Punk Like Me

by JD Glass

  At some point, having taken my socks and shoes off a while before, I walked over to the water’s edge just to breathe it all in and enjoy the sun, the sand, and the surf all together and washing over me.

  Feet sunk into the sand and water bathing my calves, I was peacefully blank, lost in non-thought.

  “Knew you’d be near the water, Nina,” a low female voice I knew spoke over the crash of the waves. And slightly startled, I turned from my place in the sand with a smile to see Samantha—dark hair loose about her shoulders over a cut-off sleeve, hooded sweatshirt with our school logo on it, a knee-length pair of surf shorts, and bare feet.

  “Yeah, well, you know, we start out swimming and we never stop.” I grinned at her, referring to our mutual love of water and our membership on the school swim team. “Hey, by the way, I’m really glad you made it!”

  Still being respectful of Samantha’s need for time, I hadn’t called too often, just left a message every now and then. She hadn’t really called back, so I didn’t know if she was going to show or not. Obviously, though, she had. Glad she got the message.

  Samantha crossed the few feet from where she stood to join me in the cooling waves, and we gave each other a hug. When we released each other, she casually draped an arm over my shoulder and I put one lightly around her waist. We watched the sun drop down in

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  JD GLASS

  companionable silence.

  “Had to come,” Samantha Þ nally said. “You asked me so nicely.” She looked at me and grinned, then tousled my hair. “But I can’t stay long,” she added, and her expression became a bit rueful. “There’s some things I have to do.”

  Well, I could understand that, and I Þ gured maybe she was feeling a little awkward. It couldn’t be very easy to just try to be normal when so much in her life wasn’t, and I said as much—at least the Þ rst part about understanding, anyway. I didn’t want to say the rest ’cause that was sort of obvious.

  I pushed the forelock back off my face that her tousling and the wind blew. “And besides,” I added, “it is ‘Everybody’s Birthday in July’

  party, ya know, so you had to be here, even if it’s just for a little bit.” I smiled back and mock-punched her shoulder, trying to keep things light. My knuckles barely grazed her shoulder.

  I remembered the present I’d brought for her, and suddenly, I felt a little shy. I could actually feel my face start to ß ush. The sun was just about to dip below the horizon, so I hoped Samantha wouldn’t notice in the lengthening shadows.

  “I, uh, I got you something, nothing big, ya know, just, cool,” I managed to say without stammering too much. I don’t know why I felt so strange. I mean, we’d spent almost every day of nine months hanging out during the school year, for the past two, going on three, years. Maybe it was because this was the Þ rst time we’d actually hooked up outside of the semester? That sure enough sounds right, anyway.

  My words seemed to blow away in the light breeze that played off the water as Samantha jammed her hands into the single pocket of her sweatshirt, and she just watched me brieß y, an expression in her eyes I didn’t understand and a tiny little smile playing on the corner of her mouth.

  Finally she pulled a hand out of her pocket and very gently brushed the hair the wind had blown onto my face behind my ear and lightly cupped my cheek. “You shouldn’t have. You know,” she spoke softly,

  “it’s not necessary.”

  Her Þ ngertips were cool and soft against my heated cheek, and I felt a weird new little pressure build in my throat. I must have had more purple Hi-C than I’d realized, I thought to myself when I felt that same pressure build in my face, even though Samantha removed her hand.

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  PUNK LIKE ME

  “Sure I should, sure it was,” I struggled to answer, only the words came out in a whisper, and I jammed my hand into the pocket of my shorts, scrabbling with my Þ ngertips to Þ nd the little wrapped bit that I’d gotten. Finding it, I jerked it out, practically shoving my hand in her face. “Here, for you,” I stated Þ rmly. “Happy birthday,” and I opened my Þ ngers to let her see the little blue package.

  The sun had sunk even lower, and now the water was grayish blue, the way it looks before a storm.

  Samantha simply stared at me, and I was struck by her eyes. They were the same color as the ocean. Very slowly, very carefully, she reached for my hand, and with a touch so gentle that I could barely feel it, she withdrew the tiny little package.

  I held my breath as she opened it and simply stared at her gift, and I shifted my weight slightly from one foot to another. I found a balance that suited and dug my toes into the wet sand while I waited and watched for, well, I don’t know, something.

  “Oh wow…” she breathed out quietly.

  “Do you, um, do you like it?”

  Samantha Þ nally lifted her eyes to mine, her eyes wide and a soft smile across her lips. “Like it? I love it, Nina.” She grinned at me, slid the little bit of wrapping paper into her front pocket, then held the gift out before her. “Help me put it on?”

  It was a very simple gift, a perfectly reproduced miniature sword—

  a claymore—two inches long on a silver rope chain. I had picked that for her because of her nickname, but more on that later, ’kay?

  “Yeah, sure, no problem.” I smiled back and stepped closer, taking the chain from Samantha’s hand. I reached up around her neck, closing the ends of the chain under her hair, brushing it out to make sure it wasn’t caught. “There,” I said Þ nally as I released the chain, “you’re done.” I stepped back to critique my handiwork. “It looks great on you,” I told her in honest admiration, and watched her Þ ddle with it.

  “It’s very cool, Nina,” she told me, that same little smile playing about the corner of her lips. “Thank you.” Her eyes caught mine and she stepped closer to me.

  “This is it,” a part of my brain thought. “This is what?” asked another. Suddenly I could feel that pressure again in my face and throat—I could feel my pulse jump in my neck—and it seemed to me that we almost swayed into one another. Her face came closer to mine,

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  JD GLASS

  and all I could see were her eyes, and then her lips. The pressure was so great my cheeks tingled with it, and I closed my eyes against it as all the sound disappeared except for the waves, which seemed to dominate everything.

  “Thank you,” whispered Samantha warmly against my face, and the lightest feather of cool heat touched the corner of my lips. It might have only been a moment, but it seemed to last forever. The touch disappeared. “I have to go,” she whispered, and I felt her warmth leave.

  I’ve no idea how long I stood there like that, with my eyes closed and the wind off the water making colder the space Samantha had left, but when I Þ nally opened my eyes, she was long gone.

  I shook my head to clear it from the strange pressure it had felt without and the fuzziness within. Enough of that. I wasn’t drinking anymore Son of Thing, and I had to make my way back to the bonÞ re—

  there was a party going on, and I was there to party, dammit!

  It was funny, though, I thought as I made my way across the sand to the Þ re, where Nicky and our friends were—I could even just make out Kerry coming across the sand to the Þ re; she must have just gotten there—I had been absolutely, positively sure that Samantha had been going to kiss me.

  I shoved that crazy idea Þ rmly out of my head and chalked it up to the effects of too many clear liquors mixed with purple Hi-C. I put a big smile on my face as I rejoined the party.

  “Heya, Hopey,” Kerry called, meaning me. We’d taken to calling each other the names of our two favorite characters from the comic book Love and Rockets— Hopey and Maggie. Nobody knew for sure whether they were or weren’t—lovers, that is—but everyone knew they were close, just like me and Kerry, and somehow we thought it was appropriate. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t ever really bother to analyze
it at the time.

  “Wassup, Maggie?” I danced my way a bit closer to her, and she grabbed my hand.

  “Hey, don’t look now, girl, but I think you’ve got a fan club—no, don’t look now.” She grabbed my other hand as I turned toward the area she’d pointed out and steered me away from the Þ re. “Just keep dancing.”

  I kept bopping about to “Ballroom Blitz” and tried to casually glance over to where Kerry had indicated. Sure enough, across the Þ re,

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  PUNK LIKE ME

  two guys who were new to our group were standing around, each with a plastic cup in his hand, trying to seem casual. Then the taller of the two, a six-foot blond, caught me watching him watch me.

  His face registered surprise, then he turned to his companion and gestured with him to make like they were in the process of discussing the sand, or the Þ re, or something really close by to where Kerry and I were, but not us.

  Yeah. Right.

  Well, whatever. They seemed like nice-enough guys, average everyday sorts, with plain white Tshirts over jeans and bare feet in the sand. I had no idea who they knew in our bunch, and I thought I was pretty much familiar with everyone.

  “You know ’em, Kerry?” I asked her, pointing with my now-warm Coke. I’d had enough of Thing That Came and Stayed at the Halloween party and after my adventure earlier. Now I was keeping an occasional eye on Nicky to make sure Son of Thing didn’t turn out to be why-Ispent-my-summer-in-the-house-when-my-mom-and-dad-yelled-at-me-and-grounded-me-forever-because-my-younger-brother-got-drunk-and-I-didn’t-bodily-restrain-him thing.

  “Nah,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to give them a fuller look-see. “Where’s Nicky?”

  I scanned around and felt panic squeeze my heart when I couldn’t see him on our side of the ß ames. I craned my neck a bit and Þ nally, about twenty feet beyond the Þ re, I saw someone bending over a dark form by the bushes where the sand met the boardwalk. When the Þ gure straightened up, I could see the light glance off something around their neck. I knew it was the lion-head medallion Nicky always wore. “Over there!” I pointed for Kerry and reached for her hand. Together, we walked over to Nicky.

  “Nicky, what happened?” I called out as we approached.

  “Hey, Nee. Rob here said his stomach was bothering him and he felt sick and all, and I didn’t want to leave him alone if he was sick, so I, um, well, here I am…” and Nicky looked at me with troubled eyes.

  A side note here: Nicky is deÞ nitely one of the good guys. He’s going to make someone a great catch someday, and I hope they take good care of him. Or else. Okay, to continue…

  Rob was moaning and groaning on the ground, clutching his stomach. “Ah, Nicky, did you stop to ask him why he’s wearing a garbage bag as a shirt?” I indicated the shiny brown plastic that covered

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  JD GLASS

  Rob from shoulders to hips.

  Nicky looked at me like I was losing it. “No, I just thought he was being, you know, silly and all, like everyone. Why else would he do that?”

  Suddenly, Rob lurched and grunted; he brought himself onto all fours in the sand. “Oh, God, oh, God, I’m dying…” he groaned.

  I grabbed Nicky and Kerry by their sleeves and backed away a good three feet. I knew what was coming, and so did Kerry as she quickly shufß ed behind me, but Nicky was confused.

  “Whatchya go and do that for?” he asked indignantly, jerking his arm away. “He’s gonna die or something and…” He gestured toward Rob, then broke off suddenly to watch the jerky motions Rob was making with his head as he swayed on his knees and elbows.

  A soft, wet sound, like a soaked paper being punched, ß owed out of Rob’s mouth as a pool formed under his head.

  “That’s why you guys call him Chuck!” exclaimed Nicky in sudden understanding.

  A horrible gagging, choking sound followed almost immediately, and Rob raised his head like he was about to howl at the moon. Suddenly, something ß ew out of his mouth and landed on some poor sand rabbits or something with a nasty squelch.

  “And that’s why we call him Yack,” Kerry chimed in from behind me.

  I draped my arms over Nicky’s and Kerry’s shoulders. “C’mon, let’s get going,” I encouraged now that the show was mostly over. Once Yack, well, yacked, things would be Þ ne, especially after he did his little ritual, which I didn’t want to stick around for—I’d already seen it on Halloween. We headed back to the Þ re.

  Nicky hung back a moment and turned around. “But what about—?”

  “He’ll be Þ ne, give him thirty seconds.” I turned and reached an arm around his waist. “C’mon, let’s…” Shit. Too late.

  I’d had another reason for getting back, besides avoiding the rest of Rob’s I’m-drunk-enough-to-puke ritual. I had wanted to get us back over by the Þ re before anyone, especially the new guys, had noticed we’d gone off. I didn’t want to give them ideas, you know what I mean, catch each other’s eye over the Þ re, wander off, hook up in a dark corner, that sort of thing, since it just wasn’t a “me” thing to do, but the Þ re fan club had noticed something was up and had walked over,

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  PUNK LIKE ME

  jostling and shoving each other on the way.

  “Hi, um, we were, um, can we help?” the taller one asked me, holding his cup in one hand and rocking back and forth a bit on his heels.

  “Uh, yeah, is there sort of a problem?” asked his friend.

  “No, just, ah, could you guys step back about, um, three feet?” I asked them, since they were standing right in front of Rob, where he’d huddled himself on the ground again, “and maybe move over here?

  C’mon, hurry!” I had seen Rob’s hand move, and I knew it would be just a matter of minutes before, well, we were between him and the water, while he was between us and the Þ re.

  The guys shufß ed over to us, and with a suddenness that would have surprised anyone who had seen Rob in what had seemed to be his Þ nal agonies only twenty seconds before, he lurched up to his feet, screaming, “Puke Poncho!” He ripped his plastic shirt off and waved it around like a ß ag before letting it loose to ß y in a graceful (if gross) arc—and it ß ew over the two new guys.

  “Aaaarggghhh!” he continued to scream as he pounded his feet and ran furiously toward the surf. Faintly, we could hear him yell before he dove in, “From the sea ye come, to the sea, return!” I looked at the guys. The blond had gotten a miserable soaking, and the shorter one had gotten stuck holding the bag, literally. It had landed on his head and slipped down his back. I felt really, really bad for them. Well, bad and revolted.

  We all stood there, staring dumbly at each other.

  “I’m Nina, this is Nicky, this is Kerry,” I Þ nally said. What else was there to do?

  “I’m Joey, and this is Jack,” the tall one said, and they both appeared as awkward as we felt as everyone thought about shaking hands. Thankfully, everyone settled on just waving.

  “Uh, I’ve got a couple of towels in our bag,” I said.

  “I’ve got an extra pair of shorts,” Nicky chimed in.

  Kerry had been tugging on my shirt since I’d offered the towel, and I Þ nally turned to Þ nd out what she wanted. “Dude, what?” I asked, wondering what was up.

  Her hand was warm as she placed it on my forearm, and her eyes glittered as she stared at me with a strange intensity, measuring me, like there was something I should have known, but didn’t. My own eyes revealed nothing but my own lack of knowledge.

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  JD GLASS

  Finally Þ nding what she was searching for (or not, I guess), she dropped her eyes from mine to look at Joey the Vomit Shirt and Jack the Vomit Head.

  “Um, well, if you don’t mind bike shorts,” Kerry said in a tone that sounded very reluctant as she slipped her hand into mine, and while the Vomit Twins made their way to the ocean to wash off, Kerry and I walked over to the promised rescue clothes. On the way, she
kept glancing over at me with that same expression and dammit—I had no idea what it was I was supposed to know.

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  PUNK LIKE ME

  CHAPTER THREE:

  THE THING THAT CAME AND STAYED

  We had a really good time the rest of that summer, I mean, Nicky and Kerry and me. After the whole thing at the beach, when Joey and Jack bathed themselves in the dubious cleanliness of the ocean and put on borrowed shorts, Joey called me a week later. He wanted to return my towels and Nicky’s shorts. Jack called Kerry, and before you knew it, I guess you could say we had “dates” for the rest of the warm weather.

  Joey had a boat, and Nicky and I went Þ shing, swimming, and daydreaming with him for hours at a time off the Jersey shore. Honest and truly, there’s nothing like getting out onto the water to forget about everything, even the fact that you live in a “civilized” world. If you’re in the right place at the right time, hours can pass without the sight of buildings or people or the sounds of cars and trucks. Complete, blessed silence. I deÞ nitely recommend it to everyone.

  After one of these day trips toward the end of the summer, Nicky and I took a bike ride out to the end of, well, it’s our secret Þ shing spot, so I can’t tell you exactly. There’s a little beach over there and when the tide’s out, you can walk halfway to what everyone says is New Jersey (but I’m not sure about that) before swimming for another Þ fty or so feet. We tried it once and almost got stranded, but that’s another story that resulted in two days’ worth of lectures and a week of hard manual labor. Think ß ower beds and manure.

  Back to the point, though (and free of manual labor), this was one of our favorite spots for Þ shing, crabbing, and clamming. It was mostly catch-and-release. We never kept the crabs or the clams ’cause they were probably contaminated, but it was fun just the same. Besides, it