There are only two other people on the beach. And though I’m tempted to lay down with Jackson in the sand, you know one of them folks has just got to know my mama.
“How ’bout that surfing lesson,” I remind him.
“Cold water’ll do me good.” He laughs. “Wait here and I’ll show you a time or two.” He paddles out to where the waves break. He catches a good one. But then he’s showing off, trying to look cool, and next thing you know, he’s falling facefirst into the water. Lucky for him, the board goes the other way ruther than hitting him on his head. I cover my mouth, but I can’t help but giggle. He comes out of the ocean all dripping and blushing.
“Some teacher you gonn’ be.” I laugh.
“I just got a bit ahead o’ myself is all. Come on, I’ll take you out.” He reaches for my hand, but I ain’t so sure I’m wanting to try it after all. I don’t want to be falling and looking foolish like that.
“That’s okay,” I tell him. “I believe I’d ruther sit and watch awhile.”
“Come on. Don’t be chicken,” he teases. But I back away, smiling, and run down the beach. He runs after me, tackling me to the sand. And then we’re kissing and law, everything seems perfect.
“Savannah, that you down there?” I hear a voice calling. I look up and good God a’mighty, it’s Mr. Howard, my third-grade teacher, wearing Bermuda shorts with black socks, a tank top, and a fishing hat. I sit up right quick.
“Hey, Mr. Howard.”
“Well, I’ll be, Savannah Brown. You sure have grown. Why I just saw your mama, wadn’t but last week. She told me you were coming up, but I didn’t realize you’d grown so.”
You know he’s going to run straight to Mama aiming to get into her good graces. I always did think he had a crush on her, and now here’s his excuse to call her up.
We get on up out of the sand. “It has been a long time,” I say, looking for my way out. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I was just about to have a surfing lesson, so we’ll have to catch up later on. Take care now.” I grab Jackson’s hand and tear on down the beach, the both of us laughing ourselves silly. Jackson takes his board and we splash out into the ocean.
Past the wave break, where the water is deep and calm, we hang on to opposite sides of his surfboard. It’s quiet out here, and Lord have mercy, we are actually alone.
“Sorry about that,” I say, “us being interrupted and all.”
“Don’t worry. It’s kinda funny, ain’t it?”
I just love that about him, how he can see the humor in a situation. I hop up across the board and kiss him on his salty mouth.
“Savannah Brown,” he whispers.
“Jackson Channing,” I whisper back.
A seagull screeches overhead.
Jackson looks up. “He know your mama, too?”
After a while, he rides me to shore on his board—him standing towards the back, me on the front on my knees. It’s way more exciting than Boogie Boarding. So I decide to give it a try.
He drops the surfboard in the sand and shows me how to jump up onto my feet on it. I’m just glad there ain’t too many people out yet. I expect I look awful silly.
“I reckon you’re ready to give it a go,” he says, clearly having more faith in my abilities than I do myself.
I paddle out and he wades in beside me. He anchors the board until a nice, gentle wave comes, then launches me into it. I hang on tight as I can.
As the wave crests, I let out a little shriek without meaning to. “Now!” he yells.
So I jump to my feet, which sends the board out from under me, and I belly flop into the shallow water. I come up sputtering, and he laughs.
“You okay?” he asks, grabbing the board and my hand.
I nod, not too sure I want to try again.
“Come on, now,” Jackson says. “You just got to land with your feet evened up is all.”
So I give it another go. This time I nail the landing and manage to stay on my feet for a good five seconds before I wipe out. “Did you see that?” I call when I come up.
“You did it! Woo-hoo!” he yells.
I take a couple more turns, then collapse on the sand.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“That’s hard work!” I reply. I’m beat, but it’s been real fun having Jackson for a teacher. “You go on. I want to watch you.”
So he goes out and catches those waves like a pro. He seems to know how to read them, become a part of their motion, whereas I’m just standing on the top of them hoping they’re not going to buck me off.
By the end of the day, I’m able to actually stay up all the way to shore. I never imagined I’d be able to learn so quickly. Course I’m only catching the baby waves, but still.
When we’re fixing to leave, he says, “You want to go watch the fireworks with me on the Fourth?”
“Sure,” I say, “long as Mama’s okay with it and all.”
“My cousins are having a party afterwards at the house. My aunt June and uncle John are gonn’ be out of town for the night.”
“I’ll check with Mama. I reckon I won’t mention the out-of-town part.”
“That sounds like a good idea.”
Imagine a Wonder Bread like me at an upper-crust, upperclassmen party. Stef and Joie would flip!
8
I wait until the morning of the Fourth before finally broaching the topic of my plans with Jackson. I’ve taken the risk of asking Mama while she’s getting ready to head to the Family Dollar, so if I can get the yes, she won’t have a chance of taking it back since she’s working late. But so far, it ain’t quite going my way.
“It’s a weeknight,” she says. “Curfew is ten o’clock.”
“The fireworks won’t even start until nine thirty! Only babies are gonn’ have a ten o’clock curfew tonight.”
“You are a baby—my baby—and I ain’t too keen on the idea of you going to this party. Them boys are too old for you.” Imagine what she’d have thought if I’d mentioned the parents weren’t going to be there.
Just my luck, Dog stumbles in from our bedroom in his boxer shorts, his hair all bedraggled. “Did I hear you say we got to be in by ten on the Fourth of July?” Dog demands. “Gina’s letting Dave stay out until eleven thirty! Fourth of July is the best night of the year! If you say ten, I’ma just go stay at Dave’s.”
Mama struggles to get her too-tight work shoes on, looking more irritated by the second. “Eleven thirty is too late for a twelve-year-old,” she says. But I can see the pressure is getting to her. “Where are you planning to be out so late?” she asks him.
“Me and Dave were invited to a party,” he says.
“Where at?”
“A friend’s house.”
“What friend?”
“Just some kid we met down at the beach.”
“Do I know his parents?”
“Forget it. I’m sleeping over at Dave’s.”
Mama sighs, beaten down, and finally caves. “Eleven o’clock for the both of y’all. And there had better not be any drinking going on at these parties, y’all hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and run out of the room before she can change her mind. Guess I owe Dog one.
Jackson and I meet at Eddie’s for dinner, then walk down to the beach to wait for it to get dark. It’s crowded as hell down there, everybody trying to get a good spot to watch the fireworks. Junior and Billy Jo have got blankets spread out in the back of their truck, which is parked right in the middle of the sand. They’re trying to lure a bunch of girls up with chips and beer.
“You want to set up there?” Jackson asks me.
But I just keep hearing Mama’s rules in my head. And even though there’s all these people around, I know I ain’t supposed to be in the back of that truck under any circumstances. Plus them boys get mean quicker than a drunk in a bar fight, and I reckon the beer’s going to help that right along.
Jackson looks at the goings-on in the truck and says, “I believe I’d ruthe
r walk some if that’s okay.”
Lord am I relieved! We walk and walk, but there just ain’t no privacy to be had on the beach tonight. After a while, though, the crowds thin out and we’ve got a little more room to ourselves. He sits down in the sand and I plop down between his legs, my back to his chest. A shock of excitement hits me as my body touches his. But the humid air makes it too warm and sticky to fully enjoy a cuddle.
I’m thinking about how Mama let me come out here, knowing full well we’d be down at the beach after dark. Granted the whole town is, too. But maybe I might could consider this to be implied consent that rule number four is no longer in effect.
Jackson seems awful quiet.
“What you thinking about?” I ask.
“Nut’n rully,” he says. “Mama called again today.”
“How come?” I ask.
“Tyler got caught shooting out a streetlight with a BB gun. And Carter’s been skipping summer school.”
“They keep on getting into messes, huh?”
He nods.
“What does she want you to do about it?”
“I don’t know. She can’t seem to decide which is worse, having me around or not,” he says, sounding heavy. But then he leans down and kisses my neck real gentle. Right at that very moment the fireworks start with a big old kaboom and I feel just like that—exploding with light.
The grand finale is my favorite—all those colors bursting into the sky amidst all that ruckus, then the sudden stillness. Afterwards, we wait awhile for the crowds to clear out, then walk up towards the Channings’ place holding hands. I wore my nicest miniskirt and a fitted tank and tried to do my makeup to make me look older. Truth be told, I ain’t feeling too comfortable about this here party. I walk extra slow. We won’t be able to stay too long anyhow, ’cause of my curfew.
We can hear the music from the party a mile away. When we get there, it’s blaring so loud my ears are ringing. Junior and Billy Jo high-five Jackson and look me over like stray cats on a can of sardines. The house is seriously swanky—plush carpet cushioning the floor, polished wood banister curling up the staircase, family photos in gold frames glinting on the walls, glass and chrome bookshelves holding fancy bric-a-brac, and a baby grand piano gussying up the living room. The air conditioning is blasting full on. Some of the girls are turning up their noses at me. They’re all dressed up like this here’s the Red Carpet or something. I didn’t realize it was going to be so fancy. The guys are all wearing shorts and polos. And Billy Jo has on his Mudcats cap.
“This is Savannah!” Jackson shouts over the music to no one in particular.
“We know Puddles!” Billy Jo hoots. And there it is—ancient history coming back to bite me on the butt. Ain’t nobody called me that in ten years. I reckon he’s just trying to make the point that I don’t belong here. At our school, you’ve got the rich kids, the poorer kids, and the farm kids. There just ain’t no mixing between groups. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here, knowing I’d be the only one who didn’t belong.
Junior smacks Billy Jo upside the head. “Lay off it,” he demands, and pushes a beer into each of our hands.
There are serious amounts of liquor being consumed. A bunch of guys have brought 40s, and most of the girls are drinking wine coolers. But some of the kids have busted out everything in the parents’ whisky cabinet. Drinking games are being played already, too. We walk through the house towards the backyard. In the kitchen, kids are smoking cigarettes and weed. The room’s so full of smoke, I start coughing and wheezing.
Jackson takes me out back. They’ve got a swimming pool! There are kids swimming in their clothes and a few stripping down to their drawers. Couples are starting to go at it in every nook and cranny of the yard and patio. I’m feeling like a dumb little kid and a big old dork both and just trying to focus on calming down my lungs. Once they get irritated, they like to stay that way.
Come to find out Billy Jo has followed us out here. He has definitely had too much to drink. I reckon he started his party down at the beach.
“Want another beer, Puddles?” he taunts, though the one Junior shoved into my hand is as of yet untouched. “Afraid you can’t hold your liquor?” Snorting and laughing, he pitches himself onto the ground.
“Piss off, Billy,” Jackson growls through gritted teeth, and leads me away from his obnoxious cousin. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
We go inside and down the steps to the basement.
“Woo!” some kids call out as we head down, as if they’re assuming we’re about to do you-know-what.
Most of the basement is a finished rec room, with a big-screen TV and a foosball table and darts. But Jackson leads me to a section off in the back that’s unfinished—like a wood cave with a sink and a concrete floor. Inside, he goes over and pulls a sheet off of three of his paintings that are leaning up against the wall. They take my breath away.
“Jackson,” I whisper, my hand over my mouth. “These are amazing.” Like something you’d buy in a store. There’s one of the sun setting over the ocean, and it feels all eerie and sad somehow. And I know it must have come from his own imaginings, seeing as the sun only sets over the sea out west. The next one, I’m guessing, is his dad catching a football, a big smile on his face, and he just seems like the father every one of us would want, like you can feel the love and acceptance shining in his face. The last painting ain’t quite finished yet, but I can tell it’s going to be of me! I can’t believe how he made my eyes light up, and even my hair looks good. “You are seriously talented.” And even though I knew in my heart he would be, I can’t help but feel shocked by the extent of it.
He shrugs. “I’m a’ight.”
I shake my head and kiss him.
But then a bunch of kids come down the stairs, laughing and tripping on the way.
“Come on,” he whispers, as he covers the paintings with the sheet.
“I’ll show you my room.”
But when we get up there and open the door to the guest room, come to find out, there’s not one but two couples in there.
“This room’s full up,” one of the guys calls out in an angry voice.
“Let’s go,” I say, wanting to just get out of there.
Without a word, Jackson leads me downstairs and towards the front door.
“Y’all aren’t leaving already, are you?” Billy Jo calls. “We were hoping to see a puddle!”
I’m trying real hard to turn the other cheek and yank Jackson towards the door. But he spins around and points his finger at Billy Jo. “I’m warning you.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper to Jackson. We don’t take but one step towards the door before Billy Jo starts chanting, “Pud-dle! Pud-dle!” And then a whole mess of them kids are joining in. All them seniors I’m going to see at school in the fall, and every one of them either remembering or finding out about me peeing my pants when I wasn’t but five years old! It ain’t like I was the only one it ever happened to, it’s just it was out in front of everybody on the way to the school bus. I’d been holding it all day, afraid to go use the school bathroom by myself. And finally, I just couldn’t hold it one solitary second longer. And here I am ten years later and it’s still haunting me.
Jackson turns my hand loose. He strides over there and he punches that Billy Jo right in the nose. “Don’t you never speak to her again, not as long as you live.”
Holy hell! We need to clear out and quick. Billy Jo’s on the floor, and everybody’s swarming around him, and Jackson just breezes over, takes my hand, and walks me right out the door and on down the road. And suddenly the humid night air doesn’t feel too sticky or nothing. I’m just grateful to be out in it.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Jackson says, looking downright miserable and rubbing his hand.
“S’okay,” I reply, overwhelmed by the whole thing. I ain’t sure whether to feel honored that he defended me or shocked that he went and hit his own cousin or sickened by the sight of blood or
scared of what might could happen next.
“There’s gonn’ be hell to pay tomorra when my aunt and uncle get home,” Jackson says.
I hope Junior will stick up for him and let his parents know that Billy Jo provoked that punch. I hate to even think about all the damage them kids are causing to the house. Least Jackson ain’t responsible for that mess.
We pass by Town Park Playground and I look longingly in at it, though I haven’t been inside in years. Maybe I’m just missing a simpler time of life. I reckon Jackson must have caught my brain wave, ’cause he pulls me in there and nudges me up on the red twirly thing me and Dog used to call the merry-go-round. I stand in the middle and Jackson pushes me around faster and faster. I close my eyes and hang on, feeling dizzy. I open them back up when I hear him jump on. He wobbles, then makes his way over to me in the center.
“What you think they’ll do?” I ask him, wondering how strict his aunt and uncle are.
He shrugs. “Let’s don’t think about it tonight.”
“But you hit him,” I say, then shudder, even though it ain’t cold out.
“Ain’t nothin’ real but this,” he whispers back. Then he leans in and kisses me as the world spins past us.
I come home to find Mama bundled up under the cotton throw on the couch, sniffling, her eyes all red and puffy.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothin’. You know me, just crying over spilled milk.” The shoe box of old photos of her and my daddy from way back when is on her lap. She’s holding a picture of the two of them on his motorcycle, her arms around his middle, her face resting on his shoulder, and another one of him lighting a bonfire at the beach, his eyes all lit up.
I plop down beside her and pat her hand. I reckon she was lonely tonight. “How come you didn’t go out with Gina?” I ask.
“She had a date,” Mama says, wiping her nose with a Kleenex.
“Seems like a long while since you had one of them,” I say, hoping that doesn’t hurt her feelings.
Breathing Page 6
