Joey and I mostly hid in the tree house that summer and waited for Jase to come home. Everything was always fun with just Joey and me, but when Jase was around, things always seemed richer and fuller.
When the end of that summer came, he brought me home a pot-bellied pig. Who in the world got a pot-bellied pig from one of her best friends? Me. That’s who! Jase supposedly saved it from a farm somewhere. At the time, all I thought was how very Charlotte’s Web he was.
Joey? He got a dirty magazine. I, um, shared in the gawking and drooling of that too. I mostly giggled myself into a red-faced frenzy. Then later those nights, after the boys were long gone, I touched myself like a horn dog in that little special spot on my body that Judy Blume taught me about in Deenie. Again, need I remind you not to judge me? Because seriously, the hand reaches there for a reason and it’s a good reason, too.
Anyway, I named my pig Bacon N. Eggs, and my mother cursed like a drunken trunk driver when I brought him into the house. I had Bacon N. Eggs for two weeks before my mother’s newest paycheck, I mean boyfriend, was pissed off at me for something, and wanted me to be punished for speaking to him harshly.
I’m sorry, but when you ask a fourteen-year-old to, “Go get me a beer, baby, ’cuz I wanna watch those titties of yours bounce all the way back to me,” when her mother isn’t home, you should be prepared to be snapped at—teenage gangster style and all. The very next morning, after a huge fight between my mother and me about my mouth and disrespecting my elders, my pig was gone and The Boyfriend was cooking bacon and eggs in my kitchen, smiling like a damned, evil bastard. No, I don’t think he was really frying up my damn pig, but the message was clear to me. Don’t mess with him. I was devastated, but that was my life at home. Thank God, the majority of the time my mother just spent her time alone, asleep on the couch, with her eyes half-open, mostly comatose. I did my best to make sure that her cigarettes were put out while she slept, which allowed me to always have those little cancer sticks on hand to share with my best friends.
But when her boyfriends came around, in order for me to stay sane, I stayed in the tree house all the time and I read more books than I ever did.
Standing on the corner before first period on a hot, sunny, September day right after the pig-napping, I told my two best friends about Bacon N. Eggs, and the anger in both their expressions unsettled me. I knew they would never blame me, or be angry with me for anything my mother or her tribe of cavemen did, but I hated that I had upset them. I don’t think that there was even a second of any day in our trio of friendship that any of us were ever really angry at each other. There wasn’t anything ever bad between us, then. Yeah, all the darkness between our threesome comes later.
I was tense as hell as we walked into school, waiting in the line to get through the metal detectors. Jase and Joey both eyed me like they were afraid I would explode.
Then, one of the school safety officers pulled me out to pat me down. He was young and greasy looking, and I froze when he put his hands on me. His big hands slid down my sides, making sure his thumbs moved over my chest as he licked his lips. His eyes roamed hungrily over the front of my shirt, just like tons of other guys had since puberty smacked me in the chest. I cringed at the realization that my first feel up was with this loser, and I didn’t even get a meal out of it.
“Hey, there, Officer Snapperhead, think that I got a gun or something hidden in my bra, or do you just want to lose both your arms?” I asked him, pushing myself away from him.
Jase grabbed my waist and walked me right back out the front door as he angrily eyed the jerk. Joey picked my book bag up off the floor and followed us.
Running his hand up my back and hanging his arm heavily around my shoulders, Jase pulled me close. “Looks like a good day to cut classes, don’t you think?”
Next to us, Joey matched our steps, looking up into the clear blue sky. “Yep. I see your logic in this situation, and I believe this calls for a vacation day.”
Dorks.
I was sure glad they didn’t mention what just happened. They always knew when I needed to talk about things and when I just wanted to pretend they didn’t happen. No one knew me like those two did.
Jase squeezed my shoulder and nodded toward Joey, “And where would three extremely well-rounded misfits spend their vacation day?”
Joey’s black hair flopped across his forehead as he leaned closer to me, “The Island of Misfit Toys?” He handed me back my bag.
“Too far,” Jase chuckled. “But, it’s definitely sunny enough for a day at the beach.”
All it took was a two-minute walk to the subway station and a twenty-minute A-train ride across the waters of the Jamaica Bay to Rockaway Beach, and we had our beach vacation getaway.
That September day turned hot enough to go in the water, but I made my opinions about going into the ocean perfectly clear to both of them. I was scared of the things under the muck of the water: fish, seaweed, dead bodies held down with concrete blocks. Hey, this was New York, and I had seen a lot of mob movies, okay?
So instead of going into the water, we walked all the way down to the old pier that I always believed went half way across the ocean. Above us, the sky was a brilliant blue and only a dusting of feathery white clouds hovered almost invisibly over the horizon. “The ocean always looks so impossibly big to me.”
Reaching out, Jase took my hand and entwined his fingers through mine. My heart beat a tiny bit faster and I turned toward him. The corners of his mouth lifted up in a stunning smile, “Nothing is too impossibly big to conquer.” He leaned his head past me and eyed Joey, “What do you think?”
Joey reached out and grabbed my free hand and entwined his fingers in mine—the same way Jase had done.
Oh God, no.
“I say, let’s just jump,” he called.
And then, they were running, pulling me with them to the edge. They were both so strong and determined; I had no choice but move with them or fall flat on my face.
“No!” I screamed as we flew off the old wooden dock and jumped into the sky. Cold, salty water engulfed me and the sheer terror of what lay underneath the murky darkness with me caused me to kick and scream a profanity of bubbles into the pitch-blackness of the Atlantic Ocean.
As the taste of the bitter salt water filled my mouth, I felt both Jase and Joey’s hands squeeze mine and tug me up. Gently, my body floated up through the rippling waves as my kicking and screaming stilled and complete awe and wonderment settled over me when I opened my eyes under the silent waters. Getting used to the stinging burn, I could see Jase and Joey with their goofy smiles and the sun hitting the surface of the water just above their heads, shining a halo over them like they were two angels.
Jase yanked my hand once more, and the three of us broke through the surface of the water laughing, gasping, and screaming. We swam back to shore, my legs kicking freely with my newfound accomplishment of conquering the scary unknown. Joey, of course, Mr. Captain of the swim team, reached the beach first and lay out on the wet sand with his arms behind his head.
Jase and I stumbled over each other, his dripping wet body landing across mine. “Not so scary after all, huh?” he panted, taking his hands and softly tucking my wet hair behind my ear. His chest rose and fell heavily against mine, from the exertion of the swim.
The touch was such an intimate gesture that the trail of where his fingertips touched my skin tingled, and my heart hammered hard against the inside of my chest.
I tried to compose my thoughts into complete sentences, but all I could do was stare at his lips and wish I were back in Ava Marie’s laundry room, so I could have another excuse to kiss my best friend.
The back of his knuckles rubbed over my cheeks, until his thumb softly touched my lips, “Well?” he whispered, his eyes focused intensely on mine.
I smiled shyly, terrified of the words that wanted to come out of my mouth. “I’m not scared of anything with you and Joey by my side, Jase Delaney.”
Joey s
nuggled up in the wet sand next to us. The waves of the Atlantic lapped against our wet sneakers. “That was awesome, but I don’t think we really thought it through. Like, how are we going to take the train home soaking wet?” he chuckled.
Jase lifted his eyes off mine and splashed the water that pooled around us into his lap, “You worry too much about shit,” Jase said.
I laughed at the both of them, “Yeah, you guys both need to be more worried about how I will extract my sweet, sweet revenge for making me jump in the ocean.”
Oh, and I did get my revenge too. In the sweetest way possible: dessert. You see, after spending the day lying in the sun and drying off our clothes, only to get thrown into the ocean once again, we took the A-train back into our neighborhood, dripping went. Walking from the train station to our houses, I said goodbye to the boys and made my way to a small deli. With squeaky wet sneakers and with the very last of my money, I bought a few ingredients to assist in my payback prank: a five pound bag of large sweet onions ($3.49), a jar of sweet caramel ($2.59), and a box of crafty ice-pop sticks for ($2.29). The sweet revenge of watching your best friends bite into the crunchy nastiness of a caramel onion thinking it was a caramel apple: PRICELESS.
∞
As the echoes of my own giggles snapped me back into my reality, I hugged my phone to my chest, reveling in the sweet memory of being young. I missed being fourteen, and I missed my boys. My boys.
I texted a final thank you.
C: Thank you. You always say what I need to hear.
J: What about your husband and kids?
Don’t make a strange, confused face reading his last text. Yes, he thinks I have a husband. And yes, I added in two kids and a cat for good measure. YES, it’s a lie. Shut up. I told you not to judge me, yet. Don’t call me a bitch, either. Because, I’m really not and if I could have any wish granted, it would simply be to never, never be apart from Joey or Jase.
But life happens and lies had to be told.
C: My husband and children never pushed me into the ocean.
J: Yeah, that’s what you’re going with?
C: Shut up
J: Lemme know how it goes.
C: You bet
Jumping up with a newer outlook, I ran the shower and started getting ready for my class.
As always, no matter how long I showered or primped or tried to pretty myself, I was never ready. I was never comfortable enough in my skin to be ready.
For the third time, I looked at myself in the mirror, and again smoothed down the material of my pencil skirt, erasing the non-existent wrinkles I worried would pop up. I slid my blazer on. Grumbling, I pulled it back off. Looking through my closet I groaned, grabbing the same blazer and shrugging it back on, turning in the mirror. I ripped it off and chucked it across the room. Maybe Bren was right. Professor? Who the Hell was I kidding? What the eff was wrong with me?
The fourth time I looked at my reflection, I threw my toothbrush at it and stuck out my tongue. I was 5’ 1” and I wished…I wished I was one of those characters in a book that was 5’ 8” and beautiful and perfect and tan and skinny and well, I’m just not. I’m real. I have stretch marks, cellulite, freckles, and I wear glasses; I’m like a frumpy librarian with a dirty imagination. I always have split ends, let’s not even talk about how big my ass is, and as I stared at myself (still sticking out my tongue) I felt a lot like a little insecure kid and not at all like a professor in a college.
I ended up wearing the damned blazer, but leaving it open and letting the soft pink, silky, sleeveless shirt underneath show. Breathlessly, I caught a cab to East 23rd street before I could vomit all over myself.
The cab ride was short, just across town, but I sat in the back seat a frenzied, sweaty, nervous bundle of energy. I was excited and terrified. And in my heart, just as I always did when things were hard to deal with, I leaned back against the cool leather of the seats and imagined Joey and Jase on both sides of me.
The cab got there way too quickly.
Stupid cab driver.
I blinked my eyes closed for a few moments and inhaled deeply.
Then, I just jumped.
When I stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked up at the building, a legion of butterflies proudly swooped deep in my belly. I felt a smile tug at my lips, because I could do this. I could jump. I graduated from here, and they asked me to teach for them. I could do this.
Walking through the lobby of the school, the chemical smell of turpentine and thick, rich, oil paint hung faintly in the air. God, I loved that smell.
My heels clicked softly over the floors as I walked the expanse of the main lobby. Bright, white walls were graced with the brilliant oil and acrylic paintings of the most talented fine arts students in the city. I felt like I was home.
After greeting the faculty and mindlessly chatting with the president and others, I finally made my way into a small classroom to set up a projector and my slide presentation. Then nervously, I dimmed the lights down low.
At exactly one o’clock, the last of my fifteen students strolled through the door and quietly took a seat. I breathed in deep at the sight of the handful of students who gazed up at me with eager eyes.
I am not going to throw up.
I’m not going to throw up.
It’s just talking to people.
About art.
My stomach rolled, and I smiled and started talking before I could think any more about throwing up. “I always thought art history was a boring class, unless it was your major, and I know this is just an elective for most of you. I fell asleep so many times in the seats you’re in right now, but I’m hoping to change that a bit…”
Then, I began my presentation. The music started; their eyes widened and smiles grew. And I knew that I would be great at this. The fear of throwing up dissipated, and the excitement of the music, the pictures, and discussions, sent me into a wild, passionate high.
By the end of the day, after teaching both of my classes and eating in the lounge with a handful of excited students, the president of the college, Professor Lanes, asked me into his office.
My heart rate sped up, because I was well aware that he had slipped in to watch both of my classes and stayed until the very end. He also watched me eat dinner and discuss a dozen or so things that had to do with the current art world.
After the meeting, I decided to walk back to my apartment, and by the time I reached the corner of 23rd Street and 3rd Avenue, I had tears in my eyes. Within twenty minutes after the end of my studio class, I was moved to the amphitheater for the remainder of my lectures and the largest studio for my theory and design class. One hundred students had transferred into my class upon hearing about my lecture and who I was. The President of the college had never been so impressed by such a young teacher before. He asked me to think about teaching more classes for the next semester.
When I reached Fourth Avenue, I took out my phone and typed out a text.
C: I. DID. AWESOME!
J: Never doubted it. Going into work. Have a good night.
C: Stay Safe.
J: Always.
When I got home I leaned against my kitchen island and sighed.
I was completely alone. There was no one to share this amazing feeling with. The only three people in the world who would have cared about this (Joey, Jase, and Auburn) were no longer in my life. It was a sad, lonely fact that I knew I needed to change.
Determined to somehow celebrate this accomplishment of mine, I searched the cabinets for some ingredients and mixed myself a Mad Hatter shot, a large one, and drank it down.
Alone.
I heard the apartment door slam open before I saw Bren walk through. His eyes surveyed my small apartment until he found me cuddled up on my Lazy-Boy reading a book and gave me a smirk. “Still here? Your Prince Charming forget to rescue you out of the tower, Princess?” He kicked the door shut behind him, stumbled onto my couch, and kicked off his shoes.
His eyes looked cloudy and farawa
y. Damn it. He was messed up again. “Are you on something right now, Bren?”
Waving his hands at me, he gave me those stupid duck lips, “Don’t get all motherly, I just had a few drinks, nothing else.” Then, he shrugged. “I just wanna feel good. Don’t you ever want to feel good again, Sage?”
“I feel fine.”
“That’s bullshit, Charlotte, you’re more fucked in the head than me,” he challenged, surprising me by using my real name—something he never did. He leaned forward, his bloodshot eyes blazing straight into mine. “You of all people know you can’t pretend to be something you’re not. You’re always gonna end up where you belong. If you were born trailer trash, that’s where you belong.”
“I wasn’t born in a trailer, Bren.”
“I’m being rhetorical, Sage. Trash is trash, no matter how much you pretty it up.”
“I think that’s a crappy way to look at people. People can overcome the horrible hand they’ve been dealt in life,” I argue, feeling no fight in me at all.
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
“I do, every day.”
But his words did cut me.
And just like everything good that happened in my life, there seemed to be some black cloud that hovered over me, waiting until the best time to rain down on me. Reminding me who I really was, where I came from, and all the shit I’ve lived through that was threatening to whip my emotions up into a storm of insecurity, pain, and heartache.
Just like the day we conquered the ocean. Just like the day we jumped into my fear.
The black cloud hung over our shoulders, not yet close enough for us to see it.
The day after our vacation getaway to the beach, Joey had swim practice after school and told Jase and me to meet him down by the pool after last period. Jase had a lab that day, so I knew he would be late.
Joey and three other boys were doing laps as I walked in. The humid chlorine smell immediately caused my eyes to burn and walloped me with a sneezing attack.