Nancy Ruhling's Astoria Characters

On the picnic table, there are four empty beer bottles lined up like bowling pins. Larry Spacek grabs the quartet of Corona Extras, and before you can say “cheers,” he tosses them into the trash. It’s early Saturday morning, and the Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden is still picking up the pieces from last night’s party. Larry, a Czech immigrant, is new at his job as the general manager of the city’s oldest beer garden. He’s here six to seven days a week at all…

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There will be poop. Laurie Lieberman pops open the top of the green plastic carrying case, which looks like something Lady Gaga would use to tote her stuff around in. She asks for a roll of paper towels. Let’s get a couple of things straight; this story is not about Laurie, or at least that’s what she says. It is, according to her, about Zeus, who has just hopped onto her fingers. Zeus is her 4 ½-year-old Congo African grey parrot, who is ruffling his feathers to stretch his cooped-up,…

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London. Johannesburg and Nairobi. Fort Worth, St. Louis and San Diego. Tokyo and Manhattan. And Astoria. What do they all have in common? Well, let’s see. … Matthew Peipert. Who the hell, you ask, is Matthew Peipert? Sometimes he asks himself that question, too. Matthew, who has neon blue eyes and Beatles hair, is the guy sitting at the dining table. He’s the one wearing the navy blue sweater and black socks, no shoes. The world is Matthew’s stage — and muse. Matthew…

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The top of the black upright piano is crowded with framed photographs of a cute little boy with big beautiful eyes. Aly Lizardo walks past its dark corner into the light of the living room, where she settles into her spot, the overstuffed chaise longue. The little boy — her little boy, the one everyone calls Peter — isn’t here. When she says his name, she puts on a brave face, but there’s a catch in her voice. Peter, you see, isn’t ever coming back home. While she’s…

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The Milano cookies are on the table, the metal cane is curled around the closet door knob and the walker is sulking in the corner. Henrietta Spilkia, whose friends recently toasted her 95th birthday with champagne and wraps, comes into the living room on her own power. She’s as short as her time left on this planet; she doesn’t even stand five feet any more. “I used to be taller, but then everyone shrinks with age,” she says. Don’t let her age fool you. She looks 75,…

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