Your life is like a pebble in the instant when
it pierces the surface of a pond, while time
stretches through infinity, both forwards and back
beyond the limits of your imagination. And
only in that moment, as the pebble breaks the tranquility
of smooth waters, do you exist. What will you have done
with that instant? How will your legacy of ripples
expand long after you are gone, sunk to the bottom
with the mound of pebbles that have come before?
Paulie returned home to his brownstone in the Bronx one day and saw a 25-foot box truck parked at the curb in front of his walkway. He paused and stared at it for a moment. It was unusual to see a truck that size parked on one of these narrow little side-streets. But what could he do? The vehicle was not blocking anything or breaking any law. Paulie shrugged and climbed up the steps to the front door. He grabbed the mail from the box and went inside.
Paulie entered the apartment and tossed the mail on a side
table. “Hey Carla, you here?” He called out.
“I’m in the kitchen,” a woman’s voice called.
Paulie crossed the living room and went into the kitchen.
His wife Carla was at the stove with a couple of pots going. “I’ve been thinking
about you all day babe,” he said as he leaned over to kiss her.
“Paulie, your such a sweetheart.” She smiled. “Dinner’s almost
ready. Can you set the table?”
“Sure thing.” Paulie went to a drawer and pulled out
silverware. “Oh by the way, who’s that parked out front?”
“That’s Tony’s truck.”
“Tony who?”
“Tony from next door.”
“Which one?”
“Not Anthony. Tony.”
“Oh, okay. What’s he doing with a truck.”
Carla turned to look at Paulie and spoke with a tint of
wonder in her voice. “He started a business.”
“A business?”
“I know. I never saw him as the entrepreneurial type.”
“Yeah, I know. Although he does have a lot of experience driving
trucks.”
“He does?”
“I shouldn’t talk about it. I ain’t no Johnny Dimes.”
“Ah,” Carla pursed her lips in understanding. “He’s a good
guy though.”
“Helped furnish about half of this place. This dining table
came off the back of one of Tony’s trucks.”
“But you’re right Paulie. We shouldn’t talk about it.”
“Okay. Changing the subject. What’s this new business for Tony
from next door?”
“He’s making pasta!”
“Pasta? Tony is making pasta?”
“Yeah, big, fat, tube shaped pasta.”
Paulie felt bewildered. “But what’s that gotta do with the
truck.”
“He’s just getting started, Marie told me.”
“Tony’s Marie?”
“Who else?”
“Just asking.”
“Okay. Sorry for interrupting.”
“So anyway, to save money he and his cousin Sal are doing distribution
themselves.”
Paulie scratched his head. “So that’s why the rig out front?”
“He’s says its only for tonight.”
“He should’ve asked before taking up all that space.”
“He did one better.”
“how’s that?”
“A case fell off the back of his truck.”
“He made a case fall off the back of his own truck?”
“And he split it up among the wives on the block.”
Paulie laughed. “That does sound like Tony. He’s a good guy.”
He leaned up against the counter, beside Carla, and glanced into the pot. “What
are you making?”
“It’s the pasta Tony gave me.”
“Off his rig?”
“That’s it.”
“I don’t know Carla. Do you think its any good?”
“We’ll find out. Get me some plates.” Carla turned off the
burner and the drained the pasta. She put servings on both plates and then
added sauce.
Paulie took the plates of pasta and put them on the table. Then
they both sat down. They both looked at each other. “I guess I might as well
try it.” Paulie shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth.
“What do you think Paulie?”
Paulie made a frown of satisfaction while nodding yes. “This
rig of Tony pasta is pretty good.”
“I’m glad you like it. Let me try some.” Carla took a bite.
She was not quite finished chewing when she spoke again. “It is pretty good.”
The two of them ate in silence for a few moments. The Carla
spoke again. “It is ironic though –“
“Right,” said Paulie. “Of all the people to become a pasta
maker –“
Just then there was a knock on the door. Paulie got up to
answer. A man with a mustache was standing in the open doorway. Paulie greeted
him “Hey, Tony Pasta! Come on in.”
“Paulie, how you doin’?” said Tony. The two men hugged and
then tony entered the apartment.
“We’re good Tony. We just sat down to dinner,” said Paulie.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Tony apologized.
“No worries. We’re just enjoying this hot off the rig of Tony
Pasta’s pasta.”
“Haha!” Tony nearly doubled over. “I should call it that.”
“What?” Paulie looked confused.
“Rig of Tony Pasta’s pasta.”
“What were calling it before?” Carla asked.
“We don’t have official packaging yet, but Sale and me had
been calling it tube pasta.”
Paulie made a face like something stunk. “Tube pasta?”
“I know,” said Tony. “It really has no ring to it. But what
you said, that has a ring.”
“It’s a long name,” said Paulie.
“And the printer charges by the character.” Tony sighed.
“So you shorten it,” offered Paulie.
“And I ain’t paying for spaces.”
Carla was astonished. “They make you pay for spaces?”
“Only on the big print,” answered Tony.
“You want me to straighten this guy out?” offered Paulie.
Tony tried to disguise his shock. “No, no, I’m trying to do
this thing legit.”
“So leave out the spaces. Squash it together and make one
word.” Then Carla added, “and change the Y to an I for your daughter.”
“I like your style Carla. I’ll call it Rigatoni pasta!” Tony’
smile was a mile wide. “Wait ‘til Sal and Marie here’s this!”
And that is how Rigatoni Pasta got its name, maybe.
