opportunity to find a perfect wave.
“Look at Jamie. He thinks we’re on vacation or something. We’re not, Juan, we’re not.”
“I know. But the swell’s pumping and we’re down here. And a guy with a boat? C’mon, when will we ever get a chance like this
again? Never. Besides, we could get the perfect wave.”
She shook her head. “There’s no such thing.”
“I think there may be. Why did this fisherman show up? He’s gonna take us to an island where the waves are perfect. I can
feel it. There’s gotta be a perfect wave. Jamie thinks there is.”
After a time she said, “Okay, I guess.”
We both looked up at the stars, the night filled with them. The wind blew in fresh ocean air over everything. As I inhaled
the salt smell I looked down at the one remaining sleeping bag. So did Amber.
“You can sleep with me, Juan, but no fooling around, okay?”
“What about Robert?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I’ll try.”
“No trying. If you don’t agree, then you can sleep over there.”
The fire was fading. I got up and fed it all the stuff we’d collected, building a huge, flaming globe. It highlighted Jamie
as he drooled on his sleeping bag. It lighted Amber’s soft smooth legs, her creamy face. While I fed the fire she laid out
the sleeping bag, first shaking the sand out of it.
After I turned off the music we lay side by side on a blanket with a sleeping bag over us, staring into heaven. It was like
going to the planetarium at Griffith Park, only much, much better. So vast and ethereal, like a fully formed idea that you
can’t verbalize. And so quiet.
As the fire burned out, the sky became brighter, until it was so luminous that it had come alive, a swirling, moving mass
of entities. Life. Alive. Jamie’s, Amber’s, and my problems were so inconsequential in the big scheme of things, as the cliché
goes. For once I understood it. I was experiencing the “real” right before my very eyes. The night sky, the stars, Amber,
Jamie. The now. The moment.
It had a liberating effect.
My family would be okay. I would survive the lapse in good judgment. My mom and dad would get over it. My brother would become
a father, I would become an uncle. Jamie would return. Amber …
I leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She kissed back, nestling into the crook of my arm, as we began messing around.
CHAPTER 9
The day was melancholy, the sky silently weeping over the vast and unseen ocean. It wasn’t what you would call raining, and
it wasn’t really foggy, but the fact remained that everything was all wet, and a light, filtering mist dusted the ocean. Huge
smooth-thick swells would hump up, and then we’d freeboard down their backsides.
Jésus worked the helm, which was in the center toward the stern of the dory. The bow and stern had points to them, mostly
keeping out the seas that we bobbed forward on. A Mercury outboard engine made the dory very fast indeed when he gunned it,
and there were three sides and a roof to the tiny wheelhouse in which Jésus stood, intent and braced against the swell. A
thick tarp stretched from the bow to the wheelhouse, and Amber slept under its sheltering dryness. Jamie sat on the bait tank
in the stern, looking back at the direction from which we’d come. I stood in between Jésus and Jamie.
As we had motored out of the harbor Jamie had said to me, “I know what’s going on with you and my sister.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“Don’t play stupid, Juan. I know what’s up, so knock it off.”
“I’m not good enough for your sister? Is that it? Is that what you’re saying? Listen, a-hole, she’s old enough to make her
own decisions and so am I.
Comprenez-vous, cabrone?
”
“What about Robert?”
“Fuck Robert.”
“Just fuck off, Juan.”
He had made for the bait tank, and I had remained next to the wheelhouse by Jésus.
We’d not spoken for quite some time. None of the Watkins were talkative,
“Look at Jamie. He thinks we’re on vacation or something. We’re not, Juan, we’re not.”
“I know. But the swell’s pumping and we’re down here. And a guy with a boat? C’mon, when will we ever get a chance like this
again? Never. Besides, we could get the perfect wave.”
She shook her head. “There’s no such thing.”
“I think there may be. Why did this fisherman show up? He’s gonna take us to an island where the waves are perfect. I can
feel it. There’s gotta be a perfect wave. Jamie thinks there is.”
After a time she said, “Okay, I guess.”
We both looked up at the stars, the night filled with them. The wind blew in fresh ocean air over everything. As I inhaled
the salt smell I looked down at the one remaining sleeping bag. So did Amber.
“You can sleep with me, Juan, but no fooling around, okay?”
“What about Robert?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I’ll try.”
“No trying. If you don’t agree, then you can sleep over there.”
The fire was fading. I got up and fed it all the stuff we’d collected, building a huge, flaming globe. It highlighted Jamie
as he drooled on his sleeping bag. It lighted Amber’s soft smooth legs, her creamy face. While I fed the fire she laid out
the sleeping bag, first shaking the sand out of it.
After I turned off the music we lay side by side on a blanket with a sleeping bag over us, staring into heaven. It was like
going to the planetarium at Griffith Park, only much, much better. So vast and ethereal, like a fully formed idea that you
can’t verbalize. And so quiet.
As the fire burned out, the sky became brighter, until it was so luminous that it had come alive, a swirling, moving mass
of entities. Life. Alive. Jamie’s, Amber’s, and my problems were so inconsequential in the big scheme of things, as the cliché
goes. For once I understood it. I was experiencing the “real” right before my very eyes. The night sky, the stars, Amber,
Jamie. The now. The moment.
It had a liberating effect.
My family would be okay. I would survive the lapse in good judgment. My mom and dad would get over it. My brother would become
a father, I would become an uncle. Jamie would return. Amber …
I leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She kissed back, nestling into the crook of my arm, as we began messing around.
CHAPTER 9
The day was melancholy, the sky silently weeping over the vast and unseen ocean. It wasn’t what you would call raining, and
it wasn’t really foggy, but the fact remained that everything was all wet, and a light, filtering mist dusted the ocean. Huge
smooth-thick swells would hump up, and then we’d freeboard down their backsides.
Jésus worked the helm, which was in the center toward the stern of the dory. The bow and stern had points to them, mostly
keeping out the seas that we bobbed forward on. A Mercury outboard engine made the dory very fast indeed when he gunned it,
and there were three sides and a roof to the tiny wheelhouse in which Jésus stood, intent and braced against the swell. A
thick tarp stretched from the bow to the wheelhouse, and Amber slept under its sheltering dryness. Jamie sat on the bait tank
in the stern, looking back at the direction from which we’d come. I stood in between Jésus and Jamie.
As we had motored out of the harbor Jamie had said to me, “I know what’s going on with you and my sister.”
“What? What’s going on?”
“Don’t play stupid, Juan. I know what’s up, so knock it off.”
“I’m not good enough for your sister? Is that it? Is that what you’re saying? Listen, a-hole, she’s old enough to make her
own decisions and so am I.
Comprenez-vous, cabrone?
”
“What about Robert?”
“Fuck Robert.”
“Just fuck off, Juan.”
He had made for the bait tank, and I had remained next to the wheelhouse by Jésus.
We’d not spoken for quite some time. None of the Watkins were talkative,
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