Ten Minutes

Hello.

Good afternoon.

It’s warm isn’t it.

July in the city gets hot.

May I sit for a bit on your lovely bench.

Absolutely, that’s why it’s there.

I live around the corner. My name is Yolanda.

I’m Michael.

Like the archangel. That’s his church on the corner.

Probably not the angel, more like my zayda, I’m Jewish. 

         Diversity is the lifeblood of a neighborhood. This parish was 90% Italian. Today, there are Black families, Latino, Asian, it’s like the United Nations. Keeps it interesting.

And now, Jews. 

         Jews aren’t new to Saint Michael’s. Jewish people have always been part of the fabric of Saint Michael’s. Their families lived above their shops. During the war, our next-door neighbor, Sam Drucker, who was a tailor by trade, stepped in for the regular mohel who was drafted. Sam was pretty good with sharp instruments.  

I’m sure it was appreciated.

It’s a beautiful synagogue. Three blocks away. Still open.

I’ll keep it in mind. We just moved in over the winter.

You haven’t been to services in years.

Nope.

         Too bad. It couldn’t hurt as my old friend Miriam used to say. How do you like the neighborhood?

         We positively love the neighborhood. My husband and I hope to spend many years here.

Husband. You really are diversifying the neighborhood.

BONG  

BONG

BONG

St. Michael’s bells are the angel’s music.

Angel’s music. That’s beautiful phrasing. I’m a writer.

It’s beautiful because it’s true.

It’s ten minutes to three yet the bells ring.

Always ten minutes early.

I noticed that. It’s broken, I assume.

St. Michael’s bells work just fine. The timing is intentional.

I don’t understand.

         Father Tony set the time years ago. He was the pastor of Saint Michael’s. The story goes that Father Tony prayed to Saint Michael the Archangel to protect his struggling flock during the Great Depression in the ‘30s. Saint Michael the Archangel is a warrior, a guardian of the Church. You don’t ask God’s right-hand man  for food, or coats or shoes, besides, Father Tony already had a scheme to provide those necessities. No, Father Tony was looking for a bigger score to protect his people. He was a street-smart guy, a six-footer, a handsome man for a priest. He didn’t take any shit from anybody.

         It’s hard to believe today but gambling used to be illegal. But it was always there, poker, craps, even roulette, there were games in garages, empty stores, dining room tables, school gyms. We’re not talking penny-ante stakes; these players were serious businessmen, merchants and professionals with cash always looking for action.

Like Nathan Detroit’s permanent floating crap game in Guys and Dolls.

I’ve always admired gay people’s appreciation for musicals. Really.

Thank you, I think.

         Father Tony’s scheme to feed his people was to show up at the ‘secret’ locations of the games, he knew most of the players, he’d ask about their families, maybe even place a bet, but before he left, he’d pass around his black fedora which he undoubtedly purchased from one of them, intimating that the angels were watching, and that generosity counts in their books. The gamblers, even the Jewish players, were delighted to curry favor with the heavenly bankers.

It couldn’t hurt.

         Father Tony sounds like Robin Hood: he took from the rich and gave to the poor. We like movies , too.

Touché.

Great story. What was the ‘big score’ he wanted to ask the angels for?

No angels: Father Tony was shaking down St. Mike  himself.

What did Father Tony pray for?

Time.

I’m sorry.

Father Tony prayed for time.

Time. As in eternal life.

         That’s not practical, at least not in the physical sense, and Father Tony was a practical man. He was looking for a peek behind the curtain, a window his people might look through, and then be given the time to do something about it.

That’s a fascinating concept.

         Saint Michael felt the same way. In exchange for the parishioner’s lifelong devotion to him, the archangel would open a window to an event ten minutes before it happens.

         Ten minutes to choose the right path. Ten minutes to prepare for what life throws at you. Ten minutes to stop the shit before it hits the fan. A ten-minute head start for his people, that’s Father Tony’s big score. On a lighter side, because of Tony Time, the people of Saint Mike’s are famous for never being late. We’re always ten minutes early.

Do you have to belong to Saint Michael’s to participate?       

         Father Tony was catholic in the literal meaning of the word which is from the Greek for ‘universal, all-inclusive.’ If you live within the boundaries of Saint Mike’s, you are Father Tony’s people, Catholic or not, as long as you show respect to Saint Michael, you’re in.

I never knew that’s what catholic meant.

I only got as far as the 8th grade, but I read a lot.

How many ten-minute windows did people get?  

         That’s up to the angels Saint Michael assigns to each request. We can ask for as many windows as we want, but it’s the angels to decide who gets their ten-minutes. If a church bell rings in your head, your prayer has been answered. It’s then up to you to decide what to do with what you learn with your ten minutes.

         And to remind his people to keep their end of the bargain, Father Tony ordered that the bells at Saint Michael the Archangel Church be rung ten minutes before the hour. We call it Tony Time.

         Only the old timers like me, and some of our kids know about Father Tony Time. And when we’re gone. I can’t imagine discussing Tony Time with my Vietnamese neighbor, Kai. She thinks I’m nuts now.

Yet, you told me.

Must be the heat, and you have a kind face.

Have you ever gotten your ten minutes?      

         Only once. In 1934, my father was killed by a trolly car in a snowstorm. It took us a week to find his body in the morgue under John Doe #15. That’s why I wear all my contact information hanging from my neck. At my age, one of these days is going to my last day.

         With four kids to feed, my mother was losing her mind, even with Father Tony’s help, we were going to lose our house. We knew about Father Tony’s arrangement with Saint Michael. A man who lived nearby, a butcher, made inquiries about me. I was 16. I prayed to Saint Michael to show me the way. I heard the bell ring. I got my ten minutes. I saw the future and still took it. I saved our family, our house. I gave my husband a son who became a doctor. I still live in that house.

Sounds as if it all turned out.

         Michael, I married a man I knew I could never love. He wasn’t a bad man. He was a good provider. I just wanted more I guess.

I’m sorry, Yolanda.

I haven’t prayed for another ten minutes since. Until today.

It would be gauche to ask what you prayed for, wouldn’t it.

Yes, it would. But if I could get a glass of cold water…

How about cold lemonade?

Perfect. Take your time. I got all day.

Five minutes later

Here we are, Yolanda, cold and sweet.

Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll need it. I just heard the bell.

I didn’t hear bells ring

Not the church bell.

The bell in your head. Your prayer was answered.

I’m sorry for the spot I’m about to place you in.

Don’t be silly, I’m happy to help. 

         Don’t be too happy. I prayed for ten minutes to prepare to leave Saint Michael’s. You are part of that preparation Michael. Go figure.

You really believe in this ten minutes window, don’t you?

         So will you in a minute. I’m about to give you a story to write about. Please call 911. I don’t want to be caught dead sitting on your bench as lovely as it is. Thank you, you’ve been a saint, Michael.

                                    Yolanda sighed and died.