Marcus’ van was parked outside and his bedroom light was off. That meant he was home, but I had no idea if he was alone or had company. None of my business.
The roads were empty as I drove, but I was nervous. If the police stopped me at this time of night, I was pretty damn sure they’d run the plates. If they woke Julia and asked about her car, she’d find an empty space where she usually left it—and she wouldn’t be too worried about leaving my ass in a police cell over night for taking it without asking. Plus, I was still jumpy from my run-in with the cops the other night.
But there was no one around, and when I arrived without being stopped, relief washed over me.
I parked a short distance from the house and made the rest of my way on foot. It was a one-story house, so at least I wasn’t risking my neck breaking in.
I was hoping the windows would be open, but I wasn’t that lucky. A/C, of course. I’d gotten so used to living without it, I forgot that 90% of Floridians thought it was something written into the Constitution.
I tapped on the window and waited. And waited.
Getting impatient, I kept up a low level tapping until I saw a light snap on.
“Open the fucking window!” I hissed.
After a moment, I saw the curtains pulled back and the window slid open.
“What the fuck, man?” said Sean sleepily, squinting from the dim light on his bedside table.
He stepped back to let me in, and I swung a leg over the window sill and jumped inside, catching the faint smell of tobacco and weed.
“Thought I’d drop in,” I grinned.
A pale smile flashed across his face.
“You’re crazy! How the hell did you get here?”
“Borrowed Julia’s car.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Borrowed? Sure you did.”
“Whatever. How’s life in jail?”
He frowned and flopped back onto his bed while I made myself comfortable on the couch.
Sean’s room was three times the size of mine, and tricked out like one of those fancy hotel rooms that you see in online ads.
He shrugged. “Sucks. I can’t even take a piss without someone breathing down my neck.”
My smile faded. “You still grounded for life?”
“I don’t know. Probably the rest of the fucking summer? They don’t tell me shit. They don’t speak to me—we just have uncomfortable silences all through dinner. It’s like they can’t believe Son Number Four is such a fuck up, like they don’t know where the hell I came from. If I didn’t look like my asshole of a father, I’d be searching for an adoption certificate.”
He caught my expression but didn’t look away.
“Having a dad isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“At least he cares,” I said.
Sean shook his head. “Not about me: he cares about his reputation. He keeps going on about how much I’ve embarrassed him. That’s all he fucking cares about. Mom’s just as bad—half the time she looks straight through me.”
I was silent, trying to imagine how that felt. Mom might have kicked my ass sometimes or scared the crap out of me when she yelled because she was pissed about something, but she always saw me.
“I hate it here,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t know what it’s like. Dylan graduated magna cum laude; Aidan was in the top 2% of his class; even Patrick’s going to be a fucking rocket scientist. But I’m not like them. The only thing I’ve ever been good at is screwing and surfing—and in the ocean you can whip my ass any day of the week with one hand tied behind your back. Have you any idea how much that sucks? Being a huge fucking disappointment all the time?”
Sean shook his head.
“Sometimes I think I can’t take it much more. I just want to check out, you know?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, take a vacation from your life. I get that. When Mom … I just wanted the world to stop turning for one freakin’ minute. Just get all the noise out of my head.”
I knew Sean understood. Because that’s what it means to paddle through a swell, turn your board around and catch that mofo wave coming towards you. All the noise, all the voices, all the questions go away. It’s just you and the wave moving together, like you’ve got a purpose.
“I can’t get away from any of that now,” he said moodily. “I can’t get away from all the shit in here,” and he pointed at his head.
We sat there in silence as I tried to think of something to say. But what could I say? I understood what he meant, and it explained all the drinking and drugs and partying, because it’s a quick and easy way to stop yourself from feeling or thinking. But I’d also learned that actions have consequences, and what looks like quick and easy just isn’t.
“I can’t get away from them even for one freakin’ second,” he groaned, flopping back on his bed.
“Is Patrick still being a prick?”
Sean smirked, easing some of the tension in the room. “He was born a prick and just got bigger.” Then his smile slipped and he sat up, looking serious. “What happened with you and him? I’m not supposed to know, but I heard Dylan talking to Dad.”
“Oh, yeah. I was coming to see you. They were driving past and figured out where I was going. Patrick, he kind of said what happened at the pier was my fault. I was walking away, but he tried to sucker punch me. He missed, and I got him in the gut. Twice.”
Sean smiled, the first real smile I’d seen since I’d climbed through his window.
“Nice,” he said.
“Yeah! Felt good.”
I rubbed my sore knuckles, enjoying the memory. Then I remembered I had a message to deliver.
“Hey, when were you going to tell me about you and Lacey?”
Sean looked confused. “What about her?”
“She was down at the pier today. She was pissed because you weren’t answering your cell. She probably thought you were blowing her off, but I told her you were grounded. She said she wants to speak to you.” I raised my eyebrows and grinned at him. “So … are you guys dating now?”
He shook his head. “That’s a hell no! I hit that when I want to get some, but we’re not dating.”
“Oh, okay. She just looked … I dunno, upset.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? She’s missing the action. I’m an animal in the sack. When a woman’s been with me, she knows she’s been rode hard and hung up to dry.”
“Except you keeping going back to tap that,” I reminded him.
He laughed, and it was like having the old Sean back. I’d missed him being an asshole.
“How’s it going with you and Yansi, stud?”
I didn’t answer, but I guess my grin said everything.
His eyes widened.
“Outstanding, my friend! About time! How was it? Worth waiting for?”
I shook my head. “Fuck you! I’m not telling you that!”
He laughed again. “That good, huh?”
We were silent for a moment, then he slapped my leg. “I’m stoked for you, man. The look on your face—like Thanksgiving and Christmas just showed up in July!”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “She’s pretty amazing.”
“Was she screaming your name or mine? Because I taught you everything I know.”
I threw a cushion at him and he ducked, laughing his ass off. But then his expression turned serious again.
“You really love her, huh?”
I dipped my head, embarrassed by the emotion I knew he’d see on my face. “Yeah,” I muttered.
He nodded slowly. “Thought so.” Then he paused. “What’s it like?”
I looked up, confused. “What’s what like?”
He shrugged. “Love. Being in love.”
How do you answer a question like that? Even if I had the words, if you’ve never been in love, it’s impossible to understand.
“When she’s not there … it’s like part of me is missing,” I tried to explain. “When we’re together, I can breath
e again and it’s … right.”
I screwed up my face, searching for the words.
Sean looked away. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”
Yeah¸ I wanted to say, I know, but you will. I didn’t say it, because I would have sounded like a pussy. Or like I was patronizing him.
“I envy you,” he said, so quietly I wasn’t sure I’d heard him. “I’m not being funny, bro, but how fucked up is that? You don’t know your dad, your mom died, you’re working two shit jobs all summer, and you’ve got some ball-buster for a girlfriend.” He gave a hollow laugh. “And I envy the fuck out of you.”
“Sean, I…”
I don’t know what I would have said, but Sean interrupted anyway.
“Oh man, I’ve got a one-way ticket on the crazy train!” and he shook his head as if to clear it. “Hey, how come you were walking when Patrick and Dylan saw you and not riding your skateboard?”
“Oh, yeah.” I grimaced. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about that, but he was still staring at me, impatient now. “Um, I kind of got fired.”
“Fuck! Yansi’s old man fired you? He figure you nailed her?” I didn’t want to reply to that, but then he answered his own question. “Nah, he’d have done more than fire you … so what was it?” I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “Oh shit. Because of me … because he thought you gave me the drugs. Ah fuck, man!” His head thudded against the wall. “I never realized … this has really fucked things up for you.” He laughed bitterly. “Almost as much as it has for me. Life sure gets shitty fast.” He paused. “So where does the Tony Hawk come into it?”
“That was the other crappy bit: ole man Alfaro tossed it into the road just as this van was coming. Totaled it.”
“That bastard!”
And then I told him that I threw the broken deck at Mr. Alfaro’s truck, leaving a good size ding in the door.
“He deserved it. Oh man, your wheels!”
“Yeah, it sucks having to walk everywhere.”
“At least you’re allowed out,” he stated sourly.
I couldn’t disagree with that.
Sean chewed his lip for a moment then looked at me intently.
“Can I ask you something? Something important.”
I was surprised by his tone. Sean was rarely serious—tonight was sure turning out different from how I’d expected. “Sure. What’s up?”
He took a deep breath. “Do you ever think about your mom?” My stomach clenched as he hurried on. “I mean, do you ever wonder about … where she’s gone?”
I swallowed several times before I could speak. “Yeah, I think about her. Sometimes I wake up and I’ve forgotten that she … I think I can smell those cinnamon rolls she used to make. But then I remember.”
His eyes were fixed on mine, so I had to look away.
“I don’t know if I believe in Heaven and all that shit. I used to, I think. I prayed … a lot. But it didn’t make any difference. She died anyway, so I don’t know.”
It was weird having this conversation with Sean. I’d never said any of it to him before. He hadn’t asked. Later, I thought we’d never really talked before that night.
“Sorry, bro,” he said.
“Yeah.”
We were both quiet for a moment, somewhere else, inside our heads. I realized that I’d never talked to Julia about stuff like this either. For the first time, I thought maybe I wanted to.
“Dad’s talking about sending me to live with my grandparents,” Sean said suddenly, his voice bitter.
“Shit! For real?”
“Maybe.” He shook his head. “Fuck, I can’t imagine living where I couldn’t surf. I’d go crazy. Crazier.”
I felt the same, and the thought of Sean going away hit me hard.
“For how long?”
“I dunno. But I’ll be away for my birthday next month. For all I know, he’ll get rid of me until college. He wants me out of here, I know that. Too much of an embarrassment.”
When he couldn’t meet my eyes, I finally understood.
“To keep you away from bad influences like me, right?” I laughed sourly.
“I’m sorry, man.”
“Yeah.” I looked away from him. “It was some scary shit seeing you like that. I thought … I don’t know, but it looked really bad. Maybe you should … cut back or something.”
Sean looked irritated. “For fuck’s sake, not you, too! I’ve got my whole family crawling up my ass giving me grief, I don’t fucking need it from you.”
I met his eyes. “Just sayin’, man.”
He sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I know. It just … it takes the edge off of living … with them. It’s a total mind-fuck living here. Your mom was always so cool. And now I’m stuck here 24/7—can’t see my friends, can’t even talk to them. I hate it. I really fucking hate living here.” He glanced across at me. “I told them it had nothing to do with you. I told them; I told the police…”
“But you didn’t tell them who sold you the Molly?”
Sean shook his head, his eyes pained. “I couldn’t. I get the weed from … some guys I know, but the other stuff … those dudes are whacked—seriously scary.” Then his voice broke a little. “I hate this fucking shit: you’re my best friend, man.”
I didn’t know what to do. I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to say, but suddenly a light flicked on in the hall, the beam filtering under the door.
“Shit! Someone’s awake—they must have heard you!”
I leapt up, scrambling out of the window, keeping low and hiding in the shadows. I held my breath when I heard Mr. Wallis’ voice.
“Who are you talking to?”
“No one,” Sean mumbled, sounding like he’d just woken up. “Must have been dreaming.”
“Do you have a phone in there?”
Sean’s protest went unheard, and his main bedroom light snapped on. From what I could hear, his room was being searched and then the window was slammed shut.
Too fucking close.
I slunk away, keeping to the darkest parts of the shadows, until I reached Julia’s car.
I drove home slowly. Seeing Sean hadn’t fixed anything. My life wasn’t always great, but I had Yansi, and I even had Julia, sometimes. Sean didn’t have anyone, except me.
Which meant he was really fucked.
I managed to sleep for a couple of hours when I got home, but I’d set my alarm early, intent on hitting the beach at dawn.
For the last nine hours, the surf had been building gradually, a wall of white sound that washed over the whole town during the night. The beach was going to be busy today so I wanted to get there early, determined to get my ride before the waves were crowded out.
The air was cooler now, and I knew the storm would have churned up the ocean, drawing colder water from deep down. It rarely got cold enough to need a wetsuit, even a shortie, but I threw a rash vest into my backpack just in case.
I was heading out the front door when I saw a light on in Marcus’ room. I stood outside for a moment, wondering if he was with someone, or intending to go surfing. But then his door opened and he saw me.
“Great minds think alike. You need a ride, kid?”
“Yeah, that would be awesome. Thanks.”
He grinned, and I could see the same excitement in his eyes that all surfers had when a big swell came in. A real surfer never lost that, no matter how old you got. I heard them all the time in the Sandbar, reliving their glory days back in the last century: remember the winter of ’87? Or, did you see that epic ride Pete Lopez caught in ’92, or, Hey, don’t forget that 25 foot monster that Yancy Spencer shred back in ’67. It was hard to imagine anyone that old being a surfer.
But we all had that look, and I saw it in Marcus now. For the first time I knew exactly how he felt without any of the bullshit.
“Where should we go to catch the best waves? Jetty or further north?”
“Jetty will be good, but it’ll be crowded. Nah, drive south toward Tables Beach, and w
e can park near 32nd Street. I know an access point—there won’t be so many people.”
He nodded and smiled. “Can’t beat local knowledge.”
I tossed my backpack into Marcus’ van, carefully lying my board on top—a 7’ semi-gun with FCS fins.
The surf was pumping, and I swear salt water was shooting through my veins as I stared out. I just wished Sean could have been here. He’d have been like a kid at Christmas, hyped up on sugar and the rush.
From the van’s window, I could see clean, glassy lines of surf rolling in from the Atlantic, heaping foam onto the sand. The wind was offshore, holding the waves upright, making the rides long and smooth. The swell was even higher than predicted, topping out at 15, maybe 18 feet. I hadn’t ridden anything that big in a while. Adrenaline started surging through me. I was fitter, stronger than I’d ever been. It was going to be intense.
The street was lined with cars, vans, vee-dubs and trucks when we got there. So much for it being less busy, but I knew Jetty would be worse. Guys who didn’t know the area well would head over there—people would be dropping in all over the place, making it impossible to catch a clean ride. This was still better.
Marcus leapt out of the van and started waxing his board, covering the older, dirty crust with a fresh layer. You needed it for traction: these weren’t the kind of waves where you wanted to lose your footing, or you’d be picking your teeth with your surfboard.
He tossed the cake of Sex Wax to me, and I rubbed it on my board, paying attention to the area my back foot would rest on.
When I was finished, Marcus was waiting impatiently. He locked the van and tucked the key into a waterproof ziplock around his waist. He usually hid the key under the wheel well, but with the number of people out this morning, it would be dumb to do that. They weren’t all locals, and he wasn’t going to risk coming back to find that someone had stolen his clothes and spare boards. That happened a lot—more in the summer. You had to look after your shit.
We jogged down to the shore, joining a bunch of guys who were warming up on the sand and planning their paddle-out. You couldn’t just run into the sea and start paddling when the surf was this big—not unless you were itching to get pounded by a ton of water closing out on top of you. I was looking for smoother water, a channel that would give an easier ride out to the line-up, the area behind where the waves were breaking. Surfers really liked riptides, because if you knew what you were doing, those would pick you up and suck you out like a conveyor belt and drop you at the line-up. Swimmers hated rips, but they saved surfers a lot of energy.
Summer of Seventeen Page 20