The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Yes, sir!” called out Ches, laughing.

  Fido mumbled something, and then Bill, the asshole, said, “I hear she’s hot. Too good for that fucker, Wilson.”

  I felt my hands clench into fists.

  “Cool it, Bill,” said Mitch calmly, but his voice also said he wouldn’t take any shit either.

  When we got to Caroline’s, I couldn’t help acting like a fucking preschooler, leaping out of the van and helping her carry her stuff.

  “Hi, Caroline!”

  “Hello, Sebastian. Could you help me with this: I brought some sandwiches for you and your friends.”

  “Wow, thanks!”

  She’d made a load of sandwiches. God I loved that woman!

  The thought stopped me in my tracks. Wait, what? Sweaty palms—check. Accelerated heart rate—check. Insane fucking jealousy when any other man looked at her—check. Aching fucking rock hard boner—check. Was that love? I pushed the thought away.

  I realized she was waiting for me to introduce her.

  “Um, this is Mitch, um, Staff Sergeant Peters.”

  “Mrs. Wilson, pleased to meet you.”

  I winced when he used her married name.

  “Oh, call me Caroline, please,” she said with a smile. “You’re doing me the favor. I really appreciate you letting me tag along on your surf safari.”

  “No problem, Caroline. It’ll make these beach bums mind their manners. Right, boys! This is my son, Chester; and those two yahoos in the back are his friends Seb and Fido; and this here is Bill Fenenko.”

  “Hey, Caroline,” said Bill.

  As he helped her climb into the van, I saw that he was checking her out, his eyes glued to her ass. I wanted to reach over the seats and punch his windpipe through his spine.

  Instead, I threw myself into the back of the van, and clutched my knees to my chest, trying to control my breathing.

  “What’s your damage, man?” whispered Ches.

  I shook my head, too angry to speak.

  I could hear that Caroline was speaking and I strained my ears, trying to hear her over the noise of the van’s engine. She was asking about the rash vests piled up on the front seat.

  “They’re to stop the wetsuits rubbing around the neck and under the arms when you’re paddling out,” explained Mitch. “We won’t need them today: the water at this time of year is around 63 degrees.”

  She shivered and laughed to herself, then turned around, snapping a quick photo of us sitting in the back of the van. I couldn’t help smiling at her; I didn’t notice until too late that Ches and Fido were making faces and flipping the bird. Fucking losers!

  Then she passed the food around and damn, it was good. It wasn’t store-bought either: she’d made those sandwiches with her own hands. I couldn’t help imagining what else she could do with her hands.

  Which wasn’t such a great idea: trying to eat a sandwich, with a hard-on pressing against my jeans. Again. This woman was going to be the death of me. What a way to go.

  Mitch drove across Coronado Bridge, and then stopped a couple of times so we could check out the surf running along Silver Strand.

  “See, Caroline, we’re looking for a steady swell and offshore breeze to hold up the waves; the best conditions for producing long, workable rides. If the wind is onshore, it’s just froth and white water—no good for surfing.”

  In the end, Mitch pulled up at the side of the road near Cays Park, and we piled out of the back.

  Mitch’s commentary had given me an idea: it was clear that Caroline didn’t know anything about surfing, and she wanted to write an article about it. I could help with that: in fact I planned to. As soon as everyone was in the water, I was going to catch a ride in, and talk to her by myself.

  The thought made my heart thud in my chest, and I was amazed to see that my hands were shaking slightly. What the fuck was that?

  “Just forget I’m here,” said Caroline.

  Like that was even possible.

  “I’ll just watch and soak up the vibe.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Bill, and the ass wipe started undressing in front of her.

  Fuck that!

  I tore off my own t-shirt and hoped that Caroline was looking my way. Shit! I wished I had more chest hair. Okay, I didn’t want to look like a fucking Neanderthal like Bill, but, you know, just a bit more would have been cool.

  Mitch handed me his thruster.

  “I think I’ll take my longboard out today, Seb. You have this one.”

  “Thanks, Mitch,” I muttered.

  My psycho dad had trashed my Quiksilver board, saying I’d been spending too much time at the beach. What the fuck did he know? I did my studying; I was keeping up my grades. What more did the bastard want?

  But Mitch understood.

  Caroline took some more photographs, and I thought I was going to break my fucking jaw trying to smile, while Bill showed off, fucking smirking at her the whole time.

  We headed out into the surf, and I felt the shock as the first wave of cold water hit my chest. I dove through it, and paddled for the lineup.

  I caught a couple of waves just so no one would get weird on me, and then headed back to the beach. Back to Caroline.

  She was sitting cross-legged, writing in her notebook and sometimes taking photographs. Her arms and legs were bare in her fucking adorable sundress.

  When she looked up at me and smiled, I thought I was going to pass out. Aaand, cue hard-on.

  “You finished already?”

  “I thought it might help if I explained some more—for your article,” I mumbled, gripping the board in front of me for dear life and all that would save me from total fucking humiliation.

  “That would be great: it all looks kind of the same to me.”

  God, she was so cute. I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Not really. See, Mitch is using a longboard with a rounded nose. He can work the smaller waves with that, and do some hippie shit like hang ten. Ches is riding a shortboard, so he can slash across the wave, catch some air and do the more radical stuff.”

  When she smiled again, I nearly forgot my own name.

  “What sort of board do you have—have you borrowed?”

  “This is a shortboard, a thruster…”

  Jeez, just saying the word ‘thruster’ made me hard. Okay, harder, for fuck’s sake.

  “Um … it’s the same as Ches’ and Fido’s. See how fast they’re going there? You can’t do that on a longboard.”

  She took a load of notes, and it felt really good that I was helping her.

  “How many guys on the Base surf?” she asked.

  “Quite a lot: once you’ve got your board, the ocean is free. You can be an individual out here—you know, different from military stuff.”

  She nodded, and I think she knew what I was saying: out there, you can be whoever you want to be.

  “So there are no rules for surfing?”

  “Well, there are some rules: you don’t drop in and steal someone’s wave. That’s bad etiquette. The guy who takes off first: that’s his wave.”

  “And the second?”

  “You go help anyone in trouble.”

  She smiled.

  “Sebastian, don’t let me keep you from your friends; I’m quite happy to sit here and watch.”

  No! Let me sit here with you!

  I knew that any moment, she was going to get up and walk away. I had to tell her how I felt. I had to let her know how much she meant to me. After all these years, she’d come back. I felt like she’d come back to me.

  “I can surf anytime; I’d rather be here with you.”

  My voice came out like a croak, and I could have cheerfully ripped my tongue out. She stared down at her notepad.

  But her reply cut my fucking heart out.

  “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that, Sebastian. I’m a married woman. It makes me … uncomfortable.”

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “I really like you, Caroline
.”

  I got up every fucking ounce of courage I had, and touched her arm. Her skin was silky and warm from the sun—she felt amazing.

  She stood up suddenly, making me blink, then walked away down the beach. I thought I was going to be sick.

  What the fuck was I thinking? Shit, no. No! Stupid, stupid, stupid. I shouldn’t have said that. She’d think I was some sick, crazy stalker. Or worse, she’d think I was a dumb kid.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  And then I saw her talking to Mitch, and a wave of jealousy and anger surged through me. I really wanted to hit something. Badly.

  Mitch called a timeout and said we were heading back. I felt like I was going to hurl, and I couldn’t look at her, because I didn’t want to see disgust or pity on her face.

  I didn’t even remember getting changed, and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back of the van with Ches and Fido.

  “Hey, man, you weren’t in long today,” said Ches. “What’s up with that? You’ve been dying to get out here for days.” He flicked his eyes towards Caroline. “Bit distracted, were you?”

  “Fuck off, Ches,” I snarled.

  He smiled, knowing he’d scored a hit.

  “Look man,” he said, quietly, “I know you—and I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, she’s hot, and really nice, too, but she’s fucking married. Just wise the fuck up.”

  Then I heard Caroline ask Mitch to read her article when she’d finished writing it; to make sure the surf facts were right.

  Mitch laughed.

  “I don’t do words, Caroline, not reading and writing words. You should ask one of the boys—that’s more their thing.”

  “Sebastian will do it,” said Ches, throwing a look at me.

  Fido snickered, and I seriously considered pummeling his dumb ass into dust.

  “Okay with you, Seb?” asked Mitch.

  “Sure,” I said, quietly. “Whenever you like, Caroline.”

  She didn’t look very happy about it, but she didn’t argue.

  We dropped her off and I watched her run into the house, like she was eager to be home. She was married. I didn’t stand a chance, and the realization made my chest throb like my ribs were going to break. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  When we pulled up at my house, Mitch looked worried.

  “Seb, your old man’s car is here. You want me to walk in with you, have a word?”

  I shook my head. I knew why he was offering, but I just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

  “No, thanks,” I said. “It’s cool.”

  It really fucking wasn’t.

  I couldn’t bear the pitying way they were all looking at me. I hauled my ass out of the van and pounded on the side, telling them they were good to go.

  But as I walked into the house, I knew I’d made a mistake going home. I could hear my parents arguing as soon as I opened the door, and from the sound of it, they were both drunk.

  I closed the door as quietly as I could, but they heard me as I tried to make it up the stairs.

  “Where have you been, you little shit?” snarled my dad.

  I stared back at him, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Well?”

  “Out,” I said, holding his gaze.

  I just didn’t see what was coming next.

  His right hook caught me on the cheek, sending me flying backwards against the wall. I hit my head so hard, I saw stars.

  “Answer me, you little shit!” he shouted.

  “I did my work this morning!” I yelled at him, blinking hard to try and clear my head.

  “You’re a useless fucking waste of a life. Look at you! You look like a fucking hippie! People must be pissing their pants laughing at me when they see you. You’re a fucking beach bum, useless fucking…”

  He hit me again. This time I knew he’d split my lip, even while the pain was still cutting through me. Before I could get up off of the floor, I saw a flash of metal. I thought he was really going to kill me this time, but instead he hauled me up by my hair. But it wasn’t a knife; he had a pair of scissors. I was still dizzy from his blows and could only struggle feebly as he hacked off several long chunks of my hair. He staggered as I fought against him, and I managed to punch him in the gut—a really good, solid punch. Fucker.

  He went down hard. I jumped over him and slammed out of the front door, running as fast as I could, adrenaline pumping through me.

  By the time I reached the park, my lungs were burning and my legs were giving out. I slumped down onto the first bench I found and sat there, shaking, as the adrenaline left my body.

  Now what the fuck was I going to do?

  I’d never hit the bastard before, although I’d wanted to, many times. I couldn’t go back there, he’d fucking crucify me. Maybe I could go to Ches’s? I knew Mitch and Shirley would take me in, but I also knew the bastard would come and drag me back. I didn’t want to involve my friends in my shit.

  I really didn’t understand that part—the part where my dad would drag my ass back home: you’d have thought he’d be glad to see the back of me. Instead, it was some sort of family honor that I stayed, for fuck’s sake. No matter how fucked up we were, he painted this picture of a happy, fucking family. Sick fucker.

  Ches’s family knew the truth. Others might guess, but nobody ever said anything. Real fucking closed ranks. There was a saying in the military: snitches get stitches and wind up in ditches. That was pretty damn close to the truth.

  I stared down at my hands: they were still shaking.

  What the fuck was I going to do now?

  I jumped when somebody spoke my name.

  “Sebastian?”

  It was Caroline. Her hand hovered over her mouth when she saw me. I knew she was looking at my bruises and split lip. I probably looked like shit. I couldn’t face her. It was too hard to see her standing there, so shocked and upset.

  “Oh, my God! Are you alright? What happened?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. What could I say? My father is a sadistic bastard. I love you.

  I felt her soft hand on my face and jerked away. I didn’t want her to see me like this.

  “Don’t look at me.”

  “Did your father do this to you?”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Sebastian, let me see. I want to make sure you’re not hurt too badly.”

  “I’m okay,” I mumbled. “I’ve been hurt worse than this.”

  Which was true—but hitting him back had stirred up a load more shit than I knew how to deal with.

  She touched my face, the tips of her fingers so gentle.

  “Don’t cry, Sebastian. It’ll be okay.”

  Had I been crying? I hadn’t realized.

  She stood in front of me, forcing me to look at her.

  “Come back to the house: I’ll fix you up and drive you home. Okay?”

  It took a moment for her words to sink in. I didn’t know how she could help me, and I really didn’t want her driving me home, but it was soothing to hear her voice. So I followed her, my body and brain numb.

  She kept talking in a low, quiet voice, as if she was trying to calm a wounded animal. I wanted to smile, but it caught behind my lips and my mouth refused to move.

  When we got to her house, it was dark. I was glad her husband wasn’t there: I couldn’t face one of dad’s good ole buddies right now.

  She opened the door, switching on lights as she drifted through the house, her footsteps as soft as dreams. When I saw she’d taken me into her kitchen, I managed to pull myself together enough to sit in the chair she pointed me towards.

  A loud noise made me jump, and my head jerked up.

  “Oh, sorry!” she said softly, picking cubes of ice out of a tray. She passed me a hand towel full of ice to hold to my cheek. It felt good. She was taking care of me: no one had ever really done that for me before. I liked it. A lot.

  Before I realized what she was doing, she pulled the hood of my sweatshirt down and gasped. A
t first, I couldn’t figure out why. Then I remembered my dad shearing off chunks of my hair. From her reaction, it must look pretty bad. Not that I cared anymore. Not about that.

  I closed my eyes.

  “Your father?” she whispered.

  I looked up for a second, meeting her beautiful, sad eyes. I nodded, and looked away.

  “Because of the surfing?” she said, softly.

  I nodded again.

  “Because of me?”

  There was a terrible sadness in her voice, and my eyes blinked open. She thought it was her fault? How could she think that? I had to try and explain.

  “No, it would have happened anyway. I’d already planned to go out with Ches and Mitch today. It’s not your fault…”

  She took a deep breath, and I looked away again.

  “Do you want me to fix it for you?”

  Fix it? What? My life? How could anyone fix that fucked up mess?

  “Do you want me to turn it into a buzz cut?”

  Oh. She was talking about my hair. What a fucking joke.

  “Okay.”

  She gestured for me to follow her, and led me upstairs, into her bathroom. She pushed out a chair for me to sit on, but it was facing the mirror. I didn’t want to see the mess the bastard had made of my face, and I couldn’t bear to see the pity in her eyes anymore.

  “I don’t want to look at myself,” I said, angling the chair away so I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror.

  As if from a great distance, I heard the buzzing of a shaver, and felt her gentle strokes, as she passed it over my head. I watched, apathetic, as clumps of hair fell to the floor.

  When she stopped, her voice was hoarse.

  “All done.”

  Was she sad? Sad for me?

  “It’ll be okay,” she said, quietly.

  If anyone can make it right, you can, Caroline.

  I looked up, her eyes meeting mine. “Will it?”

  “Yes. When you leave home. You won’t have to see him again—either of them.”

  I nodded slowly. It didn’t seem possible.

  “Would you like me to get the ice?” she said, quietly.

  I shook my head.

  “Let me look.”

  Gently, she lifted my chin.

  It felt so good to have her touch my face, I couldn’t help myself. I laid my hand over hers, feeling the shock of her skin beneath mine, the sensation as strong as if powered by an electric charge.