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.”Inside the box was a beautiful pair of black leather flats like something Audrey Hepburn would wear.They smelled like the leather seats in Miss Silverwein’s new Pontiac Strato-Streak.I took off my saddle shoes, pushed them underneath the seat and put on the new ones.They fit like soft kid gloves.“Thank you.I love them.I’ll pay you back.I promise.But, I’m sick.I really can’t do this.”“Let’s just drive a little then.I’ll take you home anytime you want.Just say the word.” She pulled a u-ey and driving slowly headed in the general direction of Cooley High.She turned her head to the left, her eyes running down the 700 block of Lower Division Street all wet and dreary, a few bums huddled against the side wall of the Stag Hotel For Men.“See that building with the blue and orange awning?”“You mean Polly Prim Bakery?”“I was raised in the apartment above the store.I played hopscotch on that very sidewalk.”“No kidding?” I was stunned.Lower Division? And yet she’d somehow gone from there to here.“Sometimes I miss the old neighborhood but time marches on.First you live the life people make for you.Then you move forward and live the life you make for yourself.” She placed her hand on my forehead.“Are you feeling any better?” I nodded.“You’ll be fine, Rosemary.Tonight is a challenge but it’s supposed to be fun.Make the most of it.”In the packed auditorium I saw Tommy, Uncle Pete and Aunt Rose, at least a dozen cousins and teachers from all five competing schools.Once I nailed the first word.discompose.the flu had run its course.After an hour and a half only two of us were left standing.My final adversary was Wang Lu from Chinatown, the one contestant everyone said could never win.He was a goofy kid, a head shorter than I.He wore sad black pajamas that were worn in the knees, cloth shoes and a bowler hat too big for his head.On our way into the auditorium a bully from Hoover, whom we all hated, gave his pigtail a vicious tug.His broken English was almost indistinguishable from Chinese.Most of the words were easier than the ones I’d studied: misjoinder.raconteur.substratum.misspell.erudite.and the dreaded diarrhea.The definitions came easily.But, like Mama said, something always comes up, and this time it was the word uxoricide.Never heard it.Thought I could spell it.Had no idea what it meant.“Uxoricide,” I said.“U-X-O-R-I-C-I-D-E.” So far so good.Icide.Icide.Icide.My head spun.Pesticide.Homicide.Matricide.Had something to do with murder.But, what the heck was an ux? Time was running out.Latin.Think Latin.It wasn’t until I decided to give up that Et Ux leapt across a synapse in a remote fissure of brain.It rose like a bubble from the depths and broke the surface with a pop.Et Ux.I’d seen that somewhere.Old Da’s deed to the house.The property belonged to Patrick Edwin Bulger, Et Ux.Et Ux had to be Grandma.Three seconds to go.“The act of murdering a spouse,” I said, just under the buzzer.There were gasps from the few people in the audience who were familiar with the word.The English teacher from Cooley held up a hand for silence.“I’m sorry, Miss Bulger.That is incorrect.Mr.Lu.Uxoricide.”I held my breath.If Wang Lu missed the word we’d go on to the next word and I’d still be in the game.Wang Lu’s father leaned forward in his front row seat looking anxious and hopeful.I looked at Miss Silverwein, who smiled and gave me a wink.Lu was trembling.“Uxoricide.U-X-O-R-I-C-I-D-E.The act of murdering a.a.wife,” he said.A moment of utter silence followed.“That is correct young man.Congratulations, Mr.Lu.” I thought he would faint.I congratulated him and shook his small cold hand.His father had tears in his eyes.“You provided him with most of the answer,” said Miss Silverwein on our ride home.“I suppose you’re aware of that.” It was still raining and the click of the windshield wipers made it hard not to fall asleep.During the competition I’d forgotten about the dress, the shoes.everything but the words.“He won fair and square,” I said.“I can work this summer to cover my first year at Community.It’ll get me out of the house.”“How do you feel? You did great you know.”“I sweated in my new dress.I hope it’s still okay for the prom.”“What word did you stumble on?” asked Mama, as I hung my new dress in the closet and slipped into my jeans.“Uxoricide.I spelled it but didn’t know the definition.”“That’s an easy one, Rosemary, like when Cousin Eddie shot Nonnie and did seven to ten in the State Pen.”“My memory doesn’t go back that far, thank God.”“Old Da told him before he married that girl that she’d slept with every shanty Irishman this side of Shannon Street.You couldn’t tell Eddie nothing.Not a damn thing.”I laughed out loud and hugged her
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