Spilled Coffee

by J. B. Chicoine

  “Seems like someone ought to put crutch hooks in public johns,” I said as I finished peeing and picked up the contraption. “Either that, or they need to design better crutches.”

  “Yeah, maybe around the time they design something better than a peg leg. Mary Shelley had it right. Used parts!” He laughed. “Maybe we could steal some bodies at the local morgue.”

  Now that was funny. “Ha! We’d need a wheelchair to cart them away. Maybe you could come up with one of those.”

  “Yeah. One of those powered jobs—with turbo-boosters. They’d never catch us—we’d be the ever-elusive Odd Squad, wanted in fifty states!”

  Did he know that’s what folks around town called The Group from Daisy Hill? It didn’t matter. I was part of the joke and the odd one of The Group. Funny how standing on the other side of a bathroom stall—without the visual reminder that he had an impairment—made Christopher seem no different from me. I liked him.

  Back out on the beach, Dora still sat beside my towel. I scoped out Penny. Somewhere between the boat and the lifeguard perch, she had removed her shirt and shorts and her ponytail. I still wasn’t sure how she had managed to nab a two-piece swimsuit without Mom knowing. Percy leaned forward from his post as she swayed, chatting and giggling, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Penny would have been annoyed if I interrupted, so I followed Christopher to our spot. I walked along, prepared to steady him if he needed it, while glancing back at my sister. I understood that girls got crushes on older guys, but when Penny pawed Percy’s leg, I squirmed. Good grief, did I come across as that desperate when I was around Amelia?

  I again sat between Christopher and Dora but remained preoccupied with Penny. Even after Percy leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands behind his head and closing his eyes, she didn’t come and sit near my towel—no, she camped out on the sand right beside him. How obvious was that?

  “Is that your sister?” Christopher nudged me back from my staring.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s her name?”

  I looked at him askance. “Penny.”

  “Is she nice?”

  “Yeah,” I said, though my tone questioned what he was getting at.

  “She’s pretty.”

  “She’s my sister, man. I don’t think of her like that.”

  “Is that her boyfriend?”

  “Percy? No way.”

  “Then I’ve got a chance.”

  My brow flicked incredulously. “Yeah, um … well,” I tried to come up with a way to let him down easy. “I think she likes older guys.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Perfect! I’m eighteen.”

  I shrugged. Did he really think he had a shot at Penny? Wow. I had never met someone so optimistic or just plain cocky. Regardless, any guy talking that way about my sister made me cringe. I needed a subject change.

  I asked, “So, you like to read?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me guess—”

  Before I could say Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s Frankenstein, he pumped his outstretched arms and grunted like the multi-membered monster himself and thumped Lenny’s book. “None of that girly Regency Romance for me!”

  Lenny nudged Christopher’s arm with his volume. “Yeah, well, at least Jane Austen was prolific—what did Shelley publish? Just Frankenstein.”

  “Shows how much you know. She published plenty, and she was a political radical, besides that.”

  Lenny shrugged and chuckled. “Smart-ass.”

  Christopher and Lenny’s banter devolved into a dispute over which writer’s prose was better. That evolved into a discussion between Christopher and me about the feasibility of animating a Frankenstein from spare parts, versus H. G. Wells constructing a time machine, which escalated into a debate over whether or not Verne had depicted a hot air balloon to travel around the world in eighty days, or some other flying machine. Before I knew it, an hour had passed.

  I glanced at my watch. “Wow, I gotta get going.”

  Christopher jutted his chin toward the public landing. “Is that your rowboat?”

  “Yeah, you want a ride?” I asked without thinking about the impracticality of it.

  “Hell, yeah—”

  Lenny cut in, “Not today, buddy.”

  “Maybe we could work it out sometime,” I replied.

  “We’ll see.”

  With that, I gathered my towel, said my goodbyes, and went over to where Penny was still sprawled out next to Percy’s station. My shadow loomed over her. She squinted up at me.

  “Hey, Pen, time to go.”

  “We just got here, Ben.”

  “Did not. You’re getting burnt.”

  “This is not a burn. I’m working on my tan.”

  I looked up at Percy as he stroked his goatee.

  He smiled. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s going fine,” I said, without the least bit of friendliness.

  I crossed my arms and returned my attention to Penny. “Well, I’m going. You can walk home if you want.”

  “Fine.” She sat up. “I’ll be right there.”

  I glanced at Percy who was now grinning, and then I nudged Penny’s thigh with my toe. “Hurry up. Don’t forget Dad’s coming this afternoon.”

  “I said I’d be right there.”

  I never used to embarrass Penny, and it wasn’t as if I were some whiny, snot-nosed little kid like Frankie. Just the same, I figured I would give her some space. I gave Percy another stare-down before I returned to the boat. Sitting on the transom seat, facing the water, I heard Penny coming up behind me and didn’t move. Her beach bag dropped beside my feet as she gave me a gentle shove.

  “You’re not going to make me row us home, are you Benjie?” The tone of her voice conveyed a smile.

  She nudged me again. I didn’t respond to her lighthearted change of attitude. I just climbed out, pushed the boat into the water, and held it steady as she took her usual seat. With one more shove, I splashed in the water and boarded. Manning the oars, I avoided eye contact.

  I rowed a few feet and set my sights on the beach, on Christopher. Lenny came to his feet beside him and then walked over to Percy on the stand. They talked for a few seconds. Then Lenny passed something to Percy, and Percy passed something back. They shook hands, palm to palm, not the way I shook hands with Doc, but grabbing each other’s thumbs. Lenny spotted me, flipping a peace sign before returning to Christopher and the others. I just waved, I mean, how lame would it be for me to make a peace sign? I wasn’t a hippie and had no interest in becoming one. That was more than I could say for Penny. Besides, why did they feel the need to come up with all kinds of new gestures and symbols, anyway? What was wrong with a plain old handshake or a wave, and leave it at that?

  “Why are you in such a grumpy mood?” Penny said.

  “I’m not in a grumpy mood.”

  “You are too.”

  “Am not.”

  “Okay, listen, I’m sorry I wouldn’t sit with you. Sometimes I just feel like hanging out by myself.”

  “By yourself?” I rolled my eyes. “Hanging all over what’s-his-name is hardly hanging out by yourself.”

  “I was not hanging all over him. And his name is Percy, for the last time.”

  “Yeah? Well, I can’t believe that you can’t tell he’s not into you, but you still throw yourself at him.”

  “Shut up! I do not.”

  “God, Penny, it’s embarrassing.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ll tell you what’s embarrassing, is watching you making pathetic attempts at getting Amy’s attention. I mean, hanging around at Doc’s, waiting for a glimpse of her boobs, when she scarcely knows you exist? How embarrassing is that?”

  I’m sure my face must have turned every shade from red to purple. She made me want to come back at her with cuss words, the kind I had heard at school—the kind that would earn me three douses of hot sauce. “And what makes you such an expert on Amelia?”<
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  “She and I talk.”

  “Yeah, right. You just want to be friends with her so you can hang out with the hippies.”

  “You know what! Sometimes you really are such a—such a moron.” I had been called a moron plenty of times by Dad and bullies at school, but never by Penny.

  “Yeah? Well—drop dead!” It felt good saying it, though I immediately wanted to take it back. But I didn’t.

  Penny folded her arms and pursed her lips as I rowed harder, trying to land us at camp faster. Laughter from Whispering Narrows greeted us as we entered the cove. Doc, Amelia, and Sunshine hovered around the fieldstone grill. All but Amelia waved—well, she might have, but she had stepped behind Doc, so I couldn’t tell.

  It was a hot and sticky, breezeless afternoon. Sound carried faster than words that just slipped out in anger. Odors hung in the air, lingering like regrets and second-guessing. It wasn’t until we passed Amelia’s little dock that the aroma of grilling steaks caught up with us. I glanced over my shoulder to check the bow’s bearing.

  Over at our beach, Dad had arrived and stood at the water’s edge. A puff of smoke rose above him as he flicked something to the sand and ground it underfoot. Cigarettes? Mom must have been right about him sneaking smokes. Penny waved as I slowed the pull of my oars. I should have been looking forward to seeing Dad, but I wasn’t.

  “Hi, Daddy!” Penny called out.

  “Hey, Sweet Pea! Where is everyone?” Dad said as I neared shore. I caught a whiff of cigarettes. “I get here and the place is deserted.”

  I had barely beached the boat before Penny jumped out and flung her arms around Dad. “We just went for a boat ride. Mom and Frankie went to the market.”

  “Spending all my money, no doubt.”

  “Hi, Dad,” I said.

  He looked at me. “I wish you wouldn’t beach the boat, Ben. That’s how it gets all scratched and dinged. How many times do I have to tell you to tie it at the dock?”

  “Yes, sir.” I shoved off. The sound of gravel scraping the boat’s bottom amplified and echoed across the cove. As I drifted toward the end of our dock, I wished I could keep rowing straight over to Whispering Narrows or back to the beach to pick up Christopher. The boat rocked as I tied off the bow and stern. Dad and Penny walked arm in arm up to the basement door. I couldn’t think of a good reason to follow, so I hoisted myself onto the dock and sat at the end for a few minutes, trying to figure out what was so wrong with me that my own father couldn’t spare a decent greeting for his elder son, after not seeing him for five weeks. Frankie would receive far better than a hello. I didn’t see any point in being around to witness that.

  I kicked at the water with both legs. I should have felt grateful to have two legs. What if I had to hobble around like Christopher? Did he have parents who loved him, or did they just drop him off at Daisy Hill, wishing they’d had a ‘normal’ son? What if people looked at me and assumed I were retarded? Why couldn’t I just be glad for having two parents and two legs? I stood, a lump forming in my throat.

  Light chatter tripped its way toward me from Doc’s yard. Three deep breaths—an attempt at holding back my emotions—and I dove deep. Cutting through the murky light, deeper and deeper into the dark, I pushed harder and harder until the pressure in my ears matched the pounding of my heart. My eyes no longer burned from restraining tears. I hit bottom, skimming through muddy debris. All at once, I ran out of air. Time suspended as I forced my way up, each stroke pulling at my compressed chest. In those few excruciatingly long seconds, I imagined my lifeless, two-legged body floating to the surface. How long would it take anyone to notice? If I were waiting on my family, it might take hours. Doc would be the first one on the scene. He would be sad. So would Sunshine. Amelia probably wouldn’t care. Mom and Dad and Frankie—well, that would screw up their summer. But Penny, she would be devastated. I imagined the horror in her eyes, and panicked at the thought of taking a breath of lake water. I wasn’t sure which way was up. Propelling myself with decreasing strength, I finally breached the surface.

  Gasping for air, flinging water from my hair and face, I wiped my eyes, looking for anyone who might have seen how close I had come. If not for the turtle that ducked under at the sight of me, no one noticed. Now a flood of tears mingled with the water that I had nearly accidentally drowned myself in. What a stupid—selfish—thing to do. I skimmed the calm surface, letting it wash away the traces of my humiliation.

  “Benjie—” my sister’s voice cut across the cove. “Come help with supper.”

  All that meant was no one else wanted to carry paper plates and crap downstairs and out the back door to the picnic table. When I swam ashore, I picked up the scent of charcoal briquettes and lighter fluid. As I emerged from the water, smoke from the grill curled from the edges of the cover. That meant Dad had been out getting things started while I was practically drowning. As if he would care.

  Chapter 14

  I’ve thought a lot about suicide over the past eighteen years—not about killing myself, of course, but about what it takes. What makes a person like Christopher rise above his circumstances and embrace life, while another becomes so overwhelmed that she wants to end it all? I’ve been on suicide watch with Penny a couple of times since that summer. Gretchen also had her issues prior to our relationship, but she found a medication that keeps her on an even keel—that, and some short-term therapy. If those remedies work—great! Go for it. That’s way better than the alternative. And I suppose if this venture I’ve undertaken doesn’t do the trick, I might have to resort to a bolder tactic, like a shrink and a prescription. But for now, as I collect these papers from the floor, I’m hoping these documents—what they give me permission to do—will provide the perspective and closure I need. Maybe my twitch will even disappear.

  These written legalities declare me the owner of this piece of real estate. I wish owning—or disowning—a past could be as simple as papers changing hands. Symbolic gestures, like signing a document in front of a witness, can officially change a person’s status. A Marriage License: single to married. Power of Attorney: change in guardianship. A Death Certificate: legally living to certifiably dead.

  In fact, that’s what this deed is all about. Owning what rightfully belongs to me, and giving myself permission to disown what was never mine in the first place. What makes a thirteen-year-old kid feel like he has signed on to responsibility for everything bad that happens? I took the weight of that summer upon myself, as if somehow I should have seen all the events as they were adding up. As if a kid has the context of adult experience.

  A transaction at the beach? How was I to know it was a drug deal? A smoldering ‘cigarette’ butt—a joint. Hell, I had only recently heard of LSD, or even marijuana or weed. I didn’t know what drugs were and hadn’t known anyone who used them. Dope was what you called your kid brother when he did something stupid. A buzz was what your mother did to your head at the beginning of summer. And a bookie? Well, what a strange name for someone that takes bets on horses. Those fragments of that summer are my mental memorabilia.

  I reach into the cardboard box and pull out another bit of memorabilia. I have mixed feelings about this item, but I’ve kept it all these years. I remember seeing it for the first time—that afternoon, when Dad came back to camp for his mid-summer visit.

  As soon as I stepped into the basement, after my near-death experience and subsequent summons to help with supper, I met Mom’s shrill voice from upstairs.

  “They were on sale, Frank. I thought you’d be happy with steaks.”

  “You think money grows on trees?”

  “Well, what would you have me do with them? Drive all the way back to Garver’s and return them?”

  “Just give them to me, Beverly,” Dad grumbled and trotted down the stairs. When his sights landed on me, he scowled. “Just like you to disappear when there’s work to be done. Go help your mother.”

  I pushed back the burning behind my eyes and slogged upstairs.
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br />   Penny glanced at me from the table where she snapped green beans. She looked on the verge of tears as her shoulders slacked.

  Mom sipped her lemonade and said, “Help your sister.”

  I pulled out the chair beside Penny. Her chin quivered as she offered a half smile. When I sat, she nudged me and whispered, “Sorry Ben.”

  We could never stay mad at each other for the simple fact that we needed each other, especially in moments like this.

  I grabbed a green bean. “Me too.”

  “How many times do I have to remind you to wash your hands, Ben?” Mom said, slamming her empty cup on the counter.

  As I stood at the sink, Frankie skipped out of the bathroom. “I’ll take the plates and stuff down, Mom.”

  That just meant he would carry down paper plates and napkins on his way to the frog pond, and score a few brownie points while he was at it.

  “You are such a good boy, Frankie.” Mom grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed his head. “What would I do without you?”

  Penny rolled her eyes.

  As soon as Frankie left the room, Mom began pacing, then opened and closed the cabinet beside the refrigerator. “I’ll finish up the beans. You two take this sack of corn out back and shuck the husks.”

  “Sure thing, Mom,” Penny said, then mumbled, “so you can pour yourself another drink.”

  “What’s that, Penny?”

  We both stood. Penny pushed the bag at me. “Nothing, Mom.”

  I followed Penny down the stairs. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  “You missed a doozy,” she said before we stepped out the back door.

  “Another fight?”

  “Yeah. Mom’s been overspending—”

  “Says Dad. Told you it was money they fight about.”

  “What do you think she’s been overspending on? I mean, we’ve had hot dogs or Spam and Spaghetti-Os practically every day since we got here.”

  “I don’t know, we had hamburgers a few times, and she’s got a couple new outfits.”

  “Get real, Ben. Liquor is expensive.”