One Fat Summer

by Robert Lipsyte

  Poor fat Bobby Marks. One fat joke. Better if they never find my body. I don’t want to be caught dead with my clothes off.

  I shiver as the water touches my stomach, a bloated hammock swaying beneath me. In a little while it’ll all be over.

  The water reaches my elbows, laps at my backside.

  They’ll be sorry. Dad and Mom and Michelle and Joanie and Pete and Dr. Kahn and Connie and Homer and the man in the grocery store and even Jim Smith and Eddie and Laurie and Annie. Maybe even Willie Rumson.

  Poor fat Bobby Marks. We knew he was a slob and a fat pig and a laughingstock, but we didn’t want him to die for that. It was just a joke. Like him.

  The water feels warmer now, it’s up to my shoulders. It covers my back like a blanket. Just a few minutes more.

  Serves me right. Should have been a junior counselor taking care of little kids, let them make fun of me, that’s all I’m good for. Serves me right. Who did I think I was? Big shot. Lie about my age to get a job. Wasn’t even my own idea. Joanie made me do it. Just walk all over Bobby Marks like a rug, push him around like a beach ball, jerk him up and down like a Yo-Yo. Always making up stories about heroes because you’re nothing yourself. Nothing but a nothing, nothing but a fat, ugly, hanging bag of flab, disgusting; they won’t be sorry when they find your body, they’ll just laugh their heads off. What’s a dead whale doing in Rumson Lake, they’ll ask.

  Crybaby. Slob. Fat nothing. Better off” dead.

  “On your feet, Marks.”

  I looked around. I saw no one in the darkness.

  “Stand up.”

  The voice was familiar.

  “Up. Get up.”

  Lightning hit the water, the black sky parted like curtains at high noon, flooding the island with light. But there was no one there.

  “I SAID GET UP. YOU CAN DO IT, BIG FELLA.”

  The water touched my lips. Be so easy now to relax into the soft mud, get it over with.

  “ON YOUR FEET. YOU’RE NOT GONNA LET THOSE BASTARDS KILL YOU. YOU BEAT THE LAWN, YOU CAN BEAT THEM. YOU’RE TOUGH. YOU RAN, YOU FOUGHT, YOU’LL DO IT AGAIN. YOU’LL DO IT TILL YOU WIN.”

  I recognized the voice.

  Captain Marks, Commander Marks, Big Bob Marks.

  It was me.

  I stood up.

  There were wet, sucking sounds as I pulled my arms out of the mud, as I stumbled up to higher, drier ground. I waited for the next streak of lightning to look around. The old cabin. I ran toward it, ignoring the stones and branches cutting my bare feet. I smashed the door open with my shoulder and fell in.

  The roof leaked, but it was warmer and drier inside. The floor of the cabin was covered with damp mattresses. I nearly tripped over an empty beer bottle. Lightning showed me dozens of beer cans, piles of food wrappers, a broken whiskey bottle, what looked like old white balloons, cigarette butts, a pair of panties. Make-out island.

  I collapsed on one of the mattresses. I’d be safe here for a while. No one would be coming out tonight. Rest for a few minutes, then make a plan for escape. The lightning and thunder sounded farther away now, the storm was passing. The steady rain drumming on the roof put me to sleep.

  Birds woke me. It was still dark. The rain had stopped. Be dawn soon. Got to get moving before the light. If only I had some clothes. I felt around the cabin. The panties tore when I pulled them on. I found part of a filthy old sheet and wrapped it around myself. I stepped out of the cabin.

  The air was thick and sweet on the island. Wet leaves brushed against me. Small animals scurried out of my way. I thought of snakes. Did rattlers always give warning? But copperheads and water moccasins never did.

  I walked to the water’s edge. It was getting lighter now, but mist rolled along the surface of the lake. I heard the splash of a paddle, and saw a blurred light moving toward me. Was it Rumson coming back?

  “Are you okay?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Jim Smith.” A canoe bumped up on the shore.

  “What do you want?”

  “I heard about what happened. I’ll take you back.” He jumped out of the canoe and pulled it up on shore.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “How you gonna get back?”

  “I’ll swim back.”

  “Sure. Get a cramp, or get bit by a moccasin. C’mon, hurry up.”

  He flashed his light on my clothes, neatly folded on the front seat of the canoe. “I found them by the old dock. Get dressed. Make it snappy.”

  Except for one sock, everything was there. Even my wallet. I dressed and climbed into the canoe. He shoved off” and jumped in. The canoe moved silently, swiftly, over the water. The sky began to glow with pink. We were halfway back to my side of the lake before I could see his face. He looked very serious.

  “Why’d you come to get me?”

  “I don’t give a damn about you, kid, but Willie’s got enough problems.”

  The canoe glided alongside a dock near my hill. “Okay, fats, do yourself a favor. Just forget about tonight. Now get going.”

  I scrambled up on the dock. By the time I turned around he was paddling away, long, powerful strokes that sent the canoe shooting over the water. Jim Smith never looked back.

  I trudged up the hill. Except for the driver of a milk truck, no one saw me. The house was still. I peeked into Michelle’s room. Her bed was empty. I took a shower, and made myself breakfast. Scrambled eggs and bacon and toast with butter and jelly. I was still hungry. I found the other chicken sandwich from last night. I drank the rest of the chocolate milk, out of the pitcher.

  The phone rang. The sound of it scared me. I let it ring a few times before I got up the nerve to pick it up. What now?

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, Bobby, thank God. I was so worried. Where were you last night, I called and called.”

  “I didn’t hear the phone ring, Mom.” That was no lie.

  “It must have been the storm. Is everything all right? Is Michelle there?”

  “She’s not up yet.” That was no lie, either. “When are you coming back?”

  “This afternoon. Anything new?”

  “No.”

  “What’ve you been doing?”

  “Nothing much.”

  “Were you scared during the storm?”

  “Just a little thunder and lightning, that’s all.”

  She laughed. “Well, I feel a lot better now, believe me. Give my love to Michelle. I’ll see you later.”

  I felt good, not at all tired. I cleaned up my dirty dishes, packed my lunch, and listened to the radio till eight. Might as well get an early start today, knock off the rest of that lawn.

  I met Michelle coming up the hill. She looked terrible, her hair all stringy, her clothes muddy and damp.

  “What a night,” she said. “Pete’s truck got stuck in the mud, and then he got a flat…Did Mom call?”

  “I told her you weren’t up yet. She’s coming back this afternoon.”

  “Were you home during the storm?” she asked.

  “No, I was on make-out island.”

  “I don’t think that’s funny. I better hurry up or I’ll be late.” She took two steps up the hill, then turned. “Bob? Thanks a lot. I really appreciate this.”

  I sang, “Any Time…”

  She laughed. Made her look a lot better. She’s really pretty, if you like that type.

  I skipped down the hill, and I might have trotted all the way to Dr. Kahn’s if I hadn’t figured I might need my strength later on. You never know what’s going to happen on Rumson Lake.

  13

  Tiredness hit me like a ton of bricks in the afternoon. My legs got wobbly, and twice I had to go back over a row to cut grass I had missed. The lawn began to rise and fall like the deck of an ocean liner in a storm. Or a rowboat on Rumson Lake. It was better when I closed my eyes, but then I’d start missing grass again. I kept plowing along, and I finished the lawn by three o’clock.

  The walk home seemed much farther th
an usual. The county road was undulating like the lawn. I had to step carefully because I couldn’t focus on the concrete; sometimes it seemed to rise up at me, sometimes it seemed to fall away. I kept looking for Rumson’s Chevy. I got myself up the hill by pretending I was ascending Mount Everest hand over hand on a rope. That’s what it felt like anyway.

  Right to bed. Sometime toward evening, I felt someone pulling off my shoes and pants. It was my mother. She was smiling.

  The rest of that week I was nervous. But it was an exciting kind of nervousness, butterflies, sighing breaths. I couldn’t sit still too long, and I wasn’t very hungry. My mother noticed it at dinner Wednesday night.

  “You’ve got ants in your pants,” she said.

  “I’m okay.”

  She peered at me over the table. “You look a little peaked.”

  “I feel fine.”

  “Are the Marinos working you too hard?”

  Michelle almost choked on her corn.

  “You might be getting a little too much sun, Bobby, your face is very tanned. Are you wearing a hat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I’ll stop by the beach tomorrow. I’d like to see what they’re having you do.”

  “You shouldn’t do that, Mom,” said Michelle. “It makes him seem like a baby.”

  “He is my baby.”

  “See, that’s what I mean,” said Michelle.

  “You don’t look too well yourself,” said Mom. “Those black circles under your eyes.”

  “Those brats are running me ragged,” said Michelle. “I can’t wait for college to start, I need a vacation.”

  “Now that you mention it, we’ve got to start thinking about clothes for school. I don’t want to leave it to the last minute. When are we going to sit down and make that list?”

  They started talking about college clothes, and Michelle and I exchanged looks. That was a close one. After dinner, when Mom went to study, Michelle came in to help me with the dishes.

  “Don’t you have a date tonight?”

  “It’s Pete’s birthday, the whole family’s going out to dinner.”

  “How come you’re not going?”

  “They’re not too crazy about us going together, so we thought it would be better if I didn’t come.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Pete says they’re worried about him finishing college, he’s not such a great student. But I think it’s something else and he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. It’d be different if my name were Marko instead of Marks. Understand?”

  “That’s stupid. Look at what happened to Romeo and Juliet, and they were both Italian.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t laugh.”

  “Did Mom say anything about Dad?”

  “I think he’s coming up next weekend. I talked to her last night and she said going into the city was the best thing she ever did.”

  “Do you think something is wrong?”

  “Everybody’s got problems,” said Michelle.

  “No, I mean, like are they going to get a divorce or something?”

  “How’s your job going?”

  “Are you going to treat me like a baby, too?”

  “I just don’t think I should discuss it with you.”

  “Everybody’s got secrets this summer.”

  “You should talk.”

  Still no sign of Rumson on Thursday. Dr. Kahn had me spend the day clearing and widening the drainage ditch along the county road, and I kept expecting Rumson to drive up anytime. I had a pick and a shovel, and I would have used them if he’d tried anything. Butterflies all day, but I didn’t really mind them. Usually when I’m nervous it’s because I know something’s going to happen to embarrass me. Like getting weighed in front of the class, or not picked to play on a team, or having to chin or climb a rope in front of all the guys in the gym. That kind of nervousness feels like a cold stone in my stomach. But this was different. It was the same kind of butterflies I’d read about when an actor is waiting for the opening night curtain or the heavyweight champ is waiting for the opening bell before a fight. A light fluffy nervousness that disappears after the actor says his first line or the champ throws his first punch. On edge. Ready to go. I tried to think about it, but I didn’t get very far. I knew it had something to do with that night on the island. Something had happened to me, and it wasn’t all bad, not at all.

  Joanie called me Thursday night. Person-to-person from the city. I never had a person-to-person long distance call before. The connection wasn’t too good.

  “Bob?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Joanie.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself. Have you been thinking about me?” It was her voice all right, but she sounded sort of teasey, not like her at all.

  “Sure,” I lied.

  “I’m coming up Saturday.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I’m just giving you a little advance warning.”

  “How come?”

  She started giggling. “I don’t want you to have a heart attack.”

  “Because you’re coming up?”

  “You’ll see what I mean. Just be prepared.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Curiosity killed the…”

  “We went through that already. Were you in the hospital?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Did you have an operation?”

  “Yes. Is this twenty questions?”

  “Are you all right now?”

  “Better than ever,” she said.

  “Was your life in danger? Is that why you needed an operation?”

  “No, I wanted the operation.”

  There was a few seconds of silence on the line while I tried to think. I had a thought that made me a little sick.

  “Bob? You still there?”

  “Joanie? Did you…did you…have something removed?”

  “Who told you that?” Her voice got sharp.

  “Nobody. Joanie…were you…were you…in trouble?”

  “BOB!” The receiver banged against my ear. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I felt better. “If you’re going to be so secretive…”

  “You’ll just have to wait till Saturday. What’ve you been doing?”

  My mother was in the room so I couldn’t tell her. “Oh, nothing much.”

  “We’ll be able to start the project soon.”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

  “I might be dead after I see you.”

  She giggled again. “That’s true.”

  The operator cut in. “Your three minutes are up. Please signal when you’re finished.”

  “Got to go now. See you Saturday.”

  “Bye.” I waited for her to hang up.

  “Hang up,” she said.

  “You hang up.” I tapped the receiver against the side of the phone.

  “That’s an old trick,” she said.

  “You’re the tricky one.”

  She laughed and hung up.

  My mother said, “Was that Joanie?” As if she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

  “No, it was Ike. He wanted to know if I liked him.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s coming up Saturday.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Well, there was something else, but I can’t tell you. She swore me to secrecy. She told me all about her operation, but I can’t tell you.”

  “Oh?” I could tell my mother was trying very hard not to laugh. “Bobby, you’re going to have to get up very early in the morning to put one over on your mother.”

  “So you do know. And you won’t tell me.”

  “My lips are sealed.” She pretended she was zippering her lips. “You’ll find out Saturday.”

  I put on a German accent. “Ve haff vays of getting information out of you Amedicans.”

  “Not the Breyers ice cream torture, anything but that
.” Her eyes got very wide and she crossed her hands over her heart.

  “Das iss might. A gallon uff cherry vanilla, vun inch out uff your reach, und if you don’t tell me ze truth before it melts…kissss tomorrow goot-bye.”

  Mom laughed. It sounded nice. I hadn’t heard her laugh in a while. “You win. The ice cream, that is. I just happened to have picked up a quart on the way home.”

  “Maybe later,” I said. She looked surprised. I love Breyers ice cream, but I just didn’t feel like eating. I was thinking about tomorrow, Friday, the day the Smiths showed up.

  I got the feeling Jim Smith avoided me all Friday morning. Even when we worked near each other, he kept looking away. His brother had a few wise things to say to me, but Jim was quiet. When I went up the ladder to check the gutters, Jim grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him around the house to one of the side flower beds. We didn’t talk until his father was collecting their money from Dr. Kahn and his brother was loading the truck.

  “You say anything to anybody?” he asked. He was rolling the garden hose and he didn’t look at me.

  “Not yet.”

  He glanced up at that. “You know what’s going to happen if you say one word?”

  “As long as Rummie stays off my back you’ve got nothing to worry about.” It sounded terrific. I couldn’t remember which movie I got it from.

  “Willie’s out of town.

  “Where’d he go?”

  “None of your business.” Then Jim shrugged. “He’s not so bad. You got to understand him. He came back the next morning to get you off the island. When he couldn’t find you, he got scared and went upstate to visit one of his brothers. He thought you drowned.”

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “No.”

  “You afraid what he’d do to you?”

  Jim shook his head. “Just wanted to give him a chance to cool off. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just had some problems.” He dropped the hose at my feet and trotted off to the truck.

  Talk about secrets. I’ve got a secret, and Joanie’s got a secret, and Michelle’s got a secret, probably Mom and Dad, too, and Jim Smith’s got a secret from Willie Rumson, who probably had secrets, too. If I ever get to be an author, I’ll write a book called The Secret Summer. Two hundred pages, all of them blank except the last page, where I’ll write, Sorry, folks, the whole story’s a big secret.