by Renée Riva
“Oh please, spare me,” my mom whispers to my dad, but I hear it anyway.
“Sonny,” Uncle Nick yells, loud enough that everyone else looks too. “You’re really thinkin’ of launching that, when you can all ride in My Big Fat Baby?”
“They didn’t name it …” Daddy mumbles, as his eyes dart to the words neatly aligned across the side of their boat in metallic silver letters.
They did.
“Hard to turn down ridin’ in this baby when you have the same first name as the guy who wrote the song—Sonny Hall, ’58.”
“Just thought it would be nice to have a backup in case one of your jets goes out,” Daddy yells back and laughs. Then he says to Mama, “I like to know I have a getaway boat in case I need one.”
Once we’re launched, we taxi over alongside of their boat. Our boat is loaded up with old wooden skis, patched-up truck inner tubes, and our plastic cooler. Theirs is loaded up with new competition water skis, store-bought inner tubes, and a shiny metal cooler. Stacy and Nicky are wearin’ Olympic bathing suits, but one is too chubby and the other is too wimpy to look like true Olympic swimmers. They still aren’t smiling. Nicky looks at our old skis. “You’re still skiing on those splinters?”
“Splinters,” Big Nick roars. “That’s funny—got your Old Man’s sense of humor, don’t ya, Son?”
J. R. looks at me like we need to come up with something good to deal with Nicky. We’re pretty creative when it comes to scheming up plans for hotshot thirteen-year-olds.
“Just lead us to an island,” Daddy yells over the sound of their loud jet engine.
So Uncle Nick takes off, full speed ahead, not realizing that the reason everyone else is goin’ so slow is because everyone else knows that if you’re not careful, you’re likely to run across a sandbar.
Sure enough, we all watch as the blue blaze jerks to a halt up ahead. We can hear the engine sputtering sand, as well as Uncle Nick sputtering cuss words all over the place. At least it gives us time to catch up to them. Daddy helps Uncle Nick get the boat off the sandbar and back on the water before all the good islands are taken. Of course Uncle Nick blames the sandbar for being there.
We finally beach our boats on a nice little island and stake our umbrellas in the sand. Me and Sailor are the first ones into the water for a swim. The water really is as warm as Daddy said it would be. When the reservoir laps up all around that hot sand, it heats the water right up. You can swim really far out, and it’s still nice and shallow. I can still touch bottom, but Sailor can’t, so we can’t stay out here too long.
When we’re swimmin’ back toward shore, I pretend that me and Sailor got shipwrecked and are about to wash up on this deserted island. First we see some bright-colored umbrellas and beach blankets; then we see a big bright blue boat. Instead of it belongin’ to a bunch of rude relatives who like to make fun of our family, I pretend that it belongs to the Cartwrights, and I’m about to be rescued by Little Joe. It’s not long before my daydream is shattered by seeing Nicky struttin’ down the beach in his skimpy little bathing suit.
Uncle Nick is revving up the jets and yellin’ for anyone who wants to go skiing or tubing to get ready. J. R. says he’d like to go and is looking over their new ski like maybe he’d like to try it out. Then Nicky comes over and says, “That’s my ski … and that’s our boat, so it looks like I’m going first.”
The day has only begun, but my daddy looks like he’s already had enough. “J. R., go get your ski. I’ll take you.”
So J. R. grabs his own ski while Daddy starts up the African Queen. Me and Sailor volunteer to go along as spotters. We wait for Nicky to take off, but he falls four times in a row, and his dad finally tosses him a second ski and tells him he’s not ready for one ski yet. Now we know the truth. So finally Nicky gets up on two skis and moves out of our way.
J. R. pops right up on one ski and heads out around the island. It’s the funniest thing to see Nick Jr. goin’ slower than molasses behind their jet boat, on two competition skis, while J. R. is skimmin’ along behind our “pink driftwood,” cuttin’ back and forth, jumpin’ the wake on his old “splinter.”
J. R. is on his second lap around the island when we pass their jet boat. Nicky must’ve gotten tired and is tryin’ to pull his scrawny body into the boat. I have this feelin’ that it’s all too tempting for J. R. to just ski right by, and I can see it comin’. J. R. jumps the wake and heads straight toward their boat, then makes a perfect cut, drenching ’em with spray. Me and Daddy just look at each other and smile. Daddy’s right—Life is good.
When we get back to the island, Mama and Aunt Gen are sittin’ with their lounge chairs halfway in the water, lookin’ like a couple of Italian goddesses in big sun hats and Hollywood shades. I can see my Aunt Genevieve’s hands wavin’ wildly through the air and figure she’s the one doin’ most of the talkin’. I’m pretty sure she is the only woman alive who can outtalk my mama. Along with her talkin’ hands, I can hear her “yack-yack-yack, blah-blah-blah” all the way across the water.
My mama likes her sister, but only in small doses. When they were growin’ up, her sister always had to be The Queen, and Mama always got stuck being The Princess. But now that Mama’s become The Queen of our family, she doesn’t like to give up her throne very often.
Me and Sailor take a trek over the top of the sand dune to try and find Adriana and Stacy. Anytime you decide to go over the dune, you gotta bring a pop can full of water to pour on your feet along the way because the sand is so hot it will burn your feet. When we get to the top, we can see the twins fishin’ from inner tubes in a little cove on the other side. Then we spot Adriana and Stacy lyin’ on beach towels. They are doused in so much suntan oil that they look like a couple of greased pigs—Stacy looks like a fat greased pig, and Adriana looks like a skinny greased pig.
Cousin Stacy would be really pretty if she lost about fifty pounds. I remember when we were little, I used to think that Stacy stole all of little Nicky’s food, and that’s why she was so fat and he was so skinny. I told my mama that he was going to starve to death if she didn’t stop it. I remember Mama tellin’ me that boys can always eat more than girls and still be skinnier, but in heaven that all changes the other way around.
Although I don’t like lying, I’m dyin’ to get some of Stacy’s big fib stories for my travel diary. I have a fiction section designated just for her. Once we get near their territory, me and Sailor sneak as close as we can and hide around the other side of their sandbank. I can barely make out anything Adriana is sayin’, but I can hear Stacy loud and clear, just like Aunt Gen.
“… So, anyway, I got asked to our school prom by two different guys, the two most popular boys at our school, and I couldn’t decide who to go with, but since I was already goin’ steady with Bill, the quarterback, I just went with him. The other one was pretty jealous, but I danced with him, too, once we got there. He really wanted me to break up with Bill and go steady with him, but I didn’t want to hurt Bill like that. Did you notice the St. Christopher Bill gave me?”
“That one’s silver. I thought you said Bill gave you a solid gold one,” Adriana says back.
“I did. I mean—he actually gave me two—this one and the gold one, but I only wear the gold one for special occasions because I don’t like to get sand all over it.”
There’s this long silent pause. Then Adriana says, “Have you ever heard of a girl named Rachel Perry?”
“Yeah, she goes to my school. She’s really popular, too. We’re almost best friends.”
“Yeah? Well, she’s a really good friend of mine, too. We met at Bonnie Bell’s Charm School. You know, I talked to her a few days ago and asked if she knew if you were still going steady with Bill, and she said she really doubted it because she and Bill have been together for over a year. Besides that, there’s no way he could have danced with you because for one thing, he took Rachel, and for another, he had his leg in a cast from knee surgery and wasn’t dancing with anyone at the pr
om.”
It gets really quiet again, then suddenly Stacy blurts out, “Oh, my gosh—not that Bill.” Then she laughs all nervous-like. “I didn’t mean Bill, like Rachel’s Bill. I meant a different Bill who’s kind of new at our school. Rachel probably doesn’t know him.”
Oh brother … Give it up, Stacy.
Adriana says, “Umm, I’m going swimming.”
All of a sudden she sticks her head around the side of the sandbank. “I knew it,” she says. “I can smell that wet dog anywhere.” Then she whispers, “I hope you enjoyed the big whopper.”
We both smile, and I have to cover my mouth so I don’t start laughin’. Then Adriana turns and walks gracefully toward the water. Sometimes I actually like my sister.
11
Blessed Are the Poor
The sun is just startin’ to go down when we return to our motel with another nutritious meal of Dick’s burgers, shakes, and fries. Uncle Nick had tried to talk Daddy into havin’ us join their family for seafood at Something’s Fishy, but Daddy told him that the kids had waited all year to eat at Dick’s Drive-In, and he just couldn’t let us down on our last night of vacation. Mama pretty much lets Daddy call the shots about things like this. Usually by the time Daddy’s had enough of Uncle Nick, we’ve had enough of the cousins, and Mama’s had enough of her sister, too.
It’s still nice and warm out, so we just unload all the food onto the picnic table by the pond. Just when I start to devour my hamburger, I notice the Mexican girl and her family sittin’ on the dock eatin’ tamales. I really want to meet her, so I take my fries and wander down to the dock like I’m just goin’ there to look at the water. She smiles when she sees me so I wave and say, “Hola.”
“Buenas noches,” she says back, whatever that means.
I step a little closer and ask what her name is, “Cómo se llama?”
“Me llamo Lolita.”
“Lolita,” I repeat back to her, tryin’ to say it just like she said it.
“Sí, Lolita.”
Well, that’s as far as my Spanish goes, so I hold out my fries to see if she’d like to try one. She takes one, tastes it, and looks as though she likes it. Then her brothers and sisters start lookin’ at me, so I offer some to them, too. Their mama offers me a tamale, but it reminds me that I still have my burger and milk shake waitin’ for me back at my table, so I take the tamale, and say the one last Spanish word I know, “Adiós.”
“Adiós,” they all yell back as I walk away.
When I return to our picnic table, I look at my family and say, “Hola.”
Adriana looks at me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to start talking to us in Spanish now. It will be twice as annoying as that Southern accent of yours.”
I suddenly remember one more phrase, “No comprendo.” (“I don’t understand.”)
We awake once again to the sound of Daddy’s megaphone blaring in our ears. “Up and at ’em, campers. Pack your bags and load them into the car—we will be departing directly from the boat launch after we spend one more glorious day in paradise.” Daddy sounds really happy that this is our last day here.
I can smell the mornin’ catch fryin’ away on the stove again. Dino’s had so much fun catchin’ fish here, he says he’s gonna come back when he’s grown up and buy this place. It may be that long before he catches another fish. It doesn’t come much easier than castin’ on a small pond stocked with a million trout. Maybe Dino can make a living catchin’ fish all day and sellin’ ’em to the Something’s Fishy restaurant. I have just never been able to eat anything that still looks like the animal itself. Take hamburgers. At least when you see those round blobs of beef cookin’ away on the grill, they aren’t in the shape of a cow. But fish, there’s no gettin’ around that. A fish still looks like a fish the whole time it’s cookin’. Even if you cut the head and eyes off, you can still tell it’s a fish.
I look for Lolita on my way out to the car, but I don’t see anyone from her family. Maybe Sunday is their day off. That reminds me, we didn’t go to Mass today, but I think God lets you off the hook when you’re on vacation. We’re all in kind of a mixed mood today. We’re excited to go back to the dunes, but not so excited about seein’ the relatives. Mama tells us to try and enjoy them anyway because once they head off to Italy, we may not get to see them for a long time. Daddy has a big grin on his face.
This time Uncle Nick is lettin’ us go first to pick out the island. I think he’s only doin’ that so we’ll be the ones to get stuck on the sandbar instead of him. It’s fun to be the ones leadin’ the expedition. It makes you feel like you’re on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom and something wild could jump out at you any minute and drag you off. I hope they’re attracted to the sparkly boat first.
After explorin’ some new islands by boat, we find a really big one where the dunes surround a little cove, perfect for swimmin’. Everyone votes yes for that one, so we head for shore and beach the boats. While we’re all helpin’ to get the boats unloaded, I notice that Adriana has already disappeared. She told me this mornin’ she was plannin’ to ditch Stacy for the day so she wouldn’t have to hear the next big fib du jour. But that leaves only me for Stacy to hang out with, which isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my last day in paradise.
Just as me and Sailor head for the water, Stacy makes a beeline right toward me.
“Hey, A. J., want to go inner-tubing with me?”
I look around hopin’ there’s someone else named A. J. here, but I’m outta luck.
“Uh … sure.” My brain isn’t quick at comin’ up with good excuses on a deserted island. It’s not like I can say, “I gotta clean my room,” or, “We’re havin’ comp’ny.”
So we put our life jackets on and swim out a ways where the boat can circle around us. Sailor’s howling from the shore because I abandoned him and told him to stay. Nicky tosses us the big inner tube that Stacy decided we’re goin’ double on, instead of goin’ single on our own tubes like I wanted to do. Nicky must’ve told his dad that he wanted to drive ’cause Uncle Nick moves over and lets him have the driver’s seat. Something about that bothers me.
We start out okay, each on our own half of the inner tube—even though my half is up in the air, and Stacy’s is mostly underwater. So she yells, “Hit it,” and Nicky guns the boat, and we go flyin’ like we’ve been shot out of a cannon. Nothin’ like whiplash right off the bat. I get the feelin’ that this whole thing is a bad mistake. We go skiddin’ across the wake so fast I see nothin’ but spray in my face. It feels like someone is holdin’ a firehose an inch in front of my nose and has it turned on full blast. Once we’re completely outside the wake, Nicky thinks it’s real funny to spin us at eighty miles an hour. The problem I have with that is, I’m on the outside, and when we get spun, I have my two-ton cousin slidin’ right on top of me. So here I am trapped on this thing, gettin’ the life squeezed out of me.
“Get off,” I’m yellin’ at the top of my lungs, but Stacy’s just laughin’ her fool head off like she’s havin’ the time of her life, and I’m about to lose mine.
Without even seein’ it comin’, we hit a boat wave and go sailin’ through the air, but when we come back down, she pounds right back down on top of me. I start sayin’ the Hail Mary and tell God to get ready for me ’cause here I come. He must’ve decided to give me mercy instead of my mansion, because right then we hit the wake again and flip completely over. Not wantin’ to be dragged upside down, underwater, I release my hold from this rubber prison and am free at last.
Thank God for life jackets, because that is the only reason I am floatin’ right now. I feel like a Raggedy Ann doll that just got tied and dragged behind a jet boat by someone’s mean kid brother.
Daddy’s been watchin’ this whole thing from the island and is clearly upset by the time we were brought back to the cove. He wades out to meet the boat, and without so much as a word to big Nick or little Nick, he lifts my listless body out of the boat and carries me to shore. I must’ve s
wallowed half of the reservoir, ’cause I’m still coughin’ and sputterin’ while Daddy plops me onto a beach blanket to dry out. Sailor comes over and licks my face while I’m waitin’ for my deflated body to reinflate. It takes awhile to recover from havin’ the wind pounded out of you by someone three times your size. I’m relieved to see that Stacy is headin’ straight for the food coolers, instead of in my direction.
Once I can finally breathe again, I make my escape over the sand dune with Sailor—before Stacy has a chance to finish eating. If she comes lookin’ for me, there will be nothin’ but a life jacket left behind, and I’ll be long gone. When we reach the top of the dune, I realize we aren’t alone on this island. On the other side is what appears to be an entire colony of people. I’m tryin’ to figure out how they all got out here, ’cause I can only see one old boat pulled up onshore. It must’ve taken half a dozen trips back and forth to get everyone out here. I really need to get closer to the action to see what’s goin’ on down there.
Me and Sailor slide down the steepest part of the dune all the way to the shoreline. This is one of those dunes that plunges straight into the water, so we have to swim a ways to get to where the beach levels out. Once we’ve reached their shore, we climb out of the water and walk casually by their big gathering, as though we’re just out for a beach stroll. There must be about twenty-five to thirty people here, all Mexicans, and havin’ quite a time. Men are strummin’ guitars, women are cookin’ food over a fire, and right in the middle of everything is a tall pole with a piñata hanging down, surrounded by a zillion kids.
They all start singin’ “Happy Birthday to You” in Spanish, and to my surprise, I hear, “Feliz cumpleaños a Lolita.”
Sure enough, it’s the same Lolita who makes our beds back at our motel. To think they are all here just to celebrate a kid’s birthday makes me wish I was part of their big family. No one has ever made this big of a deal over my birthday. Out from the big circle of people, a little kid emerges with a blindfold on. Someone hands him a baseball bat, and he takes a big swing at the piñata. I want to play so bad I can hardly stand it.