It Looks Like This

by Rafi Mittlefehldt

  He says, Let’s go.

  I blink.

  I say, Wait, now?

  He nods, smiling now, and says, Absolutely. You need to go at night at least once before it’s too cold.

  I stand, a bit too fast, and brace myself on the table with one hand. I didn’t realize how dizzy I was from the beer while sitting down, and it all seems to rush at me at once. But the feeling passes quickly.

  I say, Isn’t it too cold now?

  Sean laughs.

  He says, Maybe,

  but he’s already pulling me toward the door.

  We go out the back. Sean doesn’t lock the door, just goes, and I follow him through the gate and down the driveway and onto the sidewalk.

  He takes long strides and I have to kind of jog a bit every now and then to keep up.

  We’re covered in the yellow light of streetlamps and the chirping of millions of crickets and a breeze that comes and goes.

  We don’t need jackets. Even with the breeze it’s only a little cool.

  We walk for fifteen minutes and then the yellow light leaves us, and then the crickets leave us too. I can hear the ocean, faint, but I can’t see it. Ahead is darkness that is almost complete. The moon shines, then doesn’t, covered sometimes with passing clouds, and there are times I can make some things out and times I can see almost nothing past a few feet in front of me except Sean’s somehow darker silhouette.

  The ground beneath changes and gives. We’re on sand.

  I look over my shoulder at the fading yellow lights, see the glow from the street fall back.

  We walk closer and now I can see the ocean, moon or not, whitecaps crashing on the shore.

  Sean stops a few feet from the tide line and again I almost bump into him.

  He turns and looks at me. Even in the dark I can see his eyes.

  He says, Let’s go in.

  I can feel myself grinning. I say, It’s gotta be freezing.

  He says, So?

  I say, We don’t have swimsuits,

  and I’m still smiling despite myself and shivering a bit now too, and he says,

  So?

  And he turns back toward the ocean. The moon is out full now, a break from the clouds, and I can see him pretty well. He rips his shirt off, flinging it aside.

  He kicks his shoes off next as he walks toward the water, and then the jeans, almost tripping over them.

  Then his briefs, throwing them to the side, skin shimmering and dark in the moonlight, and then he dives in.

  Sean whoops when the water hits him, and he goes under and then back up a moment later, howling at the cold and shaking water from his hair and laughing.

  I’m laughing now too. Shivering, not from the cold.

  He calls: Come on!

  That’s all I need. I take my own clothes off, slower than he did and more self-conscious, but I get them off.

  I hesitate only a bit before pulling down my underwear and then I run in, and with each step I care a little less about being naked.

  The water hurts when I hit it, it’s so cold. It’s been a warm fall but it’s still December. But it’s so good too. I yelp, I can’t help it, and Sean laughs more.

  He splashes me right when I come up for air, and the cold covers me and I yelp-laugh again.

  But the more I go underwater, the less cold I feel. The more I want to swim, move, splash.

  Sean is nearby, treading water and watching me, and I go to him.

  He splashes me and I laugh, wiping ocean water from my eyes. I try to splash him back but he’s fast, he dives to the side and underwater.

  He comes up behind me and splashes again. Out of instinct I swing my arm back to splash and barely get him. Sean laughs, caught, and tackles me.

  His arms lock around my chest and we wrestle, him trying to get me underwater. I’m no match and I go under, holding my breath just in time. The sounds of the night turn muffled and watery, bubbling around me, and I can taste salt water, I can feel his arms across my front, his chest against my back. Out of nowhere I think of my friend Nick from sixth grade, of a summer day in a neighborhood pool. For just a second. Then my mind returns to the present.

  We wrestle a bit and when it’s clear he’s won, Sean lets go, laughing. I catch my breath and I’m laughing too.

  Nearby I find a spot where I don’t need to tread. The sand is rough below, full of sharp shells, and I imagine crabs and jellyfish, but I stand anyway. The water comes up to just above my waist. Sean is in front of me.

  We stand there for a minute, laughing quietly, too close, way too close, and I’m shivering but I’m not cold anymore.

  Then I feel Sean put his hands on my waist underwater and I stop smiling. The moon’s out again, miles out over the ocean. It bounces off the rippling water under us, making patterns of light against Sean’s cheeks, his nose, his chin, his chest, his arms. It dances in his eyes.

  Slowly, slowly, I put my hands on his waist too.

  He pulls me toward him and I go, I can’t help it.

  Our faces are just inches apart. His breath comes out in vapor, and I watch it so I’m not looking at him. Then he kisses me.

  It’s a while before I even think about what’s happening.

  It’s a weird feeling. His lips are against mine, really tight, and then his mouth opens. I can feel his tongue and I don’t know what to do at first, but then I try to do what he’s doing, just move my tongue around. I can’t tell if this is really what I’m supposed to be doing, but somehow it feels really, really great.

  His chest is against mine, then his waist is against mine. He puts his hands on my lower back, squeezing me toward him. My own fingers move along his skin in a bunch of different directions. He’s warm against the cold water.

  Sean pulls away suddenly and looks at me serious, and for a second I get scared.

  He stays that way for just a moment. But then he pulls me back toward him again.

  He kisses me again and his hands slide lower from my back. I almost push away out of instinct, but I stop myself. I look at him a moment.

  He’s looking back at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking from his face.

  But I lean into him again, moving my hands all over him. I touch his neck and move down to his chest, sort of rubbing it. I’ve never rubbed someone’s chest before, and I don’t even know if that’s like a thing, but it feels all right. And plus he’s doing the same thing so I figure it’s okay.

  I touch the little ridges between his abs, shining wet in the moon. The water line comes just below.

  I hesitate just a bit then reach down, feeling all around. He gasps a bit.

  My face flushes warm and I start to mumble that I’m sorry, but then he reaches down too.

  I hold my breath for a second and my heart starts beating really fast.

  He’s kind of rough and it hurts a little, but it’s a good kind of hurt. I try to do what he’s doing and after a bit we have kind of a rhythm.

  We lean into each other, my forehead on his shoulder, my free hand on his back. I close my eyes for a second, and then I realize my hand is just going up and down his back in one line which seems kind of weird, so I just stop moving it.

  My eyes open suddenly and I grunt out a bit without even meaning to make a noise. Against me I can feel his body tense up and then kind of jerk a bit. Then he lets out a breathy sigh.

  I’m breathing hard, but it’s slowing now. I have the weirdest urge to laugh, and I lift my head up to look at Sean, and as I do, he puts his hand on my arm.

  He says, You can’t tell anyone about this.

  He doesn’t look angry or anything, just kind of agitated. Kind of scared. I open my mouth but don’t really know what to say, I’m kind of distracted by trying to read his expression.

  He says, Anyone.

  My mouth is open and I’m not breathing, just staring up at him, and then I say,

  I won’t.

  Nothing happens for a second, and then he lets go and his face relaxes.

&nb
sp; He says, Right, okay.

  He looks down again and shakes his head.

  He says, Jesus,

  and laughs softly.

  He says, Sorry. I know you won’t tell.

  I relax again and smile a bit.

  He looks around now, at the ocean and the shore, and shivers, and smiles, and says,

  Let’s get out of this freezing water.

  We watch the sunrise at Mill Point Beach.

  Black at first. Quiet except the waves, sleepy and dark, moon gone.

  Then:

  Pink, mostly. Bursts of orange beneath. Hot red, bright yellow. Deep blues racing away, chased by morning. Ocean below, reflecting everything.

  Color everywhere, coming slowly out of black, bursting, exploding, breathing, erasing darkness.

  I freeze it in my mind, hold it there. So I can draw it later.

  We’re so tired when we finally get up and walk back to Sean’s house.

  Dad wakes me up at eleven o’clock.

  He’s annoyed. Even half asleep I can tell. Dad doesn’t like it when we sleep late, and eleven is about as late as you can get.

  I got home three hours ago. Dad was awake, of course. He watched me walk in without saying anything, go straight to my room. I was so tired.

  I’m still so tired.

  He says, How was the sleepover?

  I’m barely there, still half awake, and the colors of Mill Point Beach are running through my mind. I prop myself up on my elbows.

  I say, It was fun.

  Dad acts like he’s been waiting for this word.

  He says, Fun? Weren’t you two working on a project?

  I stare at him, blinking, eyes squinting, dry and crusty. My elbows get tired and I fall back down on my bed.

  I say, Yeah, we worked on the magazine a bunch. But it was a Friday; we also just chilled.

  Through the slits of my eyes I can see Dad frown.

  He says, You should get up.

  And he walks to the door.

  He pauses with his hand on the knob and turns back and says,

  We’re going to church tomorrow.

  Like an angry threat almost. Then he leaves.

  I lie in bed for about a minute, and then I get up.

  Like he said to.

  Terry sits next to me in the pew, taking in the sermon, quiet like usual. Thoughtful.

  Toby is on my other side again, scowling. She protested coming but Dad wasn’t having any of it. More family time, he said.

  Mom just smiled her thin smile.

  I don’t see Sean and I’m not really surprised ’cause he said he doesn’t go that much. But I’m still a bit disappointed.

  After the sermon Dad goes off with Mom to talk to some of the church elders. Me and Toby and Terry watch them from the other side of the social room, where everyone’s gathered for refreshments. Lemonade and stale cookies mostly.

  I ask, What’s that about?

  Terry’s dad is one of the people in the group talking with Dad while Mom looks on.

  Terry takes a bite out of his cookie, shortbread with pecans.

  He says, I think your dad wants to get more involved in the church.

  Toby snorts into her lemonade and Terry looks at her.

  He says, What? I think it’s a pretty cool idea.

  Toby looks like she wants to say something pretty bad but she sees me staring at her. I don’t really want to deal with them fighting right now and I think she can tell.

  She finally rolls her eyes and says,

  Whatever,

  and takes her lemonade outside to wait for us.

  I wait a bit and say, What kind of involvement? Like an elder?

  Terry shrugs.

  He says, Dad’s mentioned it, but just in passing. I don’t know if your dad is actually looking to become an elder, but I tend to think he wouldn’t turn down an invitation.

  I nod slowly. Dad as an elder. I think about this for a minute, wondering how I feel. The idea doesn’t upset me exactly, but it makes me a bit uneasy and I can’t figure out why.

  We stand there quiet for a few moments eating cookies and drinking lemonade and watching the adults talk to one another.

  Then I say, Do you know Sean Rossini?

  Terry nods.

  He says, Yeah, I see him here sometimes. His parents are friends with mine. They’re right over there.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  I say, What?

  Terry points to the group talking to Dad and, sure enough, Mr. Rossini is among the men. I hadn’t seen him before. His wife is nearby, watching the group quietly, but intently. Her brows are bunched a little and her chin is raised just a bit and her mouth is set. I watch her deep brown eyes flick back and forth between the men as they speak in turn.

  Terry says, I think they come every week, but Sean only joins them every once in a while. Like you.

  I let that go.

  I say, Are you friends?

  He says, Not really. I don’t know him that well. Why?

  I can feel myself blushing and hope it doesn’t show.

  I say, Oh, he’s in my French class. We’re working on a project together.

  Terry nods but I can tell he’s still not sure why I brought this up.

  Dad and Mom come over before I have a chance to say anything else, though. The Rossinis and Terry’s parents walk up with them. Dad looks pleased with himself.

  He glances at Terry and then at me and says,

  Look who we’ve just met, Mike.

  I nod and hold my hand out to Sean’s dad.

  I say, Hi, Mr. Rossini.

  He shakes my hand and says, Sean tells me you actually got some work done Friday. Impressive.

  He’s looking at me with that same unblinking stare that doesn’t really match his polite smile.

  I say, Yessir. We should be done with the magazine soon.

  He says, Well, I hope so, it’s almost the end of term.

  He says it in a joking way but his voice is too loud.

  I shake Mrs. Rossini’s hand. All she does is nod.

  The Rossinis say good-bye and head toward the big double doors. Dad watches them go for a second, then turns to Toby and me.

  He says, Terry’s father has invited us all to Sunday dinner at their house. Isn’t that nice?

  Terry smiles, and then so do I.

  I say, Cool,

  and then remembering my manners before Dad can correct me I say,

  Thanks, Mr. Reese.

  Terry’s dad, already smiling, just nods.

  Toby is seething in the car ride over to Terry’s house, but she knows better than to say anything.

  Sunday dinner after church.

  Mom and Dad, me and Terry, Mr. and Mrs. Reese.

  And Toby.

  I look back and forth between Toby and Mom, between Toby and Mrs. Reese. I think about how different she is, about how much Dad has tried to make her the same.

  I think about how much Dad and Mr. Reese are the same. I think about how Terry is like them too. About how I’m supposed to be, and usually I can pass, but sometimes not.

  I think about Ronald’s mom and what it would be like for her to be here. Almost divorced, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, bags under her eyes but easy to smile. She swears sometimes and drinks a bit of wine and has a hard, deep laugh.

  She’d be so out of place at this dinner. Like Toby.

  The thought makes me smile.

  Mr. Reese says, Something funny, Mike?

  He’s smiling as he says it.

  I come to and shake my head slightly.

  I say, Oh, no, sir, I was just thinking about something.

  He nods and then says, How are you doing over at Somerdale High? Keeping up?

  I say, Yessir, I’m doing okay, I guess. High school’s not as hard as they made it sound in eighth grade.

  He laughs at this, a soft chuckle that comes out evenly.

  He says, Yeah, they gotta talk it up so that some of the slackers will take it seriou
sly. But I’m not surprised it’s easy for you — you’re a bright kid.

  I nod. Mr. Reese is a nice man, but talking to him still makes me nervous and I never get why. But part of it is how careful and polite everything sounds. He talks like someone in a movie from the forties.

  Toby groans. It’s a low and quiet groan. No one but me hears it. She hates this dinner.

  But I don’t mind it. I dunno. Maybe I’m not just passing. Maybe I really am enjoying myself.

  After dinner Mom helps Mrs. Reese with the dishes, and Dad and Mr. Reese go off to the living room to talk. Terry and I go up to his room. He just got a new Xbox and wants to show me.

  He offers to show Toby too, but she asks Mom if she can go for a walk instead. Mom gives her an anxious look. Dad is too far away to ask and Mrs. Reese is watching.

  Mom twists her wedding ring around and around and says, All right, Toby, just don’t be out too long.

  She watches as Toby slips out the kitchen door.

  Terry’s room is big and really, really clean. He walks over to the TV on the far wall and turns it on, then fiddles with the Xbox. There are a couple soft bloops, and the logo comes onscreen.

  He shows me how he can move without controls, and the Xbox will mirror it. He flicks his hand from right to left, and the screen slides with it, like he’s flipping a page.

  Terry lets me try and I mimic his actions. I get the hang of it pretty quickly, but it still takes a while for it to look natural.

  Terry gets bored after a few minutes and then says,

  Hey, you know how we talked about that thing last time?

  I stare at him. I don’t remember.

  He says, About porn.

  I nod. I remember now.

  He smiles a bit, looking at the ground. Then he looks up.

  He says, Can I show you something?

  I nod again.

  Terry walks over to the door, peers out into the hallway, then closes it quietly. He tiptoes over to a trunk he keeps at the foot of his bed and opens it. It’s filled with old winter clothes. Heavy coats, scarves, hats, lots of hand-knit mittens.

  He digs around for a bit and then pulls a wrinkled magazine from the bottom. The cover shows the face of a naked blond woman. A man is right behind her. You can’t see his face but he’s grabbing her hair and having sex with her.

  My stomach drops a bit. I both like and don’t like the feeling.

  Terry says, Mom and Dad have a parental control program on my computer, so this was all I could get.