Little Boy (19 page)

My friend Kyle likes to talk, too. But the
thing with Kyle is that he says just what he needs to say—nothing
superfluous. And even though we’re both funny guys, he always knows
just what to say, and just when to stop. Example: A few days after
we went Upstate, me and The Family went out for my birthday. We
always went out for our birthdays. It was a tradition.

But on the day that we were supposed to go
out for my birthday, Mike and Rick decided to play a little joke on
me and Kyle. It was a hot day in June, right after Maria and I
started dating, and I drove over to Astoria to meet The Family. I
parked in front of Kyle’s house off Steinway Street and we walked
up to Mike’s. On our way up the block, from Mike’s fifth floor
window, Rick saw me and Kyle and figured it would be fun to dump
some cold water on us from Mike’s apartment. Kyle and I were
walking up the block, oblivious to their plan. As we passed below
Mike’s window, Rick soaked us with ice water. Coupled with his love
of films, Mike had a habit of videotaping things, so he taped the
whole event and showed it to us later.

It wasn’t until I watched it all on tape that
I realized what had happened. As the water slapped down on us, I
pointed at Mike’s window and yelled out: “Mother-fuckers!” I didn’t
notice that there were little kids playing baseball in the street,
and moms with their children in strollers right in front of Mike’s
apartment building. All I felt was my soaked shirt; all I heard was
the echo of Mike’s laughter.

I suppose that the neighbors must’ve been
pretty pissed off. I know I was, because Mike and Rick had actually
surprised me, and it was in a way that I would’ve liked to have
surprised them. It was actually one of the most clever jokes anyone
had ever played on me, even though it wasn’t that brilliant.

Mike gave me a copy of the tape, and I’ve
watched it over and over again, literally hundreds of times, ever
since it happened. In fact, I watched it earlier this evening. I
never show it to anyone else, of course; but I can’t stop watching
it. I don’t get a thrill from seeing myself get soaked. There’s
something else about that video that I’m fascinated with—and that’s
Kyle. As the water sprayed all over us, I looked up at the window
and cursed and yelled. But Kyle—Kyle didn’t say a goddamn word at
first. In fact, he didn’t even look up to find out where the water
came from. He casually strolled through the water, as if it were
not there. He just mumbled a quiet “thank you” to no one in
particular, almost as if he appreciated being wet.

Rick and Mike laughed from above. When Kyle
and I got into the elevator, we looked at one another, each wearing
faces that said: “Oh well, they got us.” And we both knew that we’d
strike back with an even bigger and better joke when Mike and Rick
least expected it.

“Why aren’t you angry at them for soaking us,
why don’t you care?” I asked in disbelief, as the elevator in
Mike’s building slowly rose to the third floor.

Just as the elevator doors opened up to a
dark hallway, Kyle placed his hand on my shoulder, looked
dead-straight into my eye, and said: “’Because I always win.”

***

It was time to get a job, or at least that’s
what my parents kept telling me. So I walked along 69
^th
Street, near my house, looking for one. My father kept hounding me
to get another office job. But I didn’t want to do that shit. Just
the thought of faxing and filing and wearing a tie made me cringe.
So instead, I started working at Key Food deli, a few blocks away.
It didn’t pay much, but the hours were good—four to eight each
weekday afternoon except Fridays, and all day ever other weekend.
It was nice to have Fridayss off, because the beach wouldn’t be too
crowded. I couldn’t wait to get back to Rockaway.

So the first Friday I had off I went to the
beach and brought Maria with me. We piled into my car on a
scorching July day. I’ll never forget the date: July 31, 1992. On
the ride to Rockaway Beach, I popped a tape into the cassette
player and blasted some Frank Sinatra. Maria loved Old Blue Eyes,
too. After a few songs, I switched to the Yankee game. They were
having a summer to remember, just like me. Man, was I happy.
There’s nothing like driving on the bridge over Jamaica Bay with a
beautiful girl at your side.

I thought about writing a poem for Maria.
There she was, donning a crimson red tee shirt and white shorts—she
looked especially sexy in white shorts—right over her tight white
bikini. My god, she was beautiful.

It was a uniquely dry afternoon. As we
cruised over Cross Bay Bridge toward the water, arid, salty air
blew through the window of my car as if it were funneled by a giant
fan. The asphalt barreling toward me sparkled like tin foil in the
sun. I played more Sinatra, and just as the Chairman of the Board
sang the last line of
Summer Wind
, I pulled into a parking
space within a few feet of the beach boardwalk.

By the time we nestled down on the beach, I’d
heard at least half a dozen languages being spoken, all calm and
pleasant. Rockaway represented the best that the city had to offer.
People respected the beach, and noise was kept to a minimum by the
gush of the waves hitting the white sandy shore.

I took my shirt off, and basked in the sun,
singling
Under the Boardwalk
by the Drifters. Maria smiled
along. What a fabulous day. She’d prepared ham and cheese
sandwiches for us, and carried a little red cooler that kept the
root beer icy cold. I couldn’t have asked for a better
afternoon.

Maria wore purple sunglasses and a yellow sun
hat. I wore my favorite white Yankees cap. I buried her in the
sand; she splashed me in the water. It was wonderful.

Laying on our backs in the sun, I held
Maria’s hand. “So, you’ve never been to this beach before, right?”
I asked her, assuming that she hadn’t.

“Oh,” she said, “I have many times. I used to
come here with Rosie, and a few other kids I hung out with in the
park. A bunch of us used to come.”

Huh?
“Well, how did you get here?” I
asked.

“I came here in Guido’s car. Rosie was his
sister, and he used to drive us here a lot.”

“Who the fuck is Guido?” I asked. I will
never forget that goddamn name—Guido. That fucking guinea bastard
brought my Maria to the beach before I did.

“I told you, he’s just my friend’s sister. I
didn’t really know him all that well.”

“You drove in a guy’s car, and you didn’t
know him that well?”

“A.J.!” She said it like she should be
pissed.
I don’t think so
, I thought. “What kind of girl
drives around in a car, a stranger’s car, owned by a wop named
Guido? Jesus Christ! I thought you never came to this beach
before.”

“I never said that. And besides, who really
cares? I didn’t even hang out with him at all. Only like once or
twice.”

I knew the answer to my next question, but I
asked it anyway, just to make myself feel a little better. “Did you
ever kiss him?”

She paused. “Once,” she said.

“You kissed this guy! You kissed a guy named
Guido? What are you fucking crazy?” My voice raced across the
mellow beach. Heads popped up from the sand and stared. “Where did
you do it?” I was in shock.

“In the water,” she said.

“What do you mean—you just started making out
with this guinea, right there in the water?”

“No, I mean he kissed me. And then I told him
to stop, because I really didn’t like him.”

“Did you think he was cute?”

“A little,” she said. “But I really didn’t
like him, and that’s why it only happened that one time. Even his
sister yelled at him for doing it.”

“Who was his sister, this hero of yours?” I
asked.

“It was this girl, Rosie. You don’t know her,
but I’ve mentioned her before. She’s the girl who made fun of me at
school.”

“Why don’t you come to the beach with her
anymore?” I asked.

“Because I’m not friends with her anymore.
And because I have you now.” With that, Maria’s eyes became a bit
glossy, and I sensed she was about to cry. “Let’s go in the water,”
I commanded. “Right now.” And we did.

We didn’t go in the water like any other
couple at the beach that day. We didn’t stand along the water’s
edge, allowing the ripples to tickle our toes for a few moments,
gradually immersing our bodies in the cool ocean. We didn’t gaze at
the beautiful summertime horizon, arm in arm, ankle-seep, cuddling
in the midday heat. Instead, I grabbed her wrist and practically
dragged her, sloshing through the ocean with one arm, lugging Maria
with the other. She didn’t know what the hell I was doing. And, to
be honest, neither did I. I just knew I had to get out there, away
from all the shit, away from the conversation we were having.

Soon we were wading in at least five feet of
water. I was just tall enough to keep my head above the surface.
Maria’s little body would’ve been well submerged had I not scooped
her up into my arms, like an infant swaddled in rags. One arm was
underneath her bare white thighs, the other wrapped around her bare
back. The slippery seawater made it hard to clutch her body, but I
did it. Quickly, I turned around and stared up at the white sun
shining above. Squinting my eyes, I proceeded to look straight into
the sunshine. Maria didn’t say a word.

“You see that sun,” I asked, “and that big
wide blue sky around it? Some day, Maria, someday I’m going to fly
up there with you. And we’re going to soar above this beach
together away from everything. Away from all the people. Away from
your father. Away from Rosie. Far way. I promise. And we’re just
going to look down at everyone, laughing, knowing that we’ve
discovered a peace in the sky that no other human has ever
experienced. Because that sky is a sanctuary, Maria. A real
church.”

I thought about Guido, the guy that Maria had
kissed in the very same water in which we were standing. I knew
what he looked like, with his big, black mane of hair, his gold
chains, driving his goddamn Mustang GT. I envisioned Maria laughing
in the back seat of that goddamn car, before she ever even knew I
existed. Before she ever thought she’d say “I love you” to
anyone.

And as the sunshine slapped my face, as I
clutched Maria within my arms and hands, tears rolled down my
cheeks—tears even saltier than the water. And I didn’t know
then—and I still don’t know now—whether or not those were tears of
love or fear. But they were tears just the same.

Chapter 10

Maria’s WEFT

Sometimes the future can erase the past.

Or at least that’s what I thought back in
high school. And the key to erasing my own past was Maria. I wanted
to forget all about the crap that had taken place in my life. I
thought:
Maybe all of my tomorrows could replace all of my
yesterdays
. A silly thought, I guess. But I really didn’t like
my life all that much. No, that’s not true. It wasn’t like I was
always depressed or anything. I wasn’t. I suppose I just didn’t
like a lot of what had taken place in my life. Maybe I was looking
for redemption. Somehow, I thought, I could redeem myself by
changing my ways.

That’s why I started the L’Enfant Reformation
in August, while I was Upstate the second time with Mike and Kyle.
That weekend, around the campfire late the first night, I dared
Kyle to walk around the woods near the trailer with a bucket on his
head. And he did it. It doesn’t seem like much of a dare; but it
was pretty bold considering the fact that he could have walked into
the fire or gotten lost in the dark.

After he went, it was my turn. Kyle had a
devilish look on his face as he thought and thought about the best
way to win our competition. Rick encouraged him to dare me to kiss
the fat girl we saw in the Rec Center who’d thought I was cute.
Kyle knew, however, that I would do that easily just to win the
dare, so he didn’t bother with it. Then Mike’s father came out and
offered us some coffee. We declined, because most of us didn’t like
coffee, but Kyle figured it would be a good idea to dare me to eat
a spoonful of coffee grinds. I did it, too. And that’s why I was
sick the rest of the weekend, with stomach pains and diarrhea.
Still, though, it was a fun weekend.

But it’s memories like that weekend that I
sort of wanted to forget. I don’t know, it’s almost like I felt
guilty about having fun, like it was the wrong kind of fun. I felt
bad about enjoying life. I even felt that way all the way up until
being with Megan in Central Park. Even at that moment I felt like
there was a dire need for me to compensate for what was lost,
whatever it was. It was strange, really. It’s frightening to live
in fear of the past, because your past is all you have.
You are
your past
.

And that’s why I wanted to forget my past,
and make up for it with the future. That’s why I thought it was
crucial for Maria and I to stay together forever. She was the key
to setting my past free. She would extinguish all the fires I had
set.

Likewise, it was my job to help Maria erase
her past. She never explicitly stated that she wanted me to do it,
but I sensed it. I knew that she feared trusting people because her
father and friends had let her down so often. She needed someone to
get that shit out of her mind, and I wanted to help her do it. That
was the genesis of the L’Enfant Reformation. I did it for
Maria.