The Education of Sebastian

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “And I was thinking,” he continued quickly, “if I take a course to be a personal trainer, I could earn maybe a hundred bucks an hour once I’m qualified. You know, while you’re getting your journalism career going. I was looking at some apartments on the internet: they’re pretty expensive. I couldn’t find anything less than $2,000 a month unless we live in one of the outer boroughs, and we’d take a train or a ferry to get to work and school. It’s a little slower, I guess, but a lot cheaper. But by the end of the summer, I’ll have enough for the first month’s rent wherever we live.”

  He looked at me anxiously.

  A powerful swell of emotion swept through me. Here he was, 17 years old, planning for our future, determined to make it happen – and what had I contributed? Nothing. David had steered my life over the last 11 years: now I was letting – expecting even – that Sebastian would do the same. I felt ashamed.

  “What do you think, Caro?”

  “I think you’re extraordinary,” I said honestly.

  He blinked, surprised by my unexpected answer. Then he grinned.

  “Extraordinary, huh? I can live with that. And you called me ‘God’ the other night – that was okay, too.”

  “I like your plan,” I said, deliberately ignoring the second half of his reply. “But we need to make sure you can fit your college courses in, too. I don’t want you giving up a university education. Besides, I could look for some translation work or maybe even teaching Italian – conversation classes – nothing too formal as I’m not a qualified teacher.”

  “Well, you know, I looked at that, too. You could be a translator for the courts in NY – you can get $125 a day. Federal Courts pay even more.” He reached out and took my hand, then kissed it. “I can’t wait for us to be together.”

  Neither could I.

  “Well, that’s definitely a plan. If I could earn that sort of money… although they probably wouldn’t want Italian interpreters that much… but even so… Are you still planning on a joint major in English Lit and Italian?”

  “Sure!”

  “Do you know what you want to do after?”

  He nodded slowly. “I’d like to go to Europe. I have this image of you and me on a motorcycle traveling through Italy. I don’t know, teaching English, picking grapes – I don’t care. I’ve never been outside the US.”

  “That sounds wonderful! We could go to Capezzano Inferiore: it’s a small village in the hills above Salerno – where papa was born. I’ve always wanted to go.”

  “Then we’ll go,” he said simply.

  I was grinning from ear to ear, smiling from the inside out.

  “Do you have family there?” said Sebastian thoughtfully.

  “I’m not really sure: some second cousins, I think. Why?”

  “We should try to find them,” he said. “If they’re as crazy as your dad, it could be pretty wild.”

  I laughed out loud, delighted with the picture he was painting. And I decided that as soon as I went home I would start planning our escape in earnest: no more taking a back seat in my own life.

  “There’s the sign for Westfield,” said Sebastian, bringing my attention back to the road.

  I took the exit ramp and followed the signs.

  The mall was a vast sprawl of boutique shops and places to eat with a Sears at one end and a rat run to Macy’s at the other.

  “Where do you want to start?”

  “I have no idea: let’s just make it quick.”

  “I thought all girls liked shopping?”

  “Not this one.”

  “You look beautiful whatever you wear.”

  I stared at him. “You always say the sweetest things! How do you do that?”

  He shrugged and looked embarrassed. “What about this shop?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  He smiled and towed me inside.

  “May I help you, ma’am, sir?”

  Seeing as it was a women’s clothing store, I wasn’t entirely sure how the sales assistant was going to help Sebastian, although going by the look on her face, I could make a damned good guess. And, of course, she was younger than I was.

  An unaccustomed desire for sudden violence flooded through me.

  “I’m looking for a black cocktail dress,” I said coolly. “Size four.”

  It occurred to me that I’d never once been jealous of another woman looking at David – maybe that should have told me something. I couldn’t work out how much of what I was feeling now was to do with my own insecurities. I didn’t want to spoil today, so I pushed the wretched thought aside.

  The assistant picked out a couple of dresses and I took them into the changing room.

  I could hear her chatting to Sebastian through the curtain. Well, I could hear her trying to chat him up.

  “Are you from the Base?” she said.

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Are you, like, a pilot?”

  “No, I…”

  “But you’re a Marine, right?”

  I pulled back the curtain sharply and the assistant jumped.

  “What about this one, honey?” I said, throwing a few poses, for her benefit as much as Sebastian’s.

  “Wow! You look great, Caro!”

  I had his full attention. From my peripheral vision I saw the sales assistant pout. Hmm, shopping was proving a lot more fun than I’d expected.

  “You want to see the other dress, honey?” I said, doing another slow turn.

  “Yeah!”

  I smirked and ducked back into the changing room, throwing a look at the assistant that dared her to resume her conversation with Sebastian. Sensibly, she declined the challenge.

  The second dress was even more fitted and skimmed the top of my knees.

  “Can you zip me up, honey?” I whispered through the curtain, still enjoying my performance.

  I gazed over my shoulder at Sebastian, trying to play seductive. His presence alone made me feel sexy. His expression immediately heated and suddenly the confines of the changing room seemed unbearably hot. He pulled up the zipper with aching slowness, brushing a soft kiss over my bare shoulder.

  “You look beautiful, baby,” he said quietly.

  Suddenly we weren’t playing anymore. The assistant coughed, embarrassed.

  “How’s the size, ma’am?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “It’s perfect,” said Sebastian in a low tone.

  I wandered out of the shop in a daze. Sebastian insisted on carrying the bag and wrapped his free hand around my limp fingers.

  “You want to get some lunch?”

  “Sebastian, it’s only 11.15 AM!”

  “Yeah, well I’m hungry.”

  “You never stop eating. You’re going to be enormous when you get older.”

  “Nah. I’ll have you to keep me fit.”

  Dear God: I hoped I was up to the challenge. A few hours with Sebastian was yoga, Pilates and aerobics all rolled into one, delicious work-out.

  “Donna said I should get Mitch to teach me to surf,” I commented slyly.

  Sebastian wasn’t pleased.

  “I can teach you! You don’t need him.”

  “Are you pouting at me?” I laughed. “You are! You’re pouting.”

  I brought our twined hands up to my mouth and kissed his fingers.

  “I’m just teasing you.”

  He still looked hurt and I rather regretted trying to make him jealous. I suppose it was a childish tit-for-tat: that sales assistant had upset me more than I was willing to admit. But it wasn’t fair to take it out on Sebastian. It wasn’t his fault girls were throwing themselves at him.

  “Come on: I’ll buy you coffee and a Danish.”

  He settled on pastrami, lettuce and tomato on ciabatta bread; a regular black coffee with two sugars; and a Danish pastry, as promised. I had a large espresso and watched him wolf down the food. Our grocery bill in New York was going to be huge.

  “Where
else in Europe would you like to go?”

  He swallowed his mouthful and drank some coffee while he thought.

  “Well, everywhere, but I’d really like to go to Southern Spain – see all the Moorish stuff. I saw a picture of the Alhambra palace once – it looked, I don’t know, like ‘One Thousand and One Nights’.”

  I was surprised and I realized how little I knew of him, his hopes and dreams. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became.

  “You’ve read ‘Arabian Nights’?”

  He cocked his head to look at me. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  I was confused. “Remember what?”

  “You gave me the book to read – when I was a kid. I must have read it a hundred times. I used to think you were Scheherazade.”

  Scheherazade: the princess who told a different story every night to keep the king from beheading her. I wasn’t very keen on the comparison. Except then he fell in love with her and married her.

  “Just because you were such an amazing storyteller,” Sebastian said, intuiting my reaction. “I guess I’m not surprised you became a writer.”

  I smiled gamely. “I’m trying to become a writer.”

  “You will,” he said, certainty coloring his voice. “You are.”

  I struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to betray me. His encouragement, his certainty that I had the ability to achieve my dream; it meant more to me than I could ever express.

  “What about you?” I said, trying to speak naturally. “After our road trip…”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Mom and dad always expected me to go the military route.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  I managed to suppress a shudder at the thought of being pulled back towards living on military bases.

  “No, I don’t think so. I mean, parts of it would be great – but I’d like to travel.”

  “Traveling isn’t a job,” I laughed. “Unless you want to work on a cruise ship.”

  “Maybe,” he said smiling. “You could be a travel writer and I’ll… carry your bags.”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  He leaned over and kissed me so I could feel the smile on his lips.

  This kiss was different somehow: more relaxed, less desperate – just sweet and loving. I stroked his cheek and he sighed happily, leaning into my hand.

  “I know,” he said, suddenly sitting up. “I’m going to take you surfing. You said you wanted to learn…”

  “No, no! It was Donna who said I should...”

  “Are you chicken?”

  “Yes! The water’s too cold.”

  He laughed. “They’ve invented wetsuits. You’ll be fine. I know a place just north of La Jolla where we can rent some gear. Come on! We’ve got a couple of hours. You can drop me off at work on the way back. We’ve got time.”

  I really had no desire to immerse myself in chilly Pacific waters but his enthusiasm was contagious. Maybe it was his recklessness that was catching, his unbreachable zest for life. Maybe I was just no longer afraid to live.

  “Okay, let’s go!”

  We abandoned the car next to a shabby-looking surf shack that perched precariously above a small, secluded cove. The water was turquoise; I imagined it to be the color of the Mediterranean and wondered if that was something I’d ever see – the ocean my dear papa had lived by as a small child.

  “Hey, man,” said the owner of the shack. “Long time no see.”

  I immediately felt anxious: it hadn’t occurred to me that Sebastian would take me somewhere he was known. My eyes flickered to him nervously and he squeezed my hand reassuringly.

  “Yeah, can we get a couple of shorties, rash vests and a spongey board?”

  “Sure, man. Come on through.”

  Sebastian let the owner go ahead then whispered in my ear.

  “Don’t worry: he says that to everyone. He hasn’t got a clue who I am. It’s cool.”

  I tried to relax but the shot of adrenaline was still working its way through my body: I smiled wanly.

  The owner sized us up expertly and handed over a couple of cropped wetsuits, silky rash vests to wear under the neoprene and a large, heavy foam-covered surfboard. I was glad that Sebastian tucked it under his arm: it was too wide for me to be able to carry easily.

  “That’ll be twenty bucks,” drawled the owner.

  Before I could stop him, Sebastian pulled out his wallet and handed the man a couple of bills.

  “And I’ll need a credit card for surety, dude.”

  Sebastian’s eyes flickered uncertainly to me. I knew he didn’t have a credit card and I wasn’t really keen on the idea of handing one over that described me as ‘Mrs. Carolina M. Wilson’.

  “How about we give you our car keys?” said Sebastian, thinking quickly. “We’re parked right over there.”

  He pointed at my old Ford.

  “Dude, that piece of shit isn’t gonna pay for anything!”

  “Ah, come on! What are we going to do? Go running down the highway carrying a spongey?”

  The owner held up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, but only because your girlfriend has such a cute smile, man!”

  I thanked him quickly as I dragged a suddenly angry Sebastian out of the door.

  “He was hitting on you,” he grumbled.

  “Hardly!”

  “He was.”

  I shook my head. “Are you going to teach me to surf, or what?”

  Sebastian grinned. It really didn’t take much to put him in a good mood – how very different from David.

  Neither of us had swim gear. I just pulled on the wetsuit over my panties and unhooked my bra when I’d pulled on the rash vest, so I was half-dressed. Sebastian watched in fascination. I didn’t think it warranted that close a scrutiny. He caught my expression and winked, pulling his borrowed wetsuit over a pair of tight-fitting grey briefs that soon had my mind wandering.

  He carried the board down to the sand and gave me a quick lesson on how to pop up using a rocking motion. He made it look easy – probably something to do with his well-developed upper body strength.

  The heavy beginner’s board was covered in soft foam to help prevent injuries amongst the uninitiated, but it was also impregnated with sand and the palms of my hands soon began to feel sore.

  “You’re getting it,” said Sebastian encouragingly. “Let’s try you on a few waves: I’ll push you onto them and tell you when to pop up.”

  The waves in the cove were small and well ordered: perfect for learning on. I lay face down on the board and felt the cold water splash around me.

  “Get ready! Paddle, paddle, paddle. Now!”

  Sebastian pushed me onto a small wave and as the board began to tip down onto the green-water, I popped up, wobbled for a few feet then fell off sideways. I managed to close my mouth but felt seawater gush up my nose. My head broke water as I coughed and rubbed my eyes. My long hair hung like seaweed over my face.

  Sebastian was laughing but he looked at me proudly.

  “Wow, Caro! You just rode your first wave! That was awesome!”

  He kissed my salty face and hugged me tightly as the water rippled around our waists.

  “Try again!”

  We spent another hour playing in the ocean and, by the end, I’d managed to ride a wave for several seconds and even put in a small turn.

  Sebastian hadn’t got bored or shouted at me or shown any signs of impatience. I was slightly in shock, but elated, too.

  “So, how do you like being a surfer dude?” he said, smiling at me proudly.

  “I love it, but I’m exhausted. It’s almost as tiring as spending the night with you,” I teased him.

  He laughed happily then sighed. “I’d like to do that again, but we can’t, can we? Not for a while.” He frowned and squinted at the sun. “I have to get to work soon: we’d better head back.”

  We hadn’t planned the surf trip so I didn’t have a towel in the car. Instead we had to pull ou
r clothes back on over damp, salty bodies and my hair dripped chilly drops of water down my shoulders.

  It was easier for me to dress as I was wearing a skirt, but I enjoyed my private ogling as Sebastian pulled off his boxer briefs, only partially hidden by the car door and grabbed his jeans. I loved watching the flex and ripple of his muscles under his golden tan, the way his jeans dropped down from his waist to hang on his hips, and the way two tiny lines appeared between his eyebrows when he was concentrating on something.

  He grinned as he saw me watching him and with deliberate slowness pulled his T-shirt over his damp chest, so the washed-out fabric clung to him.

  I really wanted to pull it off him again but he had to get to work and I wanted to spend a couple of hours working on my next City Beat story.

  I’d decided to write about what it was like for military families to move around the country from base to base. I had some experience of that and I knew that Donna had lived in at least three other states and, with Johan, had been stationed overseas twice already with the possibility of another stint in Germany on the horizon.

  “Time to get back to the real world,” Sebastian said wistfully. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight?”

  “I rather hope not,” I said truthfully.

  Sebastian looked hurt.

  “It’s too hard to act normal when you’re there,” I explained softly.

  He nodded slowly. “I know what you mean… but I’d still like to see you.”

  I sighed and shook my head.

  “Well, can I come to your house tomorrow?”

  “Sebastian, I don’t think so. You know what people are like around here: all it would take would be for you to be seen coming in or leaving. Or if someone came to the door because they’d seen my car in the driveway and I… we…”

  He knew what I was saying and he knew as well as I did which risks were acceptable and which weren’t. We were making up the rules as we went along, but there were still rules.

  “When can I see you?” he said sulkily.

  “I’m still free tomorrow. Maybe we could go surfing again?”

  “I want to make love to you, Caro,” he muttered, gazing at my fingers as he squeezed them gently.