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For a contest...
Next July
.2009.
The music is dying in the distance. The sun has set too low. The fireworks have filled the sky with too much smoke to see the stars. People are forgetting why they had come here and are starting to file out. I can see the final coals from the barbeques glimmering away. The Fourth of July celebration fizzles down, only to be sparked again next year. There will be the same laughter. There will be the same intensity. Hell, there will even be the same kind of food. But I don’t think that I’ll be there. The sand under my feet is growing too cold. The streetlight hanging over my corner of the beach is burning into my eyelids. I need to go home.
I know that I said I’d do this every year. But traditions were really just made to be broken.
.2007.
“Alright Dustan, baby, I am going to make your night,” Andrew rushed up to me in the middle of work. I was working at Sno-Zone Snow Cones that summer. I can’t explain how much I hated that place. But that’s for another story, “Down at the beach, some people I know are throwing this epic July Fourth party. It’s going to be awesome.”
“Sounds fun. Have a nice time,” I responded coldly. Parties were never as fun advertised. This was just a fact of life. So I went back to throwing ice into the ice crusher. I was planning on spending the Fourth like I did every year: at my grandparents’ house, listening to stories about Vietnam. “I have plans.”
“The grand’s again?” Andrew leaned on the Sno-Zone counter and looked at me with the sly grin that always meant I was going to be pulled into something I wouldn’t enjoy. “All you do is eat roasted chicken and listen to old people gabble on about old things. I’m offering you something better. The night of your life. And all you have to do,” he paused. Andrew liked dramatic pauses. He said they gave things more suspense. “Is say that you’ll be my wingman.”
I looked at him for a second and shook my head. “I won’t be your wingman. Andy, this is gathering is a family tradition,” I said while organizing the flavored syrups by alphabetical order. “Besides, we eat grilled chicken, not roasted.”
“Dusty,” he called me, as he often calls me when trying to convince me to do something against my better judgment, “Everyone knows that traditions were meant to be broken. Look, this party is going to be better than any tired old family get-together. Plus, the average age there won’t be next-to-dead.”
An age other than next-to-dead did sound rather good. The mere idea of a conversation that didn’t begin with “Some time ago…” or the trite and infamous “When I was your age…” was enough to get me out of my rut. Yet I couldn’t give in so easily. I am a man of habit, I always have been. So I was naturally reluctant. “What time does it end?” I asked cautiously, already expecting that I wouldn’t like the answer.
“As though your parents will ever know you were gone.” Andrew scoffed at me, laughing as though he had just made some hilarious joke. “They’ll be too busy clawing their own eyes and ears out.”
“It’s going to end around 3AM, isn’t it?” I said, forever the smart one of the duo.
“Longer, if you get lucky.” He winked, laughing at his total and complete lack of humor. His own sincerity was enough to crack a smile out of me. But nothing more. “Come on Dusty. What do you say?”
“I say you’re a nut. Also, I hate when you call me Dusty.” I sighed and began to organize the paper cones that we scooped the ice into. Did I ever mention that I hated that place? Because I did. “Alright. I’ll go with you. Just don’t call me your wingman, okay?”
His smile was absolutely infectious. He was nearly bouncing with delight the minute those words slipped out of my mouth. “I’ll be at your house at nine. You are not going to regret this! We will pick up chicks together and eat food and…oh! You are going to have a great time!” he nearly shouted. He smiled at me one last time before running off to his car, leaving me stranded in the Sno-Zone shack, questioning the decision I had just made.
.2009.
“Dusty,” a familiar voice says to me as I sit on the sea wall that separates the park from the beach. I’m staring at the dark ocean, but I know who is talking to me. It has to be the only person in the world who has the balls to call me that god-forsaken name.
“Andy, what are you doing here?” I ask, not looking up at him as I speak. He doesn’t care either way. I know that much about him. “Weren’t you going to celebrate the holiday at the strip club?”
“Yes. And I did. Seriously, the burgers there are great. You should come with me sometime. Plus, on the Fourth, I found out that they have this charming little show where Kelly…” he trails off, clearly seeing that I am not interested in his tales from the local STD box. “Anyway, I could ask you why you’re here, at this totally lame party.”
“You didn’t think it was lame two years ago,” I remind him with a stiff upper lip. It doesn’t matter to me what he says. Sure, he had tried to make me go to the strip club with him. However, I’m stronger than two years ago. I resisted him. And here I am now
“I was seventeen two years ago,” he responds, as though that made any sense. “Any party I could get into wasn’t lame. Seriously Dustan, you can’t expect her to show up every year.”
“She said she would.”
“But it’s been a year. She could still have a boyfriend. Or be married. Or, or, she cold have gotten fat,” he says. He sits down next to me on the sea wall. I just roll my eyes. Normally I would joke with him. Normally I would suggest something else that could have happened to her. And we would play this game until we both gave up and went home. But my motivation is restored. Andy reminded me way I am here. And here is where I will stay.
.2007.
The party was on the beach, as it has been every year. It took place on the picnic area, where there was burgers, hot dogs, unspeakably loud music, and people who were too cool to dance. Amongst the crowd of teenagers and young adults, Andrew and I were sitting on a pair of lone chairs, looking at the people lucky enough to be eating their food at a table.
“Okay. So here’s what we’re going to do,” Andrew said to me, leaning in close so I could hear him over all of the noise. If you know anything about popular music, you would know that there were no real words, just beats and rhymes and electric pounding. I don’t mind it. But it wasn’t ideal for conversation. “I’ll take the girl in the white sundress. And I’ll give you one in the red halter-top and blue jeans. What you say? A real patriotic night for us, huh? Get it? Red, white and blue?” he asked, winking at me excessively.
I laughed, trying to find the girl in the red halter-top that he was talking about. I couldn’t pick her out amongst the crowd of partygoers. I was playing along with him, as I usually did. But even if I saw her, even if she was the most beautiful girl in the world, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to talk to her. So I told Andy so, “I can’t find her,” I nearly-shouted to him. “Even if I did, I can’t talk to girls. You know…”
I lost my words as he tapped me on the shoulder. He pointed towards the tables and I followed his fingers with my eyes. That’s when my eyes caught a look at Red Halter-Top. She looked up at me from her food. I pretended not to see her, but I don’t think she was having it.
Then she smiled. Her eyes seemed to glisten when she smiled; I think I remember that the most about her. That and how the lights set up for the party shone perfectly upon her chestnut hair. I straightened up in my seat and did the only thing I could think of doing: I smiled back.
Pleased with his choice, Andrew stood up from his seat. “Now if you excuse me, I need to go talk to White Sundress,” he said quickly, barely looking at me while doing so. I didn’t care. I was too busy looking at her. Even at this party, with people swarming all around, she was alone. She was talking to no one. She was not laughing at anyone’s jokes. It was just her and her plate of food.
So I decided to do the unthinkable. I was going to talk to her. I told myself this was solely because she was lonely and I was lonely. This was what I had to do. My body was nearly on autopilot by the time I made my way over there. By the time I had sat down, my nerves had replaced me with someone else entirely. Someone who smiled at her and smoothly said, “Hey.”
She looked at me with coy brown eyes and took a sip of her drink. “I’m seventeen and too young to hook up at a party,” she said immediately. “So don’t even think of putting the moves on me.”
“Well you’ll be happy to know that I’m equally as young and clearly not putting the moves on you,” I countered quickly, not even knowing what words were spilling out of my mouth. I wasn’t letting myself think about this. Not this time. Every single time I tried to plan these things out, they always went horrifically wrong. I just had to jump in, feet first, and not worry about whether I was going to drown.
“You’re not putting the moves on me? Then why did you come over here?” she asked, smiling all the while. It was as though all she could do was smile. It was oddly endearing. Of course, she was hopelessly good looking while smiling. So I was biased.
“You know, conversation, food, the seat next to you is the only open chair at a table, those kinds of things,” I said, swallowing my words. It seemed as though whatever James Bond wannabe that had possessed my body had somehow given up. I was just bumbling Dustan once again.
But it made her laugh. That’s the important detail: that really lame line had actually made her laugh. Granted, she was probably laughing because of how dumb I sounded. But I managed to neglect that detail of the time. “So, am I allowed to have your name?”
“I’m sorry. I’m already using it,” she fired back. It took me a second to understand what she meant. But when I did, I laughed a little, despite my frustration. “If I told you my name, that would make it seem too official. It would seem as though we were trying to hook up, wouldn’t it?”
Clearly, this girl had never hooked up at a party before. Then again, neither had I. I was still very much a virgin. But I knew how Andrew worked. And I happened to know that he would seldom ever get the names of his one-night stands. “Well then I don’t see how this is going to work out,” I finally said, not willing to let this one slip out of my hands. Her rejections were clear. However, I was standing my ground until she physically pushed me away.
She didn’t say anything for a long time. My heart caught in my throat, beating every second that she didn’t say a word. It was like a countdown clock, waiting for what she would say. “How about we just don’t tell each other names? We can use fake names. We can spend the night together and have the night of our lives. And then we’ll never see each other again.”
“Like a one-night stand?” I raised an eyebrow. We were too young for something like that, after all. Not that I was complaining.
“Without the stand. Just having fun. This party is too boring. Don’t you think it would be better if we made it more interesting for each other?” she said with a bright and thoughtful grin, “That way, there will be no way to ruin it. There will be nothing getting in our way. All we would do is make memories.” She held out her hand for a shake. “Sound like a deal?”
Her mind went too quickly for me. Yet I think I got the gist of what she was saying. “So we spend the party together, say good-night, and never talk to or see each other again?” I asked for clarification. She nodded, impressed with her plan.
I just frowned, but I eventually shook her hand. I had never seen her in my life before. She didn’t go to my school. She apparently never went to the same places I went. What were the odds that I would care if I saw her after that night?
I had no idea.
.2008.
I spotted her the moment I arrived. People are easier to find when you are actually looking for them. She wasn’t waiting on the corner, like we agreed to a year ago. But she was still there, and that was all that mattered. I had arrived late, unable to weasel my way out of the annual Fourth of July meal with the family. She didn’t have that smile on the face, but her eyes still told me that she was happy to see me.
Just like the first time we met, her first words came out as a warning, “I have a boyfriend. So there will be no funny business tonight.” She leaned on a table, a slow smile moving onto her face. I sighed, as though I were disappointed. I hadn’t expected any funny business. I was just playing along.
“Does your boyfriend know you are here?” I asked, leaning on the table next to her. She shook her head. “Well then tonight you aren’t his girlfriend. Tonight you are simply Lola.” I said, using her fake name from last year.
“I don’t think Matt knows a Lola,” she confessed with a small laugh. But then the laugh turned into a sigh. “Still, I don’t think he’d be happy to know I have a secret life.”
“So he wouldn’t allow me to ask you for a quick dance?” I asked coyly. By this time, I was moving more into my skin. I was becoming slicker with my words, less awkward around those of the opposite sex. I moved from the table and began to walk towards the parking lot.
“Without music?” she asked loudly, running after me as I began to walk more quickly. I didn’t say a word until I had made it to my car. She looked at me with an expression of fake surprise. “You have a car now!” I could tell that she was delighted.
“Meaning I can go home whenever I want. I don’t have to wait for a ride this time,” I said while turning on the car, just so the radio could play. I chose the first station that wasn’t on commercial. It was an oldies station, playing an old-fashioned song with a man singing smoothly through the airwaves. “Now that there’s music, am I allowed to have this dance?” I held out my hand to her, like the suave gentleman I was trying so desperately to be.
“I guess I have no more reasons to protest.” she shrugged, taking my hand and twirling herself around, as though she were made of feathers. She was a ballerina, dancing on air and into my arms. We both laughed at ourselves, swaying to the music.
.2007.
“Okay,” I said awkwardly, looking at her with a goofy smile that seemed to be permanently plastered to my face, “So now that we’ve established what’s going to happen, what are we going to do?” I asked, already establishing her as this dynamic duo’s official plan-maker.
She paused on the responsibility, thinking for a moment. “I know,” she gasped when an idea hit her. She bolted up from the table and beckoned for me to follow. She weaved through the tables, making her way to the only not-crowded part of the park. She pointed to a pile of fireworks. “You see these?” I nodded. It was a little hard not see them, even in the dark. They were not only huge, but there were enough of them to win a small war with. She bent down and pulled out a large blue rocket firework and showed it to me. “Pull out all of these that you find. I have a plan.”
I wanted to argue. They looked a little deadly. But when she bent over a second time to pick up another one, my brain stopped doing the thinking. So I did as she was told, picking up all of the blue rockets that I could find.
When we were down, she began to walk down the sloped field and towards the beach, “You know what these are Johnny?” she asked, using my ingenious fake name, Johnny Fame. I shook my head. Firecrackers weren’t my specialty. “They are Megarocket 5000s. They’re all kinds of illegal in the state of New Jersey.”
It just so happened that we lived in New Jersey. So needless to say, I nearly dropped those rockets where I stood. But I bit my lip in order to steady myself as I walked onto the sand. “So?” I finally was able to ask. “We aren’t planning on setting them off, are we?” I then added, sadly attempting to hide the nervousness in my voice.
To my relief, she shook her head. “Better.” She set down the pile. She then picked up one and chucked it as far as she could into the sea, which wasn’t very far at all. But I got the gist of what she was trying to do. So I did the same.
We laughed as we threw the rockets into the ocean, letting the tide take them away to their next destination. The water often splashed us as the firecrackers landed into the water with a mighty crash. Yet we didn’t care if we got wet. The only thing we cared about was getting caught. But the nose of the party was too loud for anyone to hear our mischief.
“Well, Miss Lola, I think we just saved a whole bunch of people from being arrested,” I said with a smug grin. She laughed again. I can’t describe the feeling she gave me when I made her laugh. My words would just not do it justice. Besides, it’s a feeling I want to keep forever. Call it selfish, but that’s sometimes how it has to be. “We’re like a vigilante Bonnie and Clyde. We steal for the betterment of the world.” I joked, in hopes of getting another laugh out of her. No such luck.
“Lola and Johnny. It has a nice ring to it.” She said blankly and grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s try to catch crabs.”
I started at her with wide eyes. That time she laughed loudly, though I don’t think I was to blame. “Not those kinds of crabs. The ones with claws? That live on the beach?”
That time I laughed, realizing the joke. “I knew what you meant.” I lied. “But isn’t that the least bit dangerous? As you said, don’t they pinch?”
She was about to say something, probably to persuade me that they wouldn’t pinch me. However, I will never know. For the second that she opened her mouth, I heard a voice that was positively not her own: “Dusty! We have a stage three! We need to kick rocks. Now!”
I looked up at Andy and tried to shoot him the evil eye. Although in the dark, I was sure that he didn’t see it. I don’t remember now what a stage three was. But I remember it being rather serious. So I looked back at Lola, who only smiled sadly. I couldn’t leave her. The night was supposed to be a night of good memories. “Andy? I think you can wait, okay?” I shouted up at him.
I saw his silhouette lean forward, as though he couldn’t hear me. “What was that? You’re training for a marathon? Oh good. You practice when you walk yourself home!” he then shouted back to me. If it wasn’t clear earlier, I had to go. So I began to climb back to the park.
“You going to be here next year?” she asked me, causing me to turn around suddenly. I nearly fell down the slope that started at the sea wall.
“I thought we were never going to see each other again,” I said softly, swallowing my words as I said them. I wanted to see her again. So why was I saying anything to jeopardize that?
“They say all good things must come to an end,” she said in a long breath. She then smiled at me with a smile so bright that I could see through the dark, “But some things are good enough to start again and again. Meet me by the corner of Main and Ninth. Next July.”
.2009.
“Hey,” Andy says loudly. “Don’t kick sand onto the shoes!” We are walking on the beach. Sometimes I guess I drag my feet. Other times I kick up sand. It seems Andrew has a complaint for both. I don’t actually care. I suppose I’m just lost in my own thoughts right now.
“Andy, do you believe all good things must come to an end?” I sigh and look up at him.
He smiles sadly and says, “Yeah buddy. They do. I mean, it doesn’t matter how much you pay a girl, she’s got to go back to her pimp at some point,” he adds, I pray to God as a joke. He then shakes his head, as though trying to tune into that very rare serious side of him that some people get to see. “You need to decide what’s best for you: waiting around for a girl that will never show up, or living your summer the way it’s supposed to be lived.”
I look up at him with inquisitive eyes. “Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“Free.”
Figures he should say that.
.2008.
“I have a surprise for you,” I said with a broad grin as soon as the third song wound down. I pulled away from her and made my way to the trunk of my Trailblazer. I pulled out a bottle of wine and some plastic cups. “Do you wish for me to pour, mademoiselle?”
“Oh, you are pulling all of the stops tonight, aren’t you Dusty?” she asked. I cringed. It was no secret that my name wasn’t Johnny. But I didn’t like the fact that she now thought it was the nickname only my best friend calls me. “I’d love some.”
I poured her the wine in the classiest way I could muster. I handed her the glass and watched her drink. It wasn’t bad wine; I had taken it off of my grandfather’s hands. One of my other vigilante Bonnie and Clyde moments: I was preventing the world from seeing my grandfather drunk. The plus was that the beautiful girl in front of me might get drunk instead.
I closed the lid to the large trunk and began to climb on top of the utility vehicle. “Come on up,” I said, motioning for her to join me. “We can watch the fireworks from up here.”
“Why can’t we sit in the back?” she said, motioning towards the trunk. She was right: my trunk was a small room unto itself. “It’s completely empty.”
“There’s a reason for that” I half-laughed, offering to take her drink while she climbed up. She handed it over and began to climb up. “Andy? You met him briefly last year. Or at least, his dark outline. Well in December he totaled his car and kept asking to borrow mine so he could entertain his lady friends.”
Her eyes widened as she climbed to the top. She sat on the room with her legs dangling off of the edge. “So did you let him?” she asked, grabbing her drink out of my hands and taking a sip of it. I could tell she didn’t drink much by the way her eyes rolled back slightly as she swallowed it.
I nodded sadly. “Not at first, of course. But he was so freaking persistent. Also, I was under the impression that ‘entertainment’ just meant driving them places. I had no idea that it included…more explicit things.”
Her pace went pale, I could tell under the streetlight. She laughed nervously and looked at me. “Oh,” she said, realizing now why I didn’t sit in the back of my car anymore.
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “I vacuumed and shampooed the hell out that area. But the idea of what happened there still remains. It’s like it has been….” I cringed. “Stained.”
She laughed, possibly at my expense. I laughed as all and poured a cup of wine for myself. I raised it towards her. “A toast.”
“For what?”
“For surviving traumatic experiences and celebrating a holiday with truly entertaining company,” I said with a small smile. We clicked our glasses and drank from our cups as though we were a dainty couple. Yet we were just the opposite: two half-drunk teenagers pretending that we were in love. Perhaps we were. I could never know.
.2009.
We are reaching the corner. Oh God. She’s at the corner. Or, someone is at the corner. I can only guess that it is her. I had checked under that streetlight twelve times. And now there she is, right under my nose.
“Andy,” I turn to my best friend. “Kick rocks,” I tell him, nodding towards the parking lot. “Oh and happy Fourth of July,” I add with a fake smile. He rolls his eyes and lets me be.
She turns to me. I walk closer. There is no denying that it is her now. She cut her hair, but her eyes are the same. Her smile is still perfect. My heart is still pounding, just like two years ago. But now it is pumping a bittersweet taste into my mouth.
“Hey,” I say, trying not to sound awkward. She smiles and nods, recognizing my existence in the most minimal way possible. She can’t tell, but it cuts into my throat. I could barely speak before. Now it would be nearly impossible. “You’re late. I ran out of wine.”
“Too bad.” She shrugs and begins to walk down the beach the direction from which I had just come. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Same.” I say, not seeing this conversation getting any less awkward. “Listen. I’m going to college in the fall. I’m growing old. You don’t look it at all, but you’re growing old too. I was never good at playing games and…” I pause, trying to compose the right thing to say. In all of my time waiting for her, I had not once thought of what I would say if she arrived. “I guess I’m trying to make you decide. First you say you will never see me again. And now here we are. Third year in a row.”
She smiles at me and grabs my hand. I can see in her eyes and that nothing is going to happen. We would never be together, “You know what I said? About some things being good enough to start again and again? Well this isn’t one of those. I lied.”
“It’s something too good to even begin.” I sigh, pulling my hands away. For the first time since I had met her, we are speaking on the same wavelength.
“So no more Next Julys?” she asks, standing on her tiptoes so that she could look me in the eyes. I want to kiss her. Damn do I want to kiss her. So I lean over and peck her lips softly. After all, tonight is a night for making memories. She doesn’t say a word.
“No more Next Julys,” I finally agree with her. I turn and I walk away, my feet dragging in the sand. I don’t look back, but I suspect that she is going back towards the corner with the streetlight. I suppose she’s going back to her life. I know that I’m going back to mine.
“Ashley,” she said as I walked up towards the park. “My name is Ashley.”
“And mine’s not Dusty.”
I can’t cry. I can’t feel a thing, even though I want so desperately to cry. I want so badly to kick the sand in the air and scream and fuss about how I almost had something that could never happen. But I don’t feel any of that at all.
After all, traditions were made to be broken.
dangerous xx L I A S O N · Thu Jul 16, 2009 @ 04:03pm · 0 Comments |
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