Stop, Don't Stop

by Jonah Black

  “You want a mint, Chipper?” he said. I took one. In spite of the Life Saver, Pops still smelled like peanut butter. He always did.

  Pops moved the Life Saver around in his mouth noisily and studied me. “Ya walloped yourself something fierce, didn’t ya?” He laughed.

  “It’s not funny,” I said. “I could have broken my neck.”

  “You’re all right,” said Pops Berman. “Long as you didn’t die, it was funny. You should have seen yourself!” He laughed.

  “I’m glad you find it so amusing,” I said.

  “Well it wouldn’t have happened if you’d been concentrating, Chipper,” he said. “You started thinking about walkin’ the doggy when you should have been thinking about your dive.”

  “How do you know what I was thinking about?” I said. Pops is completely psychic. It’s scary.

  He looked at me like I was stupid.

  “Okay,” I said. “So maybe I was. It’s just that I was trying to choose between these two girls. There’s Sophie, who’s like my dream girl, the one I got kicked out of school for. And then there’s . . .” My voice trailed off.

  Pops Berman picked up his cane and pointed it at Posie, out on the waves. “And then there’s her,” he said.

  “Yeah. Then there’s Posie,” I said.

  “Well, I’m glad you made up your mind. You made the right decision, too.” He looked out at Posie with a big contented smile.

  “I don’t know. There’s kind of a problem,” I said.

  Pops’s smile died away. “Problem? I should have known there’d be a problem if it involved you. What is it this time?”

  “She’s going out with my best friend, Thorne.”

  “Thorne?” said Pops. He spat a loogie into the sand. “Not that kid with the goatee?”

  You know, it’s kind of creepy that Pops knows everything about me, and everything about everyone I know. I mean, what is his deal?

  “Yeah, that’s Thorne,” I said.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. What’s the matter with that girl? Ain’t she got any sense?” Pops coughed into his fist.

  “Oh, she’s got sense all right. It’s my problem, actually. She doesn’t know I like her,” I said.

  “Why not, Chipper?” Pops said, shaking his head.

  “’Cause I haven’t told her,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Right,” Pops said. “Well, she can’t read your mind, can she?”

  “I guess not,” I said.

  Pops got up and started down the ladder. Halfway down he stopped. “You know what you gotta do, don’t you, Chipper? You better know.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t.”

  “Oh, you’re young and pretty, but you’re not too smart. Tell her, you lunkhead. What’s to lose?” He snarled, shaking his cane.

  “You think so?” I said.

  “I know so.”

  Pops reached the bottom of the tower and started walking up the beach. He was humming his favorite old pirate song.

  I rode around for a while longer and then finally I headed toward school. I locked my bike up in front of Don Shula and came in here. Now the classroom is beginning to fill up. Cilla Wright and her friend Kirsten are off giggling in the corner. What it is they always find so giggly about everything I don’t know. I just noticed that Cilla has these very tiny sweat stains under the arms of her red baby T-shirt, and Kirsten’s hair is wet. On the wall there is this big chart of the human body. It’s these two transparent people, a man and a woman, and you can see all their veins and organs and bones. The woman looks a little like Miss von Esse, I think. I mean, if she didn’t have any skin or muscles. It’s amazing if you look at all the junk that is inside us. I mean, people are just full of crap.

  Oct. 25, 5:45 P.M.

  Today after classes Thorne and Posie and I sat in the bleachers in the natatorium and watched swim practice. I showed up early to say hello to the team, and the guys all got out of the water and gave me big hugs, which was great except they got me all wet. Even Wailer, Posie’s ex, who I thought hated me, gave me this giant macho bear hug. Then Posie and Thorne came in, and we sat down on the benches to watch the practice.

  I’d kind of hoped that Posie and Thorne wouldn’t come in together. I hadn’t seen Posie alone since I got out of the hospital, and I was really looking forward to talking to her. But of course Thorne started jabbering on and on about something, and Posie was all into listening, and it was like I didn’t even exist!

  So I watched my team practice, which was pretty sad. The team sucks. Don Shula High is a magnet school for languages, right? So today I developed a new theory that people who are good at languages aren’t good at sports. Of course our team knows how to say the word sidestroke in Dutch and Swahili and just about every other spoken language in the world, but unfortunately they can’t actually do it very well.

  The divers are even worse than the swimmers. There are only four of us altogether. Me (well, if they ever let me dive again), Martino (but he only does one dive), Wailer (he can’t dive at all), and Ricky (maybe, if the coach makes him dive instead of swim).

  Wailer Conrad is the newest member, and he has no control at all. He can do these little baby dives off the low board, but you can’t compete with those.

  I still think it’s weird that Wailer is even on the team. He joined because he wanted more extracurriculars on his record, which is pretty lame if you ask me. But then Wailer is a pretty lame guy. He used to go up to almost any girl in the school and tell her he wanted to “drop out and live on the beach and make babies” with her. And they all bought it, even Posie, at least for a while. He was such a player. But ever since Posie broke up with him, he hasn’t been scamming on any more girls. I guess he’s trying to clean up his act or something. Anyway, I still don’t see how diving is going to improve his college record, because our team completely sucks.

  Martino Suarez is a good guy, but you kind of have to have more than one dive in your repertoire to win a meet.

  Meawhile, Coach Davis is trying to get Ricky Anderson to move from breaststroke to diving, but it’s not really fair, because Ricky is really good at breaststroke. He’s basically being asked to switch from a sport he’s good at to a sport he can’t do at all, and he’s not happy about it.

  I looked up into the stands while I was sitting there, looking for that Indian girl I call Watches Boys Dive. She used to watch every practice, but she wasn’t there. Did she stop coming because I wasn’t diving?

  We sat on the bleachers for a little while longer, watching the practice. When Wailer screwed up a back one-and-a-half somersault, which is a pretty easy dive, I turned around to say something to Posie and Thorne. But they were busy sucking each other’s faces off. It was so depressing.

  I cleared my throat, but they didn’t seem to notice. I was so mad I wanted to push both of them off the bench and roll them into the pool. I cleared my throat again.

  This time Posie pulled back and looked at me with a big grin. She didn’t look very sorry.

  “Sorry to interrupt you guys,” I said indignantly.

  “Hey, Posie. Look. Jonah’s here,” said Thorne, like I’d just arrived.

  “Oh, Thorne, don’t hurt Jonah’s feelings,” Posie said. She looked a little embarrassed, which made me feel better.

  “Hey, you’re right, Pose,” Thorne said. “I forgot he’s all sensitive.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “I just wanted you both to know that Wailer fell off the board while trying to do a back one-and-a-half somersault.”

  Thorne shrugged. “Is that bad?” he said.

  I shook my head. “You guys are going to be completely unbearable from now on, aren’t you?”

  Posie smiled. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look so happy. She was beautiful when she was happy. “Yup,” she said. “We’re in love.”

  “In love? Remember this is Thorne we’re talking about? The guy who melted the heads off your Barbies with a blowtorch?” I reminded her.

  “H
ey,” said Thorne. “Those Barbies were asking for it.”

  “You ever think that kissing is like surfing?” Posie mused.

  “I know you have,” Thorne said, squeezing her thigh.

  “Well, it is. It’s like a steam-train wave, when the swell first comes up and everything is like, totally electric.” She looked like a power switch had been switched on inside her. She was radiating light. “Oh, Jonah,” she said. “I wish you surfed.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  Posie shrugged and got out her little waterproof diving purse and opened a can of Skoal. “You guys want a chaw?”

  “Sure,” said Thorne, pinching off a wad.

  Thorne and Posie started chewing.

  “So Thorne, how’s the Zoo? Everything business as usual in the senior class?” I said.

  “Yeah, I guess. Except we have a substitute this week. Mr. Bond has been absent for the last four days,” he said.

  “Yeah? What’s wrong with him?” I said.

  “Hell, man, I don’t know. Maybe he got hold of a bad clam.”

  “You want to get out of here, Jonah?” Posie said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s too depressing. Let’s go over to Thorne’s house and watch a movie or something.” I was kind of sick of hanging around my house.

  “My house . . .” Thorne said. He shook his head. “Sorry, man. My house is off limits. Mom’s having the kitchen done.”

  Posie rolled her eyes. “I think Thorne’s got some wicked secret at his house. He never lets me go there.”

  Me neither. I mean, ever since I’ve been back in Pompano I haven’t been to Thorne’s new house. I don’t even know exactly where it is. He was definitely being squirrelly about it. But there’s no point in trying to see the whole picture when Thorne is involved. You just have to hang out and wait until he tells you the truth. Which might be never.

  So anyway, we went over to Posie’s for a while, and then I left so they could be alone.

  (Still Oct. 25, 8:15 P.M.)

  Okay, so I’m doing homework and slowly eating this whole can of Pringles. It’s like being on heroin or something. I just can’t stop. I do one question in calc and then I have to eat five Pringles, then another problem, then another five Pringles. I used my calculator to figure out that if I keep doing it this way I’ll be done with the calculus homework right after I eat the last five chips. Who says math isn’t useful?

  I’ve been thinking about something, though, and I might as well write it down, although I’m afraid that even writing it makes me kind of pathetic. And I was already feeling pretty pathetic because of the last entry. Anyway, I’ve been thinking that it’s kind of weird that Mom just went off and left us alone for three weeks while she’s promoting her book. I mean, I know it should feel like an honor that Honey and I are mature enough to be on our own, but I still think it’s weird. I don’t even know if Dad knows about it or not. Probably not, since he hasn’t called or anything. Not that he would, the loser.

  Of course, most people I know would be thrilled not to have any parents around for a few weeks, and I’m not saying I’m not enjoying it. But it’s not like Mom is doing this because she wants to give us this big chance to show how grown up we are. She’s doing it because her career as an author and a “broadcasting personality” (barf) is skyrocketing. I guess in order for her to have her career she has to kind of ditch us.

  Honey has been acting like she’s in charge, even though I’m older than she is. She keeps making all these disgusting dinners and using food coloring to make the powdered mashed potatoes blue.

  I mean, in a way it’s funny. It’s like, half the time while Mom is around I wish she’d leave me alone because she drives me so crazy. And now she’s away for three weeks and I wish she’d come back.

  I told you this was going to be pathetic.

  (Still Oct. 25, 9:45 P.M.)

  This is weird. I called Mom at her hotel room, in Atlanta, where apparently some local school board is working to have her book banned. This of course has made her sales go through the roof. Hello Penis! Hello Vagina! is now number 14 on the best-seller list in Georgia. Amazing.

  Anyway, I called up Mom, and guess what? This guy answered the phone. When I asked for Mom, all he said was, “Sorry. Dr. Black is resting right now. Can I take a message for her?”

  Dr. Black? You’d think that anyone who knows Mom well enough to be in her room while she’s resting would know she’s not really a doctor. You’d also think anybody who knows her that well would know who I was. I mean, I’m her son.

  I just hung up without leaving a message. And now I’m wondering if maybe Mom has a boyfriend. But Jesus, who could it be?

  The crazy thing is, the guy’s voice sounded familiar. I’m trying to think of all the middle-aged men I know, but I can’t think of anyone. There’s Mr. Swede, my boss at First Amendment Pizza, but he’s Portuguese and has an accent. Plus, he’s married. Then I thought of Pops Berman, who’s a lot older than forty. It wasn’t him, either. I have no idea who it could be.

  Also in the news roundup tonight: Honey went out an hour ago with Smacky Platte, the school’s biggest stoner/loser. Why she hangs out with him I still don’t get. I mean, Honey has an IQ of like, 874. So why would she want to spend her time blowing smoke rings with a guy who wears a leather Aerosmith sun visor?

  More later.

  (Still Oct. 25, 10 P.M.)

  So I just had this amazing experience. Actually, amazing is definitely not the right word. Pathetic is more like it. I should call up Thorne and ask him if I can borrow that clamshell collar back. Except that if I call him up Posie will probably be there, giggling in the background like she does when she’s horny.

  Anyway, I just called Sophie. I don’t even know why, since I thought I’d decided not to, but I did it anyway. Maybe I wanted to say good-bye.

  It’s the middle of Masthead’s October break, so I knew she’d probably be at home up in Maine. I sat there with the phone in my lap for about a half hour, just trying to get up the courage to call her. I wanted to tell her, It’s all right. I’m not going to worry about you anymore.

  Anyway, it took me forever, just sitting there holding the phone, before finally I thought, Screw it, just do it. So I punched in the numbers, and it rang a few times and then someone picked it up and this very rich Yankee voice, definitely her father, goes, “Yes?”

  And I said, “May I speak to Sophie, please?”

  There was a long pause. Then I heard the phone being put down, and footsteps going down a hallway. I waited on the line for a long time. While I waited I thought I could hear a clock ticking and the pounding of the ocean on the rocks just outside her door. Then I heard these fast smacking sounds, which sounded like a girl’s bare feet on a wooden floor, and then she picked up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  The sound of her voice was like opening the door to a concert hall where a live band is playing. It was like reaching the top of a mountain after a long climb and being blown over by a tremendous blast of wind. It was like having a balloon blown up inside my chest, growing bigger and bigger. I couldn’t believe it. After six months of thinking about her, of dreaming about her, of reliving all those brief shared moments with her, there she was in the flesh, completely and absolutely one hundred percent real.

  I hung up.

  I’ve been sitting ever since with the phone in my lap. That was probably the last time I’ll ever hear Sophie’s voice. I guess I’m okay with it, but it’s hard, letting things go.

  It’s funny how you can worry over something for so long, turning it over and over in your mind, and then all of a sudden it’s over. It’s not anything you can plan. It seems like life is like that in general. Everyone’s always planning things, and then nothing ever turns out the way you think it’s going to. At least, that’s how my life is.

  Oct. 26, 3:31 P.M.

  Today something pretty nice happened. After school I was doing my delivery route for First Amendment Pizza and I wound
up at Cecily LaChoy’s house, holding a piping-hot pizza with sausage, green peppers, onions, and extra cheese. When she opened the door, her eyes took on this orange glow, like a werewolf. I don’t know, maybe she was just hungry.

  Anyway, she invited me in and I said okay, since it was the last delivery of my shift anyway. We sat down in her living room and watched MTV and ate some pizza.

  “How’s your neck?” Cecily asked me.

  “My neck?” I said.

  “I mean your head. You know, the accident you had. Are you all right?” she said.

  Cecily has the kind of blond hair that was probably practically white when she was five and is now almost brown, with all these different shades of blond in it. Her hips are pretty large, but they look like they’re supposed to be that way, like she’s just naturally wide. She was eating this slice of pizza, and there was a thick strand of cheese that she couldn’t cut with her teeth so she kept pulling the slice away from her and sucking up the cheese strand. But no matter how much she pulled on the pizza, there was always more cheese hanging off it. Finally, she just took a gigantic bite, and then she sat there, chewing away, with these two giant cheeks, like a hamster.

  “I’m all better,” I said. I wanted to ask her to eat another slice to see if she could do it again, but she didn’t look like she was hungry anymore.

  “So you didn’t bruise your brain or anything?” Cecily said.

  “Well, I still get headaches, but I’m fine,” I said.

  A video for this band called Lemon came on MTV. Five women wearing only their bras and panties were painting an empty room with these giant paint rollers.

  “I love this video,” said Cecily.

  “Me too,” I said, although I actually didn’t know the band very well.

  “You like Lemon?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “You know they’re playing in Ft. Lauderdale next Saturday. You want to go?” Cecily said.

  My thoughts were going about a million miles an hour. I didn’t know why I was thinking about hanging out with anyone else but Posie. But Posie is going out with Thorne, so why shouldn’t I go to the concert with Cecily? I mean, Cecily likes me. She was flirting with me. She visited me in the hospital. She brought me roses. But I don’t really even know Cecily. So then I was thinking is it wrong to go to the concert with her when I don’t even know if I like her? I was all mixed up.