Kevin Corrigan and Me

by Jere' M. Fishback

  I stood alongside Mr. Davis, looking back at Lane and holding on to a handrail on the console. When Lane gave the thumbs-up, Mr. Davis shoved the throttle forward, and the engine roared. The boat took off, and very quickly Lane emerged from the water, gripping the ski rope’s handle in both his hands. Sunlight reflected off his wet arms and shoulders, and a grin painted his face. Right away, he began cutting across the engine’s V-shaped wake, going back and forth over the wake’s waves, much like snow skiers I’d seen coming down the side of a mountain in an Olympic slalom event.

  “See how his knees are bent?” Mr. Davis hollered, so I could hear over the engine’s roar.

  I nodded.

  “That helps absorb the shocks from the wake when he travels over it.”

  We traveled in a horse-track pattern, going a quarter mile or so before turning in an arc, then going a quarter mile in the opposite direction. After three laps, Lane waved a hand, and Mr. Davis slowed the motor. Lane dropped into the water; he let go of the ski rope, and then his mom gathered in the rope while we circled back to pick up Lane.

  Moments later, I was in the warm and placid water, bobbing in my life vest with my feet inserted into the skis’ stirrups and the tips of my skis pointing skyward. I’d placed the rope between the skis, the way Lane had shown me. When I gave Mrs. Davis the thumbs-up, her husband accelerated. I felt the boat’s pull on the rope, but then I forgot what Mr. Davis had told me. I tried to lift myself upward by pulling on the rope’s handle, and right away, I crashed into the water after losing my grip on the handle. One ski tore loose from my foot, and then I swallowed a good amount of bay water before I surfaced, coughing like crazy and feeling both stupid and clumsy.

  Mr. Davis circled the boat around so I could grab the rope’s handle again. After I put my foot back in the loose ski’s stirrup, I positioned myself as before, in a seated position with my ski tips skyward. When I gave the thumbs-up and the motor roared, I made the same stupid mistake I’d made the first time: I pulled on the rope in a vain attempt to rise.

  Down I went.

  When the boat circled back for me again, I looked at Lane and shook my head. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” I hollered over the engine’s muttering.

  “Nonsense,” Lane hollered back. “Everyone screws up at first; it’s part of learning. Just try to remember: let the boat pull you up.”

  Right after I gave Mrs. Davis my third thumbs-up, I closed my eyes and spoke out loud to myself. “Let the boat pull you up, dumbass. Let the boat pull you up.”

  Fifteen seconds later, I stood on the skis while screaming across the water’s surface. I felt like I was flying. On the boat, Lane waved his hands and pumped his fist. Then he pointed to his knees and made a squatting motion.

  Bend your knees, Jesse.

  I bent my knees. Then, after I turned my hips, I began crossing over the wake’s waves. It seemed like I was driving across a set of railroad tracks each time I did so. I felt my knees absorb the shocks, as Mr. Davis had said.

  After two laps, my shoulders ached and my thighs felt wobbly, I guess because I was using different muscles than I normally did when surfing or mowing lawns. I waved at Mrs. Davis, and then the boat slowed. I let go of the rope handle, then settled into the water, feeling somewhat amazed by the fact I’d actually managed to water-ski. Who’d have guessed?

  The rest of the afternoon sped by. Mr. Davis took his turn in the water, followed by Lane’s mom. Both looked as comfortable on skis as they might be on their living room sofa. I tried to imagine my mom skimming along the water’s surface, but couldn’t. She barely knew how to swim. And then I thought about the huge difference between Lane’s upbringing and mine. Lane was a child of the middle class, the scion of an athletic family with looks as well as physical prowess.

  Me? I was a skinny working-class kid with few physical talents.

  Still, it felt good to spend time with a family like the Davises. When we anchored at Dog Leg Key, a sand spit with a mangrove thicket growing in its center, we all waded to shore with the ice cooler and a canvas beach bag filled with chips and crackers. Then we drank from bottles of cold soda. We gobbled chips while sitting on the island’s sandy shore. I answered Lane’s parents’ questions about myself: my family, my classes at school, my lawn-care business, and even my car. I thought it was nice they showed an interest in my life when they really didn’t have to.

  Lane’s mom said, “Lane tells us you’re in National Honor Society.” And after I nodded, she said, “What are your college plans?”

  I rocked my head from side to side. “I’m not sure the university is something I could afford. Like I said, my dad’s out of the picture, and money’s tight at our house. Maybe I’ll attend community college. That way I could live at home and keep my yard-care business going.”

  Mrs. Davis glanced at Lane, then returned her gaze to me. “Community college is fine, of course, but you’d get a better education up in Gainesville, and not just in the classroom. It’s the variety of people you’d meet there that make the difference.”

  Lane’s dad nodded. “Plus you’re on your own at the university; it teaches you independence.”

  Lane groaned. “Mom, Dad,” he said, “you shouldn’t preach to Jesse.” He turned to me and rolled his eyes. “They’re always telling me this stuff.”

  Mrs. Davis placed her hand on Lane’s forearm. “It’s only because we want the best for you, sweetie. You know that.”

  Lane gazed into his lap and nodded. “Still, let’s give the college talk a rest today. We’re supposed to be having fun, alright?”

  I felt a little awkward at that moment, like I was intruding on Lane’s family’s private issues, so I didn’t say anything. I only poked at the sand with the end of a driftwood stick I’d found until Lane nudged my shoulder. “Let’s take a swim,” he said, and moments later, we stood up to our waists in the bay, about fifty feet from the key’s shore. We had swum out there, and now our hair was plastered to our skulls and beads of bay water glistened on our shoulders.

  “Sorry about my parents’ lecturing,” Lane said, just softly enough that they couldn’t hear him. “It’s like they can’t help themselves.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said. “They mean well, and what they’re saying is probably right: the university’s my best option. But paying for it’s a problem.”

  Lane shrugged. “Talk to the guidance counselor at school. She might be able to help with that.”

  I lowered my gaze and nodded.

  “I’ll do that,” I said.

  When I returned home from the Davises’ house, my sister studied a chemistry text at our dining table while my mom rattled pots and pans in the kitchen.

  The first thing I said to each of them was, “Has Kevin called?”

  They both shook their heads, and then I headed for the bathroom to get myself clean. I stood beneath the showerhead, feeling warm water pound my shoulders and chest, while I pondered the afternoon I’d just spent with Lane and his folks. All three of them had treated me like I was part of their family and not just a guest. And when I left their place, both Lane and his dad shook my hand. Mrs. Davis gave me a hug.

  “Come see us again,” she told me. “You’re always welcome here.”

  But despite the fact I’d enjoyed the hell out of myself with the Davises, I felt guilty about the way things had ended with Kevin that morning. I’d hurt Kevin’s feelings, I thought, and now I wondered if I had ruined all the progress we’d made in our relationship since the day Kevin told me his father was dead. Since then, Kevin had been less guarded about his feelings for me and more affectionate. In my mind, we were boyfriends now, and yet I had chosen water-skiing with Lane over surfing with Kevin.

  No wonder Kevin was angry with me.

  After I got myself dressed, I slipped out the front door and strolled to a phone booth on the corner of Gulf Boulevard. Traffic swished by as I dumped a nickel and dime into coin slots before dialing Kevin’s number. I chewed my lips while t
he Corrigans’ phone rang once, twice, and a third time before Kevin’s mom answered.

  After I told her it was me, I asked for Kevin.

  “He’s over at a neighbor’s right now,” she said, and right away, my mood plunged. I was pretty certain which neighbor Kevin was visiting, and I was fairly sure what the two of them were up to as well. Kevin, I knew, was exacting his revenge on me, and I was paying for my disloyalty in a very hurtful manner. Someone else was touching Kevin the way only I should touch him, and it was my fault; I had brought it upon myself.

  “Will you have him call me when he gets home?” I asked in a shaky voice.

  After Mrs. Corrigan said yes and I said thanks, the conversation ended. I stood there in the phone booth, just staring through the glass at passing traffic and feeling as blue as I’d ever been in my life.

  Kevin, of course, did not return my call. When Thursday night rolled around, I camped out in our living room with a textbook in my lap that I couldn’t even concentrate on because I was too nervous. I sat and stared at the silent telephone on our desk. I waited from seven thirty till nine p.m., but Kevin never called. He didn’t call when the weekend arrived either.

  Saturday, while I mowed and edged lawns, I felt hollow inside, like someone had scooped the internal organs out of my body and tossed them into a trashcan. I made lackluster conversations with my customers when they paid me while trying my best to keep our talks to a minimum. I even declined Spencer’s offer of a Coke and a Marlboro when I tended his parents’ yard. The only person I felt like speaking to was Kevin. I craved his presence and the sound of his voice, and I yearned for his piney scent.

  Then do something about it.

  Saturday night, right after my sister and I cleaned up the dinner dishes, I dressed in good school clothes and penny loafers. I combed my hair, brushed my teeth, and gargled with mouthwash. I dabbed cologne on my neck, then told my mom I was going out for a while, to spend time with my Civitan buddies, but my story was a lie.

  I climbed into the Dart and fired up the engine. Then I drove to Bishop Keating High School, only stopping along the way to buy a pack of L&Ms. By the time I arrived at the school, darkness had fallen. Lights inside the gymnasium glowed and the parking lot was jammed with at least a hundred cars, some new and shiny, others older with faded paint jobs and dented bumpers. I drove up and down the rows until I found what I was looking for: Kevin’s car. I parked in a space fairly close to the Mustang, then exited the Dart.

  Crickets chirped in live oaks growing in the parking lot’s perimeter. The words of a tune popular at the time, “The Letter” by Neon Rainbow, wafted from the gymnasium’s open clerestory windows. I leaned against my car’s front fender and lit a cigarette with a match. I blew streams of smoke like a dragon while keeping my gaze fixed on Kevin’s car.

  I wasn’t really sure what I was doing at Bishop Keating or what I would say if I saw Kevin, but I felt I belonged exactly where I was. Kevin was my prey. So, I waited and smoked, and then I waited some more. Each time I glanced at my wristwatch, it seemed like the workings of the watch were gummed up with glue.

  Every five minutes or so, a couple emerged from the gym’s open double doors, and then the building’s interior lights would cast a yellow rectangle of light onto the sidewalk leading from the gym to the parking lot. The boys were dressed much as I was while the girls wore white blouses and dark skirts hemmed at the knee. The couples almost always strolled to one car or another, and then, after they climbed into the front or rear seat, I was fairly certain what went on in the shadows.

  A half hour passed. I had already smoked four cigarettes and my throat felt like I’d taken sandpaper to it. I was thirsty as hell too. So I walked to the gymnasium in search of a water fountain, and just when I approached the gym’s open doors, two couples emerged from inside. We all came face to face with one another. The girls and one of the boys I didn’t know. But the other boy was Kevin. As soon as his gaze met mine, he knitted his eyebrows, then looked away. He and the girl with him brushed past me without saying a word. Both couples walked in the direction of Kevin’s car.

  I stood at the gym doors, flexing my fingers at my hips while my heart pounded and my vision blurred. What should I do? Kevin hadn’t even acknowledged my presence when he saw me. He treated me like I was invisible or maybe something to be ashamed of.

  I entered the gym, where throngs of teenagers, all dressed very much the same, swayed to the beat of a tune by the Supremes, “My World is Empty Without You.” The music blasted from a pair of speakers taller than me. The room was warm because so many people were in there and most were moving about. Clumps of adults stood here and there, the women wearing dresses and heels, the men white shirts and ties, and I presumed they were chaperones. I bought an admission ticket for seventy-five cents from a lady with close-cropped hair and horn-rimmed glasses who sat behind a card table. Then I found the men’s room, where I splashed my face with cold water at a sink. I drank from the tap till my throat didn’t feel so parched. Then I dried my face with a paper towel. When I studied my reflection in the mirror above the sink, my eyes had a stricken look to them, as though I were in pain, and in a sense, I was. Not physical pain but the emotional variety.

  After I ambled back into the gym, I stood at the edge of the dance floor, feeling utterly out of place. I didn’t know a single soul in the room. I might as well have been in a foreign country. All around me, kids were grinning and chattering away. Two boys in black letterman’s sweaters with gold Ks sewn on the pockets sold cola in paper cups. I bought a cup for a quarter. Then I tapped a toe while I sipped the fizzy liquid and chewed on chipped ice.

  I figured I had three options at that point. First, I could remain inside the gym in the hope that Kevin would return, but it was possible he wouldn’t. Second, I could leave campus and go back home, which seemed like a chickenshit move. Kevin had already seen me and he knew why I was there. Leaving right now would make me look cowardly. Third, I could go to Kevin’s Mustang and ask to speak with him, which I thought was probably my best choice. At least something would happen, and what did I have to lose?

  After I tossed my cola cup into a trashcan, I squared my shoulders and headed for the exit doors. Outside, the temperature was mercifully cooler, but I still felt dampness in my armpits as I strode toward the Mustang. My pulse drummed inside my head. When I got to Kevin’s car, the windows were rolled down but the interior dome light wasn’t lit, and I found it hard to see what was going on inside.

  After I placed my hands on the driver’s door sill, I squinted and looked inside. Kevin held his girl in his arms. The two were kissing and the girl’s eyes were closed. One of her hands rested on Kevin’s thigh. In the backseat, much the same was going on, so no one even noticed my presence until I cleared my throat. Both couples separated like I’d zapped them with a cattle prod.

  “Jesus Christ, Jesse,” Kevin hollered when he saw it was me. “What are you doing here?”

  I shifted my weight from one leg to the other while I pondered what I should say. In the meantime, the girl in the backseat said, “Who is that?”

  “Just someone I know,” Kevin said.

  I cleared my throat again. Then I told Kevin, “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m busy right now.”

  “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  The girl seated next to Kevin whispered something in his ear, and then Kevin told me, “Okay, but let’s make it quick.”

  Kevin left his car. Then we walked out of earshot of the folks in the Mustang. After we both leaned our butts against a car’s fender, I offered Kevin an L&M, and we lit up. The ashes on our cigarettes glowed in the darkness while crickets continued to chirp.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked.

  “What does it matter if I am?” Kevin said.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I should’ve canceled the skiing and stayed with you. It’s just Lane’s the first new friend I’ve had in a long time and—”

  Kevin his
sed. “That makes him more important than me?”

  When I squeezed Kevin’s shoulder, he shrugged off my hand. “Don’t touch me like that,” he said. “Not here.”

  I glanced over at the Mustang, then looked at Kevin again. “I need to see you,” I said. “After the dance, why don’t you come to my place; you can spend the night. Tomorrow I’ll lend you a pair of surfing trunks. Then we can hit the sandbar; we can share my board.”

  Kevin drew on his cigarette. Thirty seconds passed before he spoke. “I’ll think about it, but I’m not promising anything. In the meantime, you need to get out of here. What you and I do at your house is one thing. My life at school is another, understand?”

  I nodded, feeling like some family’s idiot child they always kept locked in a bedroom so no one else could see him. “Okay,” I said. “If that’s what you want.”

  After Kevin dropped his cigarette onto the asphalt, he crushed it with his toe.

  “That’s what I want,” he said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Of course Kevin didn’t come to my house the night I visited Bishop Keating, nor did he call or otherwise contact me in the weeks following, and after a while, I came to believe that our relationship, whatever it had been, was through. In the Bishop Keating parking lot, Kevin had made it clear that his life was strictly compartmentalized. At school he was one person, at my house he was another, and I wasn’t a person he wished to be seen with when his Catholic friends were around.

  By now, I saw Kevin’s jealous snit over Lane for what it truly was, and it wasn’t the type of jealousy that stemmed from love. Kevin was only angry that I didn’t plan my Sunday around him, when he had nothing better to do than surf with me. He expected me to make myself available to him whenever he wanted, but I had no right to expect the same from him. And how fair was that?