Friends for Life

It was one of those doctor visits.  A new neurologist and I was spent from sharing the story of my son's 16 years.  After two hours at UNC-Chapel Hill, I drove to Franklin Street.  The last time we walked this street, a deliciousness wafted from the Italian Pizzeria that I would not pass up this time.

I wheel D in and we are greeted by a handsome, young Italian.  With the collar of his polo flipped up, he carries himself like a soccer player--former soccer player, that is. His black hair is receding--he's probably in his early 30s.

"What's your name, young man?" he speaks to D with a thick, maybe Sicilian accent.  D struggles to answer, but instead of answering for him as I often do, I wait.  The man was speaking to him, not me.

"D,"  he replies thickly.

"DAVE!"  was the Italian proprietor's exclamation.  I was going to correct the name, but, as I said before, I was exhausted, and just managed a smile.  He continued, "Dave?  I'm Sal.  I'm glad you're here."  He tossed his pen in the air--it flipped several times and he caught it with a flourish.  "What can I get for you, Dave?"

I placed our order, but let D order his drink.  "TEA!"  I made sure it was sweetened.  Sal poured the drinks.  The tea was "unsweet," he said, until he stuck his finger in it.  I smiled, and Sal asked D for a handshake.  D hit his arm on the counter as he tried to give him five.

"Don't hurt your hand, Dave."  Sal said softly as he twirled the straws and again with a flair presented us with our drinks.  "There.  I'll bring your pizza to you."

D shook his head.  He didn't want to leave the counter.  "No?" Sal countered.  "OK, you can come get it. I will let you know."

I sat D at the booth on the other side of the pizzeria because I knew if we sat near the counter, I would never get him to eat.  Sal and two brothers began arguing loudly in Italian.  All I could tell is that it was something about someone's mother and father and what they did was inexcusable.  D called out, "HEY!"

And Sal immediately answered, "What is it, Dave?  Do you need more tea?"  I let him know that D was enjoying listening.  To which the oldest brother answered, "Dave, we always talk like this.  We yell at each other.  What to say, we are brothers!"  And they continued to do so as D continued to listen and occasionally laugh when the talk became even more animated.

Sal brought D's food first and hummed as he cut it up, with the biggest pizza cutter I have ever seen, into "bites just for you, Dave."  He placed the aluminum tray in front of D and spun it.  The slice stopped with the tip of the triangle pointing right at D. "See?  It's yours, Dave.  Now we know, it's pointing to you!"

By now, I am completely regretting my decision not to correct the name.  But D-ylan thinks it's funny, so I guess it doesn't matter really.

"Do you want to speak Italian, Dave?  Every time you come here, I will teach you a new word.  Today, I teach you, 'Ciao!'  Can you say, Ciao, Dave?"

Again, D struggled, but said it clearly.  The eldest yelled from the kitchen, "Good job, Dave!  You are our brother now.  Welcome to the family."  And suddenly I feel as if we are in a Godfather film.  D laughed and we ate the best pizza I've ever had in the South.

When we get up to leave, Sal came over.  "You come see us in two weeks, OK?"  And he gave him a hug. I blinked back emotion as we backed out of the door and the entire staff, brothers and workers, shouted in unison, "Ciao, Dave!"

I had not wanted to come to this appointment since it was the day of Special Olympics.  I didn't want D to miss out on the attention he revels in during the events.  But they worked in his events and he enjoyed every minute of it.  And now the attention he was receiving here was as wonderful as what he got at the Olympics.

Just before the door closed, Sal called out, "A friend for life.  That's what you are, Dave, a friend for life."

And "Dave" smiled for nearly the entire 2-hour ride home.