“Well, I don’t care much for motorcycles, but he’s nothing but nice when he’s over, so you should at least give him the decency of using his actual name. Understood?”
He couldn’t argue with her. She held the keys to his future and his freedom. Mom would decide when he could set a date for his driver’s exam, the one thing that could save his summer, so if that meant being nice to Julie’s meathead boyfriend, so be it. He could handle that, at least in front of his mother. If he got that licence and cruised down the avenue, maybe the girls would notice him.
The thought brought November back to the front of his brain.
“Mom?”
“Yes,” she said, finally taking up the seat next to him. The smell of her flowery perfume was comforting, part of her motherly ozone that always drew him to her. She forked some green beans, looked at him with her blue eyes, holding the steaming veggies before her mouth.
Rocky swallowed his burger and cleared his throat. “Would it be all right if I went out for a little while?”
She chewed up her food and placed her soft hand in front of her lips. “Back to Axel’s? I thought they sent you home so they could get ready for the trip?”
“No, I was just going to go out for a walk on the beach, clear my head, get some fresh air. It’s cooled off quite a bit.” He knew she didn’t like him venturing out alone, especially during tourist season. He and his mom had spent too many Friday nights together watching episodes of 20/20 where children were kidnapped and never seen again. Grieving mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. If anything, the paranoia the show ingrained in him gave him an edge around crowds. He was always looking over his shoulder and ready to run at the first sign of someone creepy.
“I’ll be safe. I won’t even stay out for long. I just need….” What did he need exactly? Just to get out, to be where she might be. “I just need the fresh air.”
“I guess I could eat dinner by myself,” she said, lowering her chin.
“I can finish supper and then go,” he said, reaching across the table and putting his hand on hers.
She looked up and smiled. “Okay, but I want you back shortly after dark, if not before.”
“Deal,” he said.
He started to shovel green beans into his mouth, and then slowed down. Looking up at her, he grinned.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You can head out now. I’ll be fine. Go.”
“You sure?” he said. The green beans made him sound like Mushmouth from Fat Albert.
“Yes, and don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He swallowed, forked the final corner of potatoes down his gullet and grabbed the remainder of his burger. Taking a bottle of Crush from the fridge, he gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Back by dark,” she said.
He walked out the front door and headed toward the thriving seaside attractions.
* * *
The lights and sounds of a summer beach town played all around, a carnival that stayed on for the season. The melody of voices – the laughter, the hoo-rahs, the French-Canadian back and forths – accompanied the roar of specialised mufflers that blatted out from tough-looking cars and Hell’s Angels-ready bikes. Nestled in between these sounds were the cheers, screams, and music from the amusement rides, the live band playing at Barbara Anne’s, and if you walked to the edge of it all, you could hear the Atlantic whisper promises of serenity to the shore. Rocky had lived here his entire life and this orchestra, this show, every year, never got old. If anything, it revitalised him. Reminded him how great it was to live here, to get this experience that a lot of these people milling around paid big bucks to feel, year in year out, for nothing. Locals had to put up with loud nights and strange people passing through, but that too was a part of the charm. A young man couldn’t ask for more, with all the babes from Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, and all points Canada to gawk at and dream about. Some spoke with great accents, some were completely foreign, couldn’t speak a lick of English and just smiled instead. That was more than enough. The girl he’d kissed at the Foreigner concert last year spoke terrible English, but that hadn’t stopped them from holding hands. He still couldn’t believe he’d had the guts to touch her let alone kiss her. Julie told him it was because he had a contact high from the Mary Jane. Whatever it was, it had been wonderful. At the end of the day or night, talk is overrated. It’s all about the spaces in between, the whispered promises that you have to go to the edge to hear.
“Hey, Heatstroke,” a voice called out.
There she stood, her back against the front of Louie’s Sports Shop, yellow Chuck on the building, green Chuck planted firmly on the ground. She’d swapped out the Twisted Sister shirt and jeans for a yellow Star Wars ringer t-shirt and a purple skirt that met the knees of her pale legs. Her dark hair, darker lips, and the gleam of the neon light in her eyes spilled his thoughts to the ground. He mumbled something but didn’t know what.
“Come on,” she said.
And just like that, they were off.
He wanted her to reach back and take his hand. She didn’t. She walked, glided was more like it, pacing every other person on the block. He followed, his heart thumping as fast as Pacman on power pellets, as they made their way out past all the shops and entered the gates of Palace Playland.
“Hungry?” she said, calling over her shoulder.
“Yeah, sure,” he lied. The Clarise Zukas Special in his belly was being fed to the spiders from Mars that seemed to have been planted there with November’s arrival. She might not have been Ziggy Stardust, but she was every bit as intriguing and mysterious.
She stopped at Palace Dough Boys.
“Two fried doughs, please.”
He stopped behind her, trying to catch his breath, and wiped his sweaty palms on his knees.
Stay cool.
After a few seconds of crossing then uncrossing his arms, rubbing his hands together and then scratching at his ear, Rocky put his hands in his pockets just to settle the whirlpool of emotions trying to swallow him.
“Where are your parents?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
The greasy-looking, grey-haired guy at the dough stand handed her two paper plates. She thanked him and handed him a five.
If she’d heard his question, she didn’t answer. She took the plates to the side counter and applied both powdered sugar and cinnamon.
“I could have gotten mine,” Rocky said.
“Nonsense. You have to get the mix just right.” She finished up and handed the plate over. “Here. Take a bite and let me know what you think.”
Never one to put cinnamon on his fried dough, he hesitated for a split second before trying it. “Wow,” he said, chewing the warm bread. “That’s really good.”