But he remembers the entire story of the pizza delight- like it happened to him, and he remembers how the boys looked. All around the table. Friends.

Looking at his daughter Charlie knew what to say

He told her

“I listened”

And that's all that he needed to do.