Firefly Beach

by Meira Pentermann

  That morning, Kenny made a decision. And in the split second it turned over in his mind, he felt a sense of personal power he had never felt in his lifetime. Courage welled up inside of him. He had nothing to lose.

  He started the laundry and peeked into the TV room. His father was watching television, laughing. The volume was loud. Kenny sneaked into his parents’ bedroom and rummaged in his mother’s dresser drawers. He found what he sought. Whenever his mother needed to make a trip to the liquor store, she retreated to the bedroom before slipping out the door. She squirreled away grocery money for her stash. Kenny’s father was not very good at math, and he never noticed the discrepancy in the budget. Kenny found $130, covered by cheap trinkets and gaudy bracelets, in his mother’s jewelry box. He tucked the money in his pocket and went to his bedroom.

  He spent considerable time thinking before he carefully packed his backpack with the bare necessities for survival – a flashlight, some matches, a water bottle, and one change of clothing. He kept the money in his jeans pocket.

  His mother staggered into consciousness sometime after 3:00 p.m. Kenny’s heart jolted because he feared she would need to make a liquor store trip, and she would notice the missing money. He quietly replaced the cash, hoping that it looked like the way he found it. Thankfully, she never came searching. Instead, she and Mack decided to go to their favorite pub for dinner. Kenny held on to the slight hope that she remembered his birthday and they were taking him to celebrate. But he was not invited. His mother had entirely forgotten.

  When they left the house, laughing as they climbed into the car, all of Kenny’s reservations left with them. He grabbed the money and his backpack, and he headed out of town in the opposite direction of the pub.

  Over the following six weeks, he hitchhiked his way up the coast, hanging out here and there until he reached Philadelphia, where he became an apprentice to a sympathetic jeweler. He was a hard worker, and he learned the craft quickly, impressing his boss. Soon he was designing pieces that were very popular. Kenny was well-paid, and over the years he saved and planned for the future.

  Sometimes he wondered what became of his parents, especially his mother. But when he went looking for her ten years later, he could not find a trace of her. Mack lived alone. He was drunk and belligerent, and he would not speak to Kenny. Folks from town who should have remembered her played stupid when Kenny asked questions, or they avoided him altogether.

  Did she drink herself to death? Did Mack kill her?

  Kenny went to the county police. They took down the information, but Kenny sensed that they did not intend to investigate. A chill went up his spine as he walked down the steps of the police headquarters. At that moment he realized that he, himself, had no intention of pursuing the matter further.

  Was it fear of what his father might do? Or was it apathy over the fate of the woman who had emotionally abandoned him during his pre-teen years? Kenny asked himself these questions only once. Then he left his southern life behind and moved to Maine.

  Chapter 18

  Surrendering Innocence

  Wednesday, August 20

  Well, today was the first day of cheerleading camp.

  Oh, you want to hear about the disgusting trip to the gynecologist? Well, why didn’t you say so?

  Yuck. That was a horrible experience. It was downright humiliating. I had to lie on a table and put my legs in brackets, so he could – oh it was so gross – spread them and poke around in my personal space. I was mortified. I tried to put myself somewhere else in my mind.

  After the nightmare was over and I was allowed to sit up and cover myself, we had a lovely little chat about contraception. I’m supposed to take this pill every day, preferably at the same time. On the last week, I take the green pills, have my period, and start again with the next packet. Keep it like clockwork, he said. Sounds easy. I’ll know if I took it by looking at the packet.

  I’m sort of scared, but I have to be prepared. I know where things are going, and I have to be ready. John will be happy when he hears that I’m on the pill. I’m sure he’s used to mature women who understand these things. He doesn’t need some goofy teenager that doesn’t know anything about birth control.

  Okay, yeah, yeah, I know. Sarah was right.

  L,

  K

  Friday, August 22

  I’m taking the pill, but I don’t feel any different. I suppose that is a good thing. No side effects.

  Dad is watching us like a hawk – John at the garage, me at home. I should skip cheerleading camp again. But Dad will notice John’s absence. And – God forbid – what if he followed him? Oh, my life is impossible.

  I’m depressed now. I’ll write later.

  L,

  K

  Tuesday, August 26

  Finally, an end in sight. Dad is going on an errand-run to Portland on Friday. I’m going to skip cheerleading camp. It’s the last day. School starts on Tuesday. It starts early this year because of stupid Labor Day falling on the first. Can I ever get a break?

  Anyway, watch out for Cutie-Pie.

  Love,

  Katherine

  Saturday, August 30

  Dear Diary:

  I’m a woman now. I did it! I did it with John.

  Oh my God. I was so scared. He brought a backpack with a picnic lunch. Of course that came with a large soft blanket. When I saw the blanket, I wondered, and I got really scared. We had a nice lunch. I barely said a word. Then he carefully packed up, put everything (except the blanket) over by the rocks, and laid down propping himself up with one hand on his head. I did the same and then he kissed me…for a long time. When he moved to take my shirt off, I sat up and told him I was scared. He had thought that because I was on the pill I wasn’t a virgin. When he found out, he became very understanding and gentle. How wonderful he was.

  He took my clothing off slowly. I was sort of embarrassed. I tried to cover myself and he delicately moved my hands away. I think I was blushing from head to toe. Then he undressed and I was even more embarrassed. I wanted to look, but I kept turning away, giggling. He thought that was sweet.

  Then he laid me down, gently separated my legs, and, well…right here on my special beach, we made love.

  It was nicer than I had imagined. See I’ve, you know, played with myself sometimes, so I sort of thought I knew what to expect. But it was way more pleasurable than that…the feel of him, the smell of him. It was amazing.

  This beach will never be the same again.

  Love,

  Katherine

  Beth slammed the diary closed, threw it on the bed, and began to pace the room. Stopping abruptly, she put her head in her hands.

  The Hollywood-style depiction of young love as being gentle and pleasurable infuriated her. It did not happen that way for everyone. Memories wriggled out of their hiding places like maggots on a dead mouse. All of a sudden, Beth despised Katherine and wished she’d never set foot on the beach. As if aware of her anguish, the firefly appeared, floating outside of the window.

  “Get out of here,” Beth screamed. “I don’t want to talk to you tonight!” It was as if the wounded animal inside of her had awoken, with one final breath, to face its foe.

  The firefly shimmered and then drifted away.

  Beth continued to pace. She thought about how Katherine had pushed her father out of her life. “If only my dad had been there for me,” she whispered in resentment. He would have protected her honor, offered her guidance, or at the very least made her less susceptible to the admiration fatherless girls often felt for older men.

  His name was Larry. He was almost thirty and Beth was eighteen. She met him the summer she graduated from high school. He was a bartender where she worked, a real charmer. All of the waitresses had a crush on him. Flock of Seagulls hair, tan skin, and a smile that would melt a witch’s heart; he was hard to resist.

  Larry took an interest in Beth shortly after she began to work at the restaurant. She had indulged in dozens of cr
ushes over the years, but she never had a boyfriend, so the attention was especially alluring. One evening he offered to drive her home after work. Instead they ended up at his place.

  They sat on the couch for a while before he made his move. He was rough and unpleasant. His kisses were harsh and he tasted like cigarettes. Beth squirmed. Her resistance seemed to turn him on. She wanted to leave, but she didn’t want him to be mad, so she stayed. He pulled her off the couch and led her to the bedroom. She looked back at the door, but he held her arm and coaxed her to follow him, all the while leering at her breasts. Before she knew it, she was in his bedroom, her clothing scattered around the bed.

  She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him as he climbed on top of her. His breath smelled; his face was coarse. She wanted to be anywhere else except there, but she wanted him to like her. Pinned and suffocating, she was not at all aroused, so it was very painful. It seemed to drag on forever, and she kept praying it would end. When he finally dismounted, she rolled over and cried quietly.

  And that was how Beth lost her virginity.

  She saw Larry several more times in the weeks that followed. The sex was unpleasant every time, but she made herself available anyway. She enjoyed the feeling of being wanted, and she knew he would discard her if she didn’t put out.

  One evening, when they were lying in his bed shortly after having sex, she looked up and saw Larry’s roommate smirking at her, as if he were waiting for his turn. Larry and the roommate exchanged a look that frightened Beth. Larry got up and made his way to exit the room.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” Beth announced quickly, her heart pounding.

  Larry gestured toward the bathroom door. Beth stared defiantly at the roommate until he turned around long enough for her to pull on her shirt and shorts minus underwear and bra. She thought she saw him peeking over his shoulder, but she focused on dressing as quickly as possible.

  Beth locked the bathroom door and struggled with the window. It was a short drop from the first floor apartment to the bushes below. Beth climbed down, scrambled out of the bushes, and ran as fast as she could to the bus stop. She had a few dollars stashed in her back pocket, but she had left her purse behind. Beth watched nervously, looking up the road for the bus and back toward the street where Larry lived. She decided not to wait. She ran for half a mile and hid out at another bus stop. Thankfully, the bus came within five minutes. She boarded the bus, exhausted and relieved.

  Beth never returned to the restaurant, not even to collect her last paycheck. Just before she left for Albuquerque, a check for $34.15 came in the mail. She tore it up on the spot.

  The older Beth stared out the window and watched the light creature drift away. She seethed with hatred. The memories continued to surface and she stuffed them down one by one until they were silenced. She slammed her hand flat against the wall two times. Then she raced down the stairs, retreated to the kitchen, and poured herself a drink.

  * * * *

  During the weekend, Beth avoided both the diary and the painting of the red-haired girl. She took walks, sketched a lighthouse ten miles up the coast, and began to paint the islands visible from her backyard. She stayed very busy, keeping her mind as occupied as possible. At night she had a drink or took a sleeping pill, trying to numb herself to sleep.

  On Sunday night she endured a terrible dream. In this dream she flew along a tree-lined road in the late afternoon. The sun was setting. She soared, seeming to turn along with the curves of the road under no power of her own. She heard a car approaching in the distance. She tried to turn off the road, but she had no control over her body. The car continued to close the gap between them, its tires screeching on the curves. It began to grow dark and Beth longed to stop flying and rest. Suddenly, the car came around the corner going eighty miles an hour. Its headlights blinded her right before impact.

  Beth jolted up in bed early Monday morning, sweating from the dream. She took another sleeping pill and went back to sleep.

  * * * *

  At 10:21 a.m. the incessant ringing of her cell phone awoke her. Her head pounded, but she dragged herself out of bed and grabbed the phone off of the dresser.

  “Hello?” she said. Her scratchy voice was barely audible.

  “Is this Beth LaMonte?”

  “Yes, who’s calling?”

  “Dr. Peter Stephens from Seattle.”

  All at once, Beth grew alert. She fumbled for a tablet and a pen. “Dr. Stephens. Thank you for returning my call.”

  “What can I do for you?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Uh…” Beth took a moment to jog her brain and organize her thoughts. “I’m looking for Sarah Wylder. I believe she was a student of yours in the late seventies.”

  There was a brief pause on the other end. “Ah, yes, Serious Sarah.” The gentleman chuckled warmly. “She hated it when I called her that. I was her advisor. Good old Sarah, a brilliant young lady.”

  Beth’s heart quickened and her face flushed. Finally a phone call that amounted to something, a true lead. “Oh, Dr. Stephens, that is wonderful news. Do you happen to know how I would get a hold of her now?”

  “I’m afraid we didn’t stay in touch. When she started medical school, she hardly had time to phone her mother, I would imagine.”

  “Medical school?”

  “Yes. She went to Ohio State in Columbus. I suppose if she’s practicing you could find her in the American Medical Association listings.”

  That idea had already raced through Beth’s mind. In fact, she realized that had she simply Googled Sarah’s name to begin with, it would probably have shown up on a website. Beth wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it. She pulled up Google and typed in Sarah Wylder. The charming professor prattled on about Sarah – how diligent she was, and that in spite of being a very serious young lady, she had a soft side that emerged now and again.

  With one click of the mouse, Beth located a website for the Cleveland Women’s Care Facility. And on staff, Dr. Sarah G. Wylder, a gynecologist.

  “I found her,” Beth exclaimed. “Thank you so very much, professor.”

  “You found her already? Oh, you kids and your computers. I hate to think what you’d find if you looked me up.”

  Beth grinned. “Would you like me to?” She started typing.

  “No, no,” Dr. Stephens protested. “I think I’d rather not know.”

  “I bet it’s all good,” Beth teased.

  “That’s all right. I’m glad I could be of service. Where is Sarah, by the way? Perhaps I should drop her a line and see if she remembers an old friend.”

  “She’s in Cleveland.” Beth read the phone number to the professor. Then they exchanged goodbyes.

  As soon as Beth hung up, she dialed the number.

  “Cleveland Women’s Care, how may I help you?”

  Beth was almost giddy. She had to slow her speech. “I’d like to speak with Dr. Wylder please.”

  “Are you a physician?”

  “Oh, no,” Beth explained. “It’s a personal matter.”

  “Your name?”

  “Beth LaMonte.”

  “Hold please.”

  Beth waited for several minutes before the young woman came on the line again. “I’m sorry, Dr. Wylder is with a patient at the moment. Can I take a message?”

  Beth paused. Just how much information should she give? If Sarah and Katherine were on seriously bad terms, she may not be interested in talking with Beth. Beth didn’t want to lose the opportunity, so she kept it brief. “This is Beth LaMonte from Virginia Point, Maine. I…uh…Please just give her my number.”

  The receptionist took down Beth’s number. “She’ll call you as soon as she’s available,” the young woman promised.

  Beth hung up wondering how long that would be. She glanced at the bottom dresser drawer. The diary summoned her again. With all the exciting new developments in her quest, she could hardly be expected to refuse the enticement. She seemed to have forgotten how pain
ful the last reading had been. Curiosity overcame her reservations. She retrieved the diary, went downstairs to make herself a snack, and then settled on the couch to read. She placed her cell phone on the coffee table along with a tablet and a pen in case Sarah returned her call.

  Friday, September 5

  Dear Diary:

  It has been a busy week. School started. Sarah has been weird. I don’t know if she can tell, but I don’t feel comfortable sharing it with her. I guess I am kind of walking around like a woman with a secret – an amazing, beautiful secret. All these girls at school, they seem like children to me now.

  I am going to try to get together with John this weekend. It is a lot harder now that school has started. It is even worse than when Dad was looking over our shoulders. On the other hand, maybe I could skip…No, Sarah would notice, and the school might call Dad. I’d better play it safe. If he finds out, he’ll send John away. I could not bear that.

  Love,

  Katherine

  Friday, September 12

  Dear D:

  Sorry. It has been hard to get time to write. I saw John on Sunday. Dad was sailing, so we took another trip to Acadia. John drove Dad’s car. Not with permission, of course, but Dad doesn’t give me any freedom, so sometimes I just have to take without asking.

  John pulled off to the side of the road along the way and we did it in the back of the car. It was even better. It got kind of steamy in the car. We were sweating on Dad’s leather seats. Serves him right.

  Anyway, I am totally in love. If Dad sends John away now, I’ll follow him. I’ll go around the world just to be with him. He was made for me in heaven. I really believe that. Because nothing short of divine could feel this good.