Bring Everybody: Stories

Chapter 7 - Oceanside, 1985

BOOKCOMP, Inc. — University of Massachusetts Press / Page 73 / Printer Proof / Bring Everybody / Yates 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 [73], (73) Lines: 1040 to 1051 ——— 5.36801pt PgVar ——— Normal Page PgEnds: TEX [73], (73) Oceanside, 1985 Lucinda, how very pregnant, wades into the Pacific, ankle deep and then some. She’d like to float straight out there, so far, and be whale-watched by cetologists. “You big, blue ocean,” she says, and the addressed ocean splashes her, a dialogue of sorts, conducted as a paprika sun pinkens, slips, dissolves. No green tonight. Some nights there is a flash of green right at the end. She used to hold her skirt, do a little skip in the surf, but not no more. Not for a while, fat momma. She calls “Bobby!” three, four times, sounding to herself like a playground voice at recess. Maybe he doesn’t want to hear her, the surfbrain. Then she tries calling between wave breaks. But does that make a difference? The surf is loud right at her feet, but is it loud for him out there at the break? Only Mr. Science knows. From where she stands, she can see Bobby and the others just now and again, between waves. Now you see them, now you don’t. Now you see a long strand of kelp. Twist it about your ankle and drag is shoreward, then pop all the pods with your heel! It’s late, and Cinda is hungry, getting cold, too, maybe because her skirt is all cotton but no longer all dry. Climbing the rocks to the car park, she looks back and sees them clearly in silhouette— Bobby, Smoke, Carl, Eddie the Crab, straddling their boards and scanning, judging a wave superfine, then dropping flat to paddle for position. They remind her of mounted bandits in the Westerns , aligned and waiting for the train to round the bend. “OK, – 73 – BOOKCOMP, Inc. — University of Massachusetts Press / Page 74 / Printer Proof / Bring Everybody / Yates Bring Everybody – 74 – 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 [74], (74) Lines: 1051 to 1072 ——— 0.0pt PgVar ——— Long Page PgEnds: TEX [74], (74) boys, this is it,” Cinda says aloud, and tries to pull her tee-shirt up over her nose, bandanna style, but as her hands make pistols, the shirt slips back bellyward, and when she tries to get Bobby’s attention by waving a towel, two little girls, defending a sand castle against inevitable washout, wave back. “Hey you guys, you surfbrains !” Cinda yells, but not at the little girls. She hoists herself into the pickup and maneuvers it to point toward Bobby and the others, then blinks the lights and keeps blinking them rhythmically, imagining the Toyota with its goofy oversized tires and roll bar happily animated and sending a rhythmically coded message over the waves to Japan—a message home: I’m not, paid for. I’m not, paid for. At the top of the hour she has the truck radio’s news from NPR just before Bobby emerges from the surf. When she sees him undoing the Velcro of his ankle leash, she grabs a towel, his shorts, a Coors from the cooler, and gets down there. “Sorry,” he says, “but they were good. Did you see those barrels?” “Hey, it’s cold and I’m hungry.” “Be right with you,” he says, unzipping his wet suit. He slips his arms out and pulls it to the waist. She hands him the towel and the opened beer. He rubs his hair and torso and then wraps the towel around his waist before unzipping the wetsuit further. “No problem, flasher,” she says. “This beach is deserted. Only you surfbrains left.” Eddie the Crab comes out of the water and joins them. To Cinda, Eddie always has the surprised look of someone just baptized expecting to feel altered. “Hey, Cinda. Good news coming down,” he says, which is what he always says. Eddie shakes his head spaniel style. “Hey, Eddie,” she says. His remark reminds her of the radio news; she’s a junkie for it but, try as she might with the surf posse, she...