pink and unsavory. When Marta’s mother got up to use the restroom, I saw him offer Marta a sip of his Coco-Loco cocktail. Marta’s mother and her decrepit beaus all look like they came to the island for spring break several decades ago and never left.
“Are you playing nice, honey?” Marta’s mother always asks. “Did you make some little friends?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“Oh,
good,
” she says, and her smile is as vast and empty as the Gamma Quadrant of space.
You know, it might be my imagination, but it seems like lately our crimes have been getting a lot less comical, and a lot more criminal.
“Wouldn’t it be funny,” Raffy says idly, “if we got Petey drunk?” He pauses, biting his lower lip, and you can tell he’s trying to think of some comical ironical twist. Then he gives up. “You know, it would be even funnier if we got drunk, too.”
So we take a ten-dollar bill out of Petey’s pocket and close his fist around it and send him into the Night Owl Mini Mart with this note pinned to his lapel:
I WOULD LIKE TO PURCHASE
YOUR LEAST EXPENSIVE BEER.
Five minutes later, Petey gets sent back to us with a new note written beneath the first in prim red letters: NICE TRY, YOU HOOLIGANS !
We peer in the window and see another kid’s mother scowling back out at us, holding some eggs and a carton of milk. Her very hair seems to frizz with maternal disapproval. She whispers something to the gas station attendant, and they both shake their heads in our direction. Raffy thinks we could try sending Petey into the Crustaceous Cocktail Lounge, but we can all hear the other mother berating us through the glass—“And if I catch you hooligans out here again, I won’t stop at your parents, I’m calling the authorities!!”—and her abrasive voice stops us in our tracks.
“Stupid bitch,” Raffy mutters, but he doesn’t sound terribly upset. In fact, I think we all look a little relieved. And I am reminded of Wowie Zowie! Fun Fact #52—
INERTIA: Unless an object is acted on by friction from an outside force, it will spiral through space, in the same direction at the same speed—indefinitely!
That night, Molly breaks down and talks to me. She is standing by the bathroom sink and running cold water over her planisphere. She doesn’t see me at first. I watch her from the door frame, crossing and uncrossing my toes inside my socks. The harsh bathroom light picks out all the cracks in the mildewed tile between us.
“Ollie! Aren’t you going to clean your star compass with me?” She sounds hurt and suspicious. “It’s Saturday night.”
“Sorry,” I lie. “Already did.”
“Oh,” she says in a tiny voice.
And suddenly my eyes get all hot, and I worry I might actually start to cry. I can’t tell Molly this, but I really miss that planisphere. Lately, I feel so lost when I look up at the sky. I’ve been combing the dunes in the early mornings, checking to see if it’s washed up. Maybe some deep-sea diver will find it one day and give it back to me. Dad had it engraved with my initials.
“Sure you don’t want some of these scrubbing bubbles? You know what Dad always says…” We roll our eyes and repeat it in unison:
“You can’t make sense of the universe if you’re looking at it through a fogged-up lens!”
And it feels so good to giggle with Molly again.
When I meet up with Raffy on Sunday morning, he’s just sent Marta running down the beach to get him a soda. Her little red bathing suit rides up in the back, her white bottom flashing in the sunlight.
“Damn!”
Raffy whistles after her. “Forget the eggs, yo, wouldn’t you love to crack that open tonight?”
(Yes.)
“No! I mean…”
We watch her run. The soles of Marta’s tiny white feet are always dirty. Even from here, you can see the tar-skunked stripes when she kicks up her heels.
“I mean, it’s too bad she’s so young….”
“Hey.” Raffy winks. “We commit all
“Are you playing nice, honey?” Marta’s mother always asks. “Did you make some little friends?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“Oh,
good,
” she says, and her smile is as vast and empty as the Gamma Quadrant of space.
You know, it might be my imagination, but it seems like lately our crimes have been getting a lot less comical, and a lot more criminal.
“Wouldn’t it be funny,” Raffy says idly, “if we got Petey drunk?” He pauses, biting his lower lip, and you can tell he’s trying to think of some comical ironical twist. Then he gives up. “You know, it would be even funnier if we got drunk, too.”
So we take a ten-dollar bill out of Petey’s pocket and close his fist around it and send him into the Night Owl Mini Mart with this note pinned to his lapel:
I WOULD LIKE TO PURCHASE
YOUR LEAST EXPENSIVE BEER.
Five minutes later, Petey gets sent back to us with a new note written beneath the first in prim red letters: NICE TRY, YOU HOOLIGANS !
We peer in the window and see another kid’s mother scowling back out at us, holding some eggs and a carton of milk. Her very hair seems to frizz with maternal disapproval. She whispers something to the gas station attendant, and they both shake their heads in our direction. Raffy thinks we could try sending Petey into the Crustaceous Cocktail Lounge, but we can all hear the other mother berating us through the glass—“And if I catch you hooligans out here again, I won’t stop at your parents, I’m calling the authorities!!”—and her abrasive voice stops us in our tracks.
“Stupid bitch,” Raffy mutters, but he doesn’t sound terribly upset. In fact, I think we all look a little relieved. And I am reminded of Wowie Zowie! Fun Fact #52—
INERTIA: Unless an object is acted on by friction from an outside force, it will spiral through space, in the same direction at the same speed—indefinitely!
That night, Molly breaks down and talks to me. She is standing by the bathroom sink and running cold water over her planisphere. She doesn’t see me at first. I watch her from the door frame, crossing and uncrossing my toes inside my socks. The harsh bathroom light picks out all the cracks in the mildewed tile between us.
“Ollie! Aren’t you going to clean your star compass with me?” She sounds hurt and suspicious. “It’s Saturday night.”
“Sorry,” I lie. “Already did.”
“Oh,” she says in a tiny voice.
And suddenly my eyes get all hot, and I worry I might actually start to cry. I can’t tell Molly this, but I really miss that planisphere. Lately, I feel so lost when I look up at the sky. I’ve been combing the dunes in the early mornings, checking to see if it’s washed up. Maybe some deep-sea diver will find it one day and give it back to me. Dad had it engraved with my initials.
“Sure you don’t want some of these scrubbing bubbles? You know what Dad always says…” We roll our eyes and repeat it in unison:
“You can’t make sense of the universe if you’re looking at it through a fogged-up lens!”
And it feels so good to giggle with Molly again.
When I meet up with Raffy on Sunday morning, he’s just sent Marta running down the beach to get him a soda. Her little red bathing suit rides up in the back, her white bottom flashing in the sunlight.
“Damn!”
Raffy whistles after her. “Forget the eggs, yo, wouldn’t you love to crack that open tonight?”
(Yes.)
“No! I mean…”
We watch her run. The soles of Marta’s tiny white feet are always dirty. Even from here, you can see the tar-skunked stripes when she kicks up her heels.
“I mean, it’s too bad she’s so young….”
“Hey.” Raffy winks. “We commit all
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