by Chris Baron
past the gray lifeguard tower.
There are a few people
in our usual spot,
some kids chasing
an orange Frisbee,
and a couple sitting close together.
That’s when I notice it,
the black backpack
with the Def Leppard patch.
Her blond hair
down her back,
maybe a little wet,
the hints of her blue bikini
against her perfect browned skin,
her behind nestled into the sand,
sitting with arms over her knees.
She leans slightly into the boy.
Older, muscular, rounded shoulders,
his arm around her waist
dug in the sand.
He whispers something to her,
looks off to the ocean.
It doesn’t take long
to recognize him.
I can still hear
the voice of his friend
in my mind. Baby Huey’s got a girrrlfriend.…
How is she here?
How is she with him?
How does everything
become nothing
in such a short time?
I feel my stomach
fall into the sand.
I pick it up,
look at it,
hold it up to the sun.
It’s sandy but
completely transparent,
suddenly empty.
I hold my heart too,
beating wildly like
my chest might actually
explode.
I back into the tree line
step by step.
I am so far away
from what I understand.
Not Dealing
In the evening,
back at the nursery,
Lisa finally walks
through the gate.
Hey, Ari!
she calls,
and runs over to hug me.
I don’t give it back.
You’re getting taller, Ari,
but you’re smaller too.
I’m not used to my arms
reaching all around you!
My heart beats.
I feel the faded bruise on my side throb twice,
one sharp pain and then a low, blunt beat.
Only Child
I want to be excited to see her.
I missed my friend.
She’s only
a few feet away
on her sleeping mat,
and we haven’t even
talked about how she
got out here
before us.
It’s okay, I think.
I’m used to being alone,
an only child,
left to myself.
I’m good at it.
At P.S. 6,
the teachers always told
my parents that I was
excellent at dealing
with teasing from other kids.
Maybe I can be tough.
Boogie Boarding
When the sun comes up,
I sit outside near Melinda.
Lisa calls out from the main room,
Wanna go boogie boarding?
Sure. Fine.
We get the boards,
shake off the old sand.
Mine is deep blue with
a rainbow swirl on the back,
and hers is also blue with a pink sheen.
The leashes spread and fray,
too much sun, too much salt.
It’s early enough,
quiet, and the sculptures
in the garden watch us open the gate
and slip through the fence.
What do you think the surf will be like? she asks.
It will probably suck, I answer.
She sighs at me.
I look over at her.
Her hair is messed up in the back.
I love how she never wears any makeup.
We should try to ride the waves together.
Remember how we did it a few times ago?
One-two-three gooo! And then I always beat you to shore.
She’s trying so hard.
I don’t say anything,
stare straight ahead.
I feel her shoulder bump into my shoulder.
Stop it, I say. She looks at me.
How long are you gonna act like this?
She taps my boogie board with her foot.
Do you want to talk about it?
About what? I lash out at her.
That you didn’t even call me?
Not once?
She leaves it there,
knows better.
We get to the beach.
There’s no one in the water.
Everyone stands in the sand,
and the lifeguards go up and down
the beach with megaphones,
holding boards
with a picture of a shark.
A great white was seen off the coast
early in the morning.
We pass the lifeguard tower,
stand there with our boards dug in
and our feet curling deep
into the warmth of the sand.
A Drive
Do you want to go for a drive?
Mom asks.
Just you and me.
I don’t, but I go anyway.
We drive
Shoreline Highway
toward Bolinas,
pass Seadrift
near the Audubon Canyon Ranch.
Water is coming.
Deep saltwater rivers
flow into the lagoon
where mudflats disappear
into clear glass.
Coots and cormorants
sweep from the sky,
drop into the water
come back with beaks full of bluegill.
I see Kent Island,
where the mother seals
are shiny duffel bags
on the beach.
Their pups
scoot into the water,
their half-circle heads
with giant, deep eyes
pop and peek over
wakes they make.
I want so badly
to swim out
to Seal Island,
walk on the shore,
and just sit in the middle of them,
their round bodies
fat on purpose
to keep warm
in the cool water.
In Bolinas,
we park near the general store,
walk along the giant wall murals,
multicolored hands intertwined, sun on fire,
green turtles and redwood beetles,
a mountain lion and mermaid.
Do you want to get ice cream, Ari?
Her question surprises me,
but when I look at her,
I see she’s trying to cheer me up,
share something together
like we’ve always done.
I do.
Vanilla-filled sugar cones
dipped in chocolate,
the kind where the shell
hardens and cracks in a second.
We eat it by the water.
Plans
Jorge calls,
and we make plans
for our hike.
Do you want to go overnight?
I think about it. Scared a little,
but it’s perfect timing,
a chance to get away,
have an adventure.
Yes.
We agree to check
with our moms.
The Mothers Talk
I wait until after breakfast,
when she’s had her coffee,
opened the doors,
and begun to swirl the paint.
Mom, Jorge and me,
we want to hike up Bolinas Ridge.
Tomorrow?
She stops swirling, smiles at me.
Can I go, Mom? By ourselves?
It’s an overnight.
You just have to take us up the road
near Olema, and then we take
McCurdy Trail to Bolinas Ridge.
There’s a campground
near the top. (There isn’t.)
Jorge has a phone,
so we can tell you how we are. (He does.)
She pulls out her phone,
calls Jorge’s mom.
In the corner of the nursery,
near the door,
a gray mouse makes a break for it.
It scurries across the floor,
pauses by the doorframe,
and lifts its front paws in the air,
then down into a crack
in the old wooden deck.
I hear chatter on either
side of the call,
the sounds of mothers talking
in secret languages,
a thousand words that lead to
Yes
Tools for the Journey
Jorge comes over the next morning
like some adventurer
on his way to Middle-earth
or some other fantasy world.
He opens his sketchbook,
pours out maps he’s made,
shows me notes on trees
and poison oak.
He turns the pages slowly,
explains each drawing,
his giant hands in all directions
like some kind of minister.
Lisa walks in.
Jorge puts his hand
on her shoulder.
Lisa, you should come with us!
And he smiles an irresistible smile.
Where? she asks.
Her hair pulled back.
No makeup. Beautiful.
She sits down.
Jorge explains the trip,
tapping his carved wooden cross
from fingertips to palm,
occasionally looking at me.
Not Telling
I avoid her,
walk toward the counter,
drink some water,
pretend to pack.
Lisa walks over to me.
You don’t want me to go?
I say nothing.
Ari?
I look up
at her impossible face.
It’s so hard to stay angry.
I don’t care.
I tighten my body,
shrug my shoulders,
feel my belly burn.
I know you’re mad.
She is a magnet,
I am metal,
resisting.
I am mad!
Jorge looks over,
then walks toward the gate
and just outside.
I pluck my words from my
mouth one by one,
put them in the air around her.
How could you? With him?
Why?
Why didn’t you call me?
Where were you?
How did you get out here?
Weren’t you even
wondering what was happening
to me?
I called you!
I pause. She looks at me,
her eyes fixed.
My dad left,
and I was all alone.
All the time. Alone.
And in her green eyes,
staring at me,
I see for a second
a reflection
of my own body,
distorted and turned
inside out.
It’s not her fault
or mine.
I feel my side ache.
I put my hand there,
and she puts her hand there too,
softly over mine.
Her strong fingers
intertwine,
and with her other hand
she moves my hair away from my eyes.
My feet are nailed to the wood
floor, my heart slow and heavy,
quiet now
my eyes soaked
and she’s so close
I feel her breath
I’m in her orbit
circling closer
in in in.
In some other dimension,
the other me is brave,
but here, this me
coughs a little,
suddenly thinks about
how his bent head
might be pushing his chin
just a little too much
into a double chin,
or that he’d better pull his pants up.
This me, angry, ashamed,
turns his head,
breathes her in,
and walks away.
Packing List
1 sleeping bag
1 bottle of water
1 package diet Hawaiian Punch powder
1 military shovel
1 Rambo-style survival knife
with twisting compass on the hilt
and a hollow compartment in the handle
Inside: matches, a sharpening stone.
1 bag of dehydrated ice cream
2 bags of brand-name pork rinds
2 packs of Budding roast beef
1 small bag of shredded cheese
2 apples
1 small bag of sugar-free jelly beans
1 sketch pad, graph paper
2 pencils
1 pen
2 pairs of socks, both with blue stripes
1 pair of underwear
1 long-sleeved T-shirt with the California flag
1 Diet Book
1 Mysterious World
One note folded tightly
taped to three Slim Jims
that I find later that day.
Dear Ari,
Have a great trip.
I know you and Jorge
will be safe.
I thought you might
need these Slim Jims?
I want you to know
that you are such
a good friend to me.
I am sorry if I
hurt your feelings.
I will try to be brave
in the waves
without you!
Elysium.
Fog Storm
On the way to the trailhead,
fog swallows the whole road.
Shoreline Highway
two miles past Dogtown,
a huge deer cuts across the road.
My mother swerves. Already hard to see.
She slowly winds
along the road
then announces,
like a final warning
or a chance to turn back,
They say that this
will be the worst fog
in a hundred years.
Are you kids sure about this?
It might even rain?
In the middle of summer!
When we reach the trailhead,
we burst from the car.
Lean our packs against
the wooden sign,
the gateway to Bolinas Ridge.
She hugs us both,
and she waits outside the car,
her cigarette smoke
polluting the wet air
as the fog thickens.
Somehow, she knows
we have to do this.
See you tomorrow,
she says.
Be careful.
Up the Trail
Up.
The fog gets thicker,
and the ground is still
summer-baked earth,
and sliding feet,
ankles turning over gravel,
our packs ten times too heavy.
Finally,
at one of the turns
where we curve
&nb
sp; around what we think
is the top of the trail
at last, we see the trees
rise out of the fog
until finally we reach
the spine of the mountain.
Flat. Trees.
BOLINAS RIDGE
at last.
Redwoods soar across the trail.
The Pacific spreads
into an endless blue horizon.
We seem so far from the bottom.
Jorge takes off his pack
near a wood sign
where the trails split.
My back is drenched
with sweat and wet air,
my feet wet too.
My legs ache.
I don’t think I’ve ever
pushed my body
this much before.
I feel my breath,
but I can’t slow it down,
my heart beating
way too fast.
Outdoor Conversations
Do you like her? Jorge asks.
Who? I say. But I know who.
Lisa. I mean it seems like you do.
I love her, I say. You know,
like a sister, I mean.
But what if I do?
What if this
is what love feels like?
Do you see that? I ask.
I point to a dark shape in the sky.
A bird soars, black against the gray fog.
I reach into my backpack,
pull out Mysterious World,
start to flip through its pages.
There are so many giant birds
in mythology that appear
when there are storms or fog.
But then I remember something
and I stop, close the book.
I think about how when I was little,
my father loved taking me
to Central Park on Sunday mornings
to look for birds.
I wish he could see this one.
Jorge, I say,
where’s your dad?
I don’t know, he says
between breaths.
I never met him.
Campsite
We hike along the ridge for a while.
The trees rise and fall over the edges of the trail,
toward the coast,
a blanket of green.
We walk
