kinds of crimes together….”
We both laugh a little, and then there’s this long pause when neither of us can really look at the other. We stare at Marta’s sun-browned legs, the curve of her shoulder blades. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest.
“But, you know…” I’m still not looking at him, but I’m not looking at Marta, either. “That wouldn’t really be comical, Raffy. Or ironical.”
He kicks a sand ball at me. “Where’s your sense of humor?”
He’s only joking,
I think, my pulse quickening.
We’re only joking here.
Marta leans forward to pay the man for Raffy’s soda, and we both lean forward with her. Her wet hair is curling down her back like a question mark.
Unless we’re not.
Tonight, the other kid’s mother is nowhere to be found, and Raffy manages to shoplift a whole case of beer. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” he burps halfway into it, “if we got Petey to go
skinny-dipping
?”
Nobody thinks this would be funny, not even Raffy. Petey is terrified of the water, and I know we all love Petey.
“Hilarious,” I hear myself say.
“If the skin on Petey’s
face
is that white, just imagine…”
We all look over at Petey.
Marta gives us an uncertain smile, like she wants very badly to laugh but doesn’t understand what the joke is.
Please don’t do this,
I think.
We don’t have to do this.
Even as I am helping Raffy pull down Petey’s pleated blue shorts.
He grunts and looks up at me unhappily as I pull his shirt over his head. Raffy and I stop laughing and stare. The skin beneath Petey’s clothing is whiter than the lunar snow on Io. Whiter than the instep of a baby’s foot, before it’s learned to walk.
“Atta boy, Petey,” I say. “Time to go swimming!”
I know we all love Petey. But we sure have a funny way of showing it.
Petey gets all clumsy and sea-cowed when we lead him to the water. You can tell he doesn’t trust the waves to buoy him up. He screams when the sea foam first washes over his long toes. It’s a bloodcurdling sound, as if Petey thinks the ocean’s actually erasing his foot. Raffy keeps trying to force him in, wedging his fists into the base of Petey’s spine, but Petey finally breaks away from him and runs back to sit shivering and naked by the turtle nest. Raffy laughs and laughs—and so do we. The sound of it rings hollowly down the empty beach.
The worst part is, I know that no matter what crimes we do to Petey, he’ll always come back the following night. Being with Petey is like being with a dog, or a mother. There is nothing you can do to make him stop loving you.
“He’ll go in if you go in, Marta,” Raffy says. “Go tell him that you want to go swimming with him.” He elbows me. “Marta and Petey—that’ll be doubly hilarious!”
“Ha.”
Raffy raises his eyebrows at me. “Maybe later Ollie and I will come in, too.”
“You’ll come in, Raffy?” Marta hesitates for a moment, then starts to unbutton her sweater. She won’t look at either of us. Raffy rolls his skullcap up over his empty eyes to watch her, and I watch her, too, a hot cowardly watching. It should be a very easy thing to look away. But this heat feeling that’s keeping me watching, it’s nothing I can lower like a telescope. And I don’t know the mechanics of shutting it off. I resolve to scream, to say something.
We don’t have to do this.
Then Raffy grins at me, and I feel myself grinning back.
Now Marta has undone her very last button. Now she’s rolling up the bottom of her shirt. The moon gets squeezed to bits by a black fist of clouds. Under the palm trees, our sockets fill with shadows. Marta’s skin is just visible in the new dark. I feel itchy with excitement.
Please don’t do this,
I wish again. But I wish it in a much weaker register.
“Time to go swimming, Petey!” we say. I can hear his teeth chattering from here.
Now Marta’s undoing the drawstring of her butter-colored pants. I can’t see her face in the shadows, and
We both laugh a little, and then there’s this long pause when neither of us can really look at the other. We stare at Marta’s sun-browned legs, the curve of her shoulder blades. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest.
“But, you know…” I’m still not looking at him, but I’m not looking at Marta, either. “That wouldn’t really be comical, Raffy. Or ironical.”
He kicks a sand ball at me. “Where’s your sense of humor?”
He’s only joking,
I think, my pulse quickening.
We’re only joking here.
Marta leans forward to pay the man for Raffy’s soda, and we both lean forward with her. Her wet hair is curling down her back like a question mark.
Unless we’re not.
Tonight, the other kid’s mother is nowhere to be found, and Raffy manages to shoplift a whole case of beer. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” he burps halfway into it, “if we got Petey to go
skinny-dipping
?”
Nobody thinks this would be funny, not even Raffy. Petey is terrified of the water, and I know we all love Petey.
“Hilarious,” I hear myself say.
“If the skin on Petey’s
face
is that white, just imagine…”
We all look over at Petey.
Marta gives us an uncertain smile, like she wants very badly to laugh but doesn’t understand what the joke is.
Please don’t do this,
I think.
We don’t have to do this.
Even as I am helping Raffy pull down Petey’s pleated blue shorts.
He grunts and looks up at me unhappily as I pull his shirt over his head. Raffy and I stop laughing and stare. The skin beneath Petey’s clothing is whiter than the lunar snow on Io. Whiter than the instep of a baby’s foot, before it’s learned to walk.
“Atta boy, Petey,” I say. “Time to go swimming!”
I know we all love Petey. But we sure have a funny way of showing it.
Petey gets all clumsy and sea-cowed when we lead him to the water. You can tell he doesn’t trust the waves to buoy him up. He screams when the sea foam first washes over his long toes. It’s a bloodcurdling sound, as if Petey thinks the ocean’s actually erasing his foot. Raffy keeps trying to force him in, wedging his fists into the base of Petey’s spine, but Petey finally breaks away from him and runs back to sit shivering and naked by the turtle nest. Raffy laughs and laughs—and so do we. The sound of it rings hollowly down the empty beach.
The worst part is, I know that no matter what crimes we do to Petey, he’ll always come back the following night. Being with Petey is like being with a dog, or a mother. There is nothing you can do to make him stop loving you.
“He’ll go in if you go in, Marta,” Raffy says. “Go tell him that you want to go swimming with him.” He elbows me. “Marta and Petey—that’ll be doubly hilarious!”
“Ha.”
Raffy raises his eyebrows at me. “Maybe later Ollie and I will come in, too.”
“You’ll come in, Raffy?” Marta hesitates for a moment, then starts to unbutton her sweater. She won’t look at either of us. Raffy rolls his skullcap up over his empty eyes to watch her, and I watch her, too, a hot cowardly watching. It should be a very easy thing to look away. But this heat feeling that’s keeping me watching, it’s nothing I can lower like a telescope. And I don’t know the mechanics of shutting it off. I resolve to scream, to say something.
We don’t have to do this.
Then Raffy grins at me, and I feel myself grinning back.
Now Marta has undone her very last button. Now she’s rolling up the bottom of her shirt. The moon gets squeezed to bits by a black fist of clouds. Under the palm trees, our sockets fill with shadows. Marta’s skin is just visible in the new dark. I feel itchy with excitement.
Please don’t do this,
I wish again. But I wish it in a much weaker register.
“Time to go swimming, Petey!” we say. I can hear his teeth chattering from here.
Now Marta’s undoing the drawstring of her butter-colored pants. I can’t see her face in the shadows, and
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