The rest of their conversation was lost as the squeal of the brakes started.
Stepping off the train, we started to exit the subway. Each step we took to the street surface seemed to bring a fresher burst of air.
My mom walked in front of us down the sidewalk. She was a real Brooklyn girl. She was the one who showed us how to play baseball and played catch with us. When she was a kid, all the boys in the neighborhood would knock on her door for her to play stickball with them. I figure she could have played for real, like in the Womens' League, if they still had such a thing. Sometimes I wondered why she ever married Chuck. He was from California. You'd think she'd associate him with stealing the Dodgers away. My mom said that the Dodgers leaving was like a knife in Brooklyn's heart. That was before my time. I just hoped the Yanks wouldn't be moving anytime soon.
Walking around Nellie Bly, my brother ate some cotton candy. I had some salt water taffy. I didn't see any Nathan's Hotdogs here, like Coney Island, but I thought all that relish might make me sick anyway.
We went to the shooting gallery, and mom started to aim at targets along with us.
"Mom's a good shot," Danny said to me as he aimed for the target on the otter's head.
"Yeah, I'm just glad she doesn't have a real gun at home!" I said.
I liked watching people walking around the park. Some people were on roller skates, others had hair bigger than mine, and some carried huge teddy bears.