Clay's Way

by Mastbaum, Blair

  This is really sick. I’ve seen how different Clay is around his friends, but that’s pretty easy to accept and pretty normal, too, for a surfer in Hawaii who listens to punk rock music, parties a lot, and smokes weed, but I had no idea he had the capability of being this peaceful, sensitive hippie boy. I don’t want to know this. This is almost pathetic. Is nothing sacred? Why’s he have to be so brilliant at such a fucked-up skill? A genius of deception. That sounds like the name of a movie or something, or a book about a man with three separate families, all in different states.

  I feel betrayed. Why can’t he be a genius at expressing himself, making me feel loved and cared about? He fooled me.

  “If you look straight into their eyes, you can see their souls.” Clay says to Anar, trying to hold the unwilling dog’s face to his.

  I was the idiot who believed him when he said I was cool and cool-looking and interesting to him and smart and funny and that he liked me for me, which is totally rare. I was seeing an act. Seeing him convert to hippie-dom puts an entirely new slant on the rest of his personality. What came off before as spaced-out surferboy, now seems like overly open-minded and downright desperate, which I really hate in people.

  “You into drumming, you know bongos and all that shit? A went with my best brah to Maui last year and everyone was drumming. It’s really cool, under the stars--the ancient tribal rhythm.”

  “Yeah, I know a couple guys that are into it.”

  “I’d like to get into that shit.” Clay nods a couple times.

  What a lie. He hates hippies. Well, he did yesterday and every other day before that. He’s making me lose trust in people, like a dog that’s been beaten too many times. The dog just walks around like the victim with its tail between its legs. That’s going to be me.

  “It’s really cool meeting you, dude. I like to meet all different types of people.”

  I want to punch Clay in the face till he bleeds. I want to rip off his clothes right here on the spot and unmask him. On one side of me, I feel high pressure, cold and dry, and on the other, low pressure that’s warm and humid. A front’s moving in. If a tornado materializes right here on Kalalau beach, I won’t be surprised.

  “You guys been friends a long time?” Anar innocently asks. He’s interested in us. He’s curious.

  Maybe, I should lie to him and tell him that Clay and I just met on the hike, so we all start on equal ground, or maybe I should totally exaggerate our friendship, make it sound like we’re brothers, practically. I’m definitely not telling him that we do it sometimes or that I’m in love with him.

  He doesn’t deserve to know that, yet, if ever.

  I make my way out of the haze of thought. “Yeah, well, we knew each other when I was like 12, then we didn’t see each other till last year.” I want Anar to know that he’s nowhere close to knowing Clay as well as I do, but I don’t want to lie to the point where I’ll forget what I said and get caught. Other people always remember what I say much better than I do.

  “I’m glad you guys showed up. I was going crazy with my sister and her friend. All they wanna do is meet guys. They’re so boring.” With a dumb smile, Anar watches Clay play with the dog. He looks at Clay with an admiration that even I find incredibly naive.

  Maybe Clay should go out with him. He could just do what he wants without having to feel judged and dissected.

  Love should be simple like that, I guess. I forget how to feel love as a simple emotion. For me, love’s a jumbled mass of hidden feelings, indirect motivation, and uncontrollable lust. “How old’s your sister?”

  “20-one. She’s a nursing student.”

  “I hate nurses,” I say to him quietly, so Clay doesn’t hear.

  “Oh?” He doesn’t know the full impact of my declaration. “You have any brothers or sisters?” he asks.

  “No. Thank God. The house is already too small for just me and my parents. I need a lot of space, you know, to have a clear mind.” I sound like Clay.

  Yeah, it’s hard living in one big room with my parents.”

  Clay looks up all the sudden. “How do you jack off?” Of course he had to bring up Anar’s dick that asshole. I bet he wants to see it. I hate him for it. He runs after the dog toward the ocean.

  Now I can’t stop picturing Anar naked and coming up with dumb, see-through schemes to get him into the tent alone. I get a boner as I picture Clay and Anar sucking each other off. What’s happening to me?

  Clay looks up at me and Anar talking, but he’s too far away to hear us.

  I smile and laugh trying to make him think I’m having a great time with him and that Anar’s mine, not his.

  Clay jogs away, throwing the stick for the dog to fetch down the beach.

  I want to ask him where he’s going or chase after him, but I can’t. He’ll see my insecurity if I do and he’ll know I’m just playing a game to make him jealous. I have to be strong, inflexible, and expressionless if I’m going to win.

  Anar watches Clay run down the beach past several campfires, getting smaller and smaller as he passes through orange pools of light with different groups hanging around each one. “Do you believe that stuff about night marchers?”

  Here’s my chance to have some control around here. “There are people who swear they have seen them. I don’t know. Weirder shit happens in Hawaii.” Like me going insane.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You have a girlfriend?” I ask strongly, like Clay would.

  “Nope. Never have.”

  “What do you mean, never?”

  “Never liked anyone.” He looks like he feels uncomfortable and shy and wishes I’d stop the quiz show now. His restlessness only makes me wanna make him even more uncomfortable and feel the power of intimidation that I so rarely get to experience. It’s mean, I know, but I can’t help it. A weird part of me needs to fill in for Clay’s rude comments and bad attitude while he’s gone.

  “So what’s the deal? How could you never like anyone? There must be some hot girls on Maui.” I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ll rot in hell.

  Anar looks away from me and down to his hands.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve heard stories about Maui girls.” I smile at him and wink, and almost immediately want to crawl in a hole and hide for acting so aggressive.

  “Whatever story you heard about Maui girls,” he exaggerates Maui girls and makes me feel stupid for trying to be so cool or whatever, “has to be total bullshit.” He probably thinks I’m a real asshole, or maybe he knows I’m putting on an act, which would be even more humiliating.

  I want to start over with him. I’ve made hanging out with him a burden. I have to keep tabs on all the lies I’ve told and things I’ve said to make my character believable and have continuity. I have to lighten this up. “So, how long are you gonna camp here?”

  “A couple more days. We’ve already been here for three.”

  I can tell by the lack of bullshit in his head and the golden color of his skin that he’s telling the truth.

  Tiny crystals of salt make his eyebrows sparkle in the firelight.

  I want to lick them off.

  “How long are you guys staying?” he asks with anticipation.

  “I don’t know. Whenever I get sick of it.”

  Clay comes running up and throws me a bottle of beer, which almost slams into my face, then he stops and presents another one to Anar, like he’s a waiter trying to get a good tip. “There’s some cool Australian guys over there. I taught them how to say vagina in Hawaiian.” He does a couple karate chops, then sits down on the sand and lies back looking up to the almost full moon.

  Anar asks, “How?”

  “Duh, pu nani. Who doesn’t know that?” I can see the shape of Clay’s dick through his shorts, and the thickening of his torso in his chest, lit by the fire.

  Anar watches him, waiting for the next words he speaks, like they’re important.

  I’m jealous of how laid back Clay can be aroun
d strangers.

  He doesn’t care that Anar saw him naked, which makes me feel replaceable.

  “Anar’s sister is a nursing student,” I say to Clay.

  Clay raises his head, like a dog hearing an intruder. “So?”

  I look at Anar. “Clay’s girlfriend’s a nurse.”

  Anar nods.

  Here’s my chance to win this pathetic competition. “Have you heard the story about that nurse at Honolulu Hospital? She was going in at night when the hospital was almost empty and performing frontal lobotomies on male patients, then she’d make them fall in love with her. I figure she was a real slut, that’s all. The guys didn’t even know what hit them. She made them into who she wanted them to be and they didn’t even remember who they were before they met her. I saw a photo of her. Real cheap looking.”

  “What happened to her?” Anar’s politely riveted.

  “She gave her last lobotomy to this surfer and he felt obligated to sleep with her and put up with her, like all the others, but...”

  “Shut up, man.” Clay sits up from his laid back position really fast.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “You think I’m stupid?”

  I look at Anar, who looks confused. “So, anyway, the surfer tried to enjoy himself every time he fucked her, but she was really horrible. She didn’t even know how to give a good hand job.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Clay rubs his bicep.

  “Make me.”

  Anar looks back and forth between us, trying to figure out which one of us is the bad guy.

  Clay stands up. His intense glare is made stronger-looking from the flames reflecting in his eyes. He walks over to me and stops so close that all I can see is the front of his shorts with a couple black hairs sticking out the top.

  “Move. You’re blocking my view, dumb ass.”

  He leans over in my face, stares at me with a look between being hurt angry, and pushes me backwards as hard as he can.

  I fall back into the sand and stare up at the black sky.

  The tornado has formed. Through the corner of my eye, I see Clay grab his beer out of the sand. He kicks sand in my face as he runs off.

  I don’t want to sit up and look away from the solace of the dark sky, but I have no choice. I have to face Anar. There’s no one else.

  He’s in shock. He’s looking at me like he wants to rescue me but he’s not sure if I’m cool. All he knows of Clay is a sweet cute surferboy who’s patient, strong and wants to get into playing bongos. All he knows of me is a bitter, conniving, little prick of a boy who has huge inconsistencies in his personality and tries to act bigger than I am. “What was that about?” He sorta sounds like he’s taking my side.

  “His girlfriend, Tammy. She doesn’t like me and I don’t like her. I used to go out with her and he’s always been jealous.” If I tell the truth, he’ll think I’m psychotic.

  Anar helps me up and sits down next to me.

  I can smell him. I get a boner that looks obvious poking out the thin fabric of my shorts, but I don’t mind. I hope he’ll notice, but I don’t know what I’ll do if he does.

  He leans back on his arms, his leg touching mine.

  I concentrate on the point of contact and press my thigh into him as hard as I can without being totally blatant about it. I don’t know if he’s queer or whatever, and if he’s not, I’m gonna feel really, really stupid. Our faces are really close.

  He moves his leg a little, squirming around my side.

  All my instincts tell me to touch Anar as much as I possibly can. My brain says, no! of course, because I love Clay and want to be with him forever, but I’m worried that loving Clay is turning into a habit, rather than a desire. I’m ready to never see him again, as painful as I think that will be. I turn my head toward Anar. The distance between us becomes more meaningful than just close. It becomes intimate and visceral. I feel heat radiating off him. I hear his shallow breathing.

  He slowly turns his face toward me. “You all right?” He barely has to whisper, we’re so close together.

  I can feel his breath on my skin. A smile comes across my face that I have no control over. I want to hide it from him, but we’re so close, I can’t. I can see his breathing making his rib cage delicately rise and fall under his skin. I press my leg more obviously into his. If he’s not into this, I’ve made a really big fool of myself now. I’m pressing just hard enough to make my intentions pretty obvious, enough to feel stupid if he’s not into me or doesn’t like boys at all.

  He leaves his leg in the same place, not moving it away from mine. Good sign.

  I can hardly breathe and my hands are shaking.

  He slides his hand onto my arm. It’s softer than Clay’s hand.

  A torrent of dizzy happiness rings through my entire body and my boner surges. I want to look at where his hand is on my arm to see if it looks cool, but I can’t escape from his calming gaze. If I do, I’ll panic and start thinking about Clay’s face crying in the woods earlier today.

  He was crying over me.

  I look out into the black sea.

  The waves are building. Sets of eight footers are increasing. Another hurricane is out at sea, waiting till we least expect it to wreck our tidy lives and houses and erode away the mountains slightly more, making them lose some of their familiarity. The mountains elude us by seeming so permanent. They can change as fast as we do.

  I need to change. I want to feel every part of Anar. I roll over on top of him and pull him close to me, my arms around him with my hands grasping together on his back. I rub down to his butt, inside his shorts, then I slide my hands around to the front.

  His dick feels hot on my skin. He’s going to fall in love with me, I know it.

  I’ll end up hurting him. I want to be in his arms forever, but I know deep inside myself that the possibility isn’t here. What will I do with myself, forever full of this new capability, to fall in love and act on it all in minutes? I’ll never sleep as soundly. I could blame Clay, but then, I’d be escaping like I accuse him of doing. I kiss Anar and all these worries hide, buried underneath the present.

  His lips taste like salt and his tongue is wet and strong. He kisses me back like he can’t get enough.

  I grind my dick into his stomach, delving into his body and his soul, not clear on what I’ll find. I smell his skin, tangy and moist. I’m afraid to speak, afraid it will ruin the spell, but my senses tell me that we can’t do this on the beach, in front of the world. “Let’s go in your tent,” I whisper in his ear.

  We duck into the mildew scents of his tent. The lantern is burning. I find his sleeping bag because it smells like him. One of his pubic hairs lies on the plaid interior lining, which makes him real, and I almost back out, but my body won’t allow me to deceive it.

  He dims the light, which makes him seem experienced at this and makes me feel dumb, like I’m being taken by some hippie slut. We pull our shorts down and wrap ourselves in each other’s bodies, our skinny legs poking each other by accident.

  I squirm down his body till I reach his dick. It’s just like mine. I hold it in my palm and he thrusts a little into my hand, which is pretty courageous of him, since we hardy know each other. I jack him off and he comes in my hand and I shoot at the same time without even touching mine. It’s weird.

  It smells like how Magnolia bushes smell when they’re blooming.

  Dread comes over me. There’s evidence of Anar on my skin, my largest organ, as the teacher said in health class. Sperm is swimming around my hand, sperm that I hardly know. It’s like inviting some door-to-door salesman in for dinner, wine and all, and letting him use your bed and toothbrush. Where have my boundaries gone? I’ve turned into a hippie slut, too.

  I almost jump up, scared at what I’ve become. My head hits the top of the tent and the plastic support rods slip apart and the tent comes collapsing down on us.

  He laughs, even though I tried to escape and failed, and rolls over beside me holding up the mater
ial around us.

  He’s going to tell his rich ultra-liberal parents that my dad’s a conservative working against the Hawaii Natives Fund and they’ll force me to move in to escape the repression of my evil dad’s morals which are based on money and capitalism.

  I’ll sleep in his room, and we’ll cuddle and come together every night under the safe roof of his parent’s house till we’re hippies no longer, till we’re normal and boring. I love and hate the idea at the same time. Mostly, I love it and I can’t help it. I want to tell him all this, but I’m afraid. What if he fooled me? What if he doesn’t like me? What, then, will I do? Clay’s surf shorts that I was wearing are staring at me from the tent floor, looking useless and dirty. I throw a blanket over them and notice stubble on Anar’s chin.

  He looks wise.

  I think he has some Japanese in him from generations ago. I think I trust him. I hold the plastic rod up and build a makeshift teepee out of the tent.

  A fire outside the tent is burning brightly. I can see guys and girls standing around it by their shadows casting shapes like Indonesian shadow puppets on the orange tent wall. Their heads are exaggerated because they stretch upwards on the pointy roof of the teepee.

  A shadowy figure approaches closely. It looks like a huge monster. It walks by the partly open door flap.

  I see legs walk by. I think it’s Clay. I scramble to put on my shorts on under the plastic-feeling material.

  “Where are you doing?” Anar raises his head, looking concerned.

  “I’ll be right back.” I duck out of the mess of tent, accidentally making the center rod fall again.

  Anar struggles to get it up, but then rolls over and lets the tent fall on him, letting the chaos win.

  Clay spots me right away. “What’s up, Sam?”

  I look back at the fallen tent with Anar inside squirming like a larvae in a cocoon. “Uh... nothing. Hanging out with that kid. Where’d you go?”

  Clay looks like he’s sleepwalking. “Hung out with these dudes, drank a beer, smoked a J.” He looks over at the fallen tent.

  “I think he’s sleeping. Don’t bother him.”