Crush
Where the Sunbeams End: Chapter 5
Regardless of where we come from or how we came to be here, the fact of the matter is we’re here. Sometimes that can be quite a scary thing when you really sit down and think deeply about it.
There was a line of trees running up the left side of our yard, pine trees. There were other trees throughout the yard as well. The one I remember most may have been an oak, I’m not an arborist. This tree stood just inside the line of pines in the front yard. There was a moment, just me wandering beneath the shade of this tree, I may have been digging a hole, I can’t remember exactly. But I found pennies buried in the dirt beneath the tree, at least that’s the memory. I can still see them shining up through the soil, loads of them. I remember wondering how and why these old coins came to be nestled here. It was a mystery, but that was ok. I felt someone must have been standing here in this same shade and for that moment I felt connected to this person.
As I sit here, drifting back through time in my mind, I realize that memories don’t pop up chronologically. As I try to tell my story in a linear way, new memories come to the surface that certainly took place before where we sit currently. Like the dates on the back of those pennies piled and buried in the soil. The ones furthest to the top weren’t necessarily the newest, they were all mixed up, as if someone had smashed their piggy bank against the trunk of that oak.
~~~
“We should name the baby Patrick Jr. after Dad.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice, we’ll think about it Peter. What do you think about Raymond?” asked my mother.
“I guess that would be nice too.” I answered as I squirmed up closer to Mom on their king size bed.
I liked to spend time in Mom and Dad’s room. Under the bed there were boxes of Dad’s comic books. He let me read through them and I was always sure to be careful not to fold or rip the pages. Mostly I loved looking at the pictures, sometimes I would read the little word bubbles, but it was the pictures that were the coolest. I wished I could draw like the people who made these comics.
Dad and Mom bought me art supplies and tracing paper so that I could draw and color my favorite super heroes, like Batman and Spider-man. I knew I was just copying, but I still thought it was awesome to bring the heroes to life on my own.
When Mom and Dad weren’t around I would look at She-Hulk. Dad never said I couldn’t look at that one, but I always felt like I was breaking some kind of rule when I would flip through the pages. I couldn’t help but get excited in a strange way when I would look at her. She wasn’t naked in the comic, but close enough.
One time I almost saw my mom naked I think. I was just going into their room because I couldn’t sleep, but when I opened the door my mom kinda yelled and threw the covers up and told me to get out. Anyways, I knocked after that. Mom didn’t excite me the way She-Hulk did.
~~~
I often think my mind, with all these memories, is almost like the hotel in The Shining. Each door, a gateway to another time and place, and another me for that matter. And unfortunately there is a door 237 or 217 or whatever the number was in the book. A place where all the awful stuff lives on. Like Danny, I still go in there though, but not on purpose. Sometimes the doorways get all jumbled, and one memory unlocks another. I often ask myself why I even bother with all this time travel, all this reminiscing and remembering. Then I remember. I’m not in total control of my mind anymore, and perhaps I never was. Believe me, I’ve tried meditation, I should give exercise another shot, but I’m not quite convinced that will help either. Perhaps there is too much stuff piled up in the dark place, too much of myself now lives there. I get an injection each month now, and try to take my pills. I try to believe that it’s what’s best for me. But I know it’s killing a part of me that I need to thrive. I still doubt these quacks who are bold enough to call themselves doctors. And the medication is no more than poison. Perhaps that’s why I’m here remembering, because I fear I don’t have much longer before I lose all of myself to the dark place.
~~~
Her name was Alexandra, or Alex. Looking back now I think she liked me. I only say this because she had an attitude towards me, she was mean. But even then I knew I liked her. My first crush you could say. Well, other than She-Hulk of course. This is back in Maryland. It was Kindergarten. The lights in our classroom were dimmed and we were lined up against the far wall. She was at the front of the line, I can still see her, running her mouth at me, but I have no idea what she’s saying, I’m just in awe of her beauty. It’s the first time I wanted to kiss a girl. And don’t worry about what she looked like, my description wouldn’t do her justice anyways. Just imagine the first time you looked into the eyes of another and felt that very primal urge. That want or rather need to embrace another. It’s sad that so often we have to push down and deny that feeling.
~~~
Clarke County, Virginia helped give me a lifelong love of books and literature. But this country town was also where I discovered my love for football, or if you must, soccer. Although American football was my first love. My father was an avid fan of the Washington Redskins and legend has it I helped him through the Superbowl the year I was born. The Redskins were up against the favored Denver Broncos. The Broncos took a 10 point lead in the first quarter as my father polished off a six-pack. He’s always been a rowdy fan for whichever team of his is playing, and in such a big game, with the beer flowing, my father was in fine form. After complaints from the neighbors, my mother handed me over to my father, you know, to settle him down. Together we watched the Skins come back to smash the Broncos 42-10, thanks in large part to Doug Williams, the first African American Quarterback to play in a Superbowl.
I gravitated towards sports for two reasons. One, I had always been a hefty kid and as puberty began I was fully aware that I was much too big for my age, especially around the belly. I worried about my weight, but on the soccer field or basketball court I could use my size to my advantage. Reason number two, I wanted to make my dad proud. Sports gave me the opportunity to bond with my dad in ways that I couldn’t find anywhere else.
It was difficult at first. My parents must have been somewhat worried about me because they forced me to join the rec basketball league. I remember having a crying fit the first time they dropped me off at practice. I still wasn’t sure about all these country folks and I still missed Maryland.
Luckily I had Jimmy to keep me connected to my old life. Jimmy was the one friend who I stayed in contact with from Maryland. I would vacation with his family in the summer and he would vacation with us. We always picked up right where we left off, every single year. He was a good friend, more than that, he was a brother. I’ll never forget when we hit that special time, the time when girls were all that was on our minds.
~~~
I rolled over in bed, my soccer ball lay next to the pillow. I had started to take the ball everywhere, even to sleep like an old teddy bear. Soccer was life and I longed to understand the ball, to be one with it.
The sound of Jimmy flushing the toilet had stirred me from my slumber. The early morning sunshine was peaking through the blinds of the sliding door to our small suite.
“Morning man.”
“Morning,” Jimmy answered.
We went through our morning routine, showers and teeth brushing, still too young to shave. We were on the coast of Georgia, somewhere. It may have been Savannah, but the tide in my mind has pulled this part of the memory out to sea, perhaps forever.
But of course I remember the girls. Jimmy’s cousins Diane and Christy. Diane was older than us by a year or two and Christy a year younger. Diane was tall and lanky, with blonde hair that was almost white when the sun would shine through. I didn’t notice right away, but overheard Jimmy’s Mom and Aunt talking about how Diane’s boobs and butt had finally come in. I sure did notice after that though. I thought Christy was beautiful with her light brown hair, streaked with blonde from the summer sun. She played goalkeeper, same as me. Her younger brother Alex was the baby of the group. We’d spend the days on the beach and oftentimes at night the adults would play poker. One night they let us kids join in and I remember making a fool of myself. I didn’t know cards and didn’t really want to play, but it was family time for them. I had pocket aces and folded. Of course Jimmy had to know what my hand was and then proceeded to over explain my misunderstanding. I loved him for that.
Most nights however, it was the adults leaving us kids to our own devices. We’d play games of our own and just enjoy the time with one another. Sometimes Jimmy and I would go off alone, Alex wanting to follow after of course, but we made him stay with the girls. He hated that. Jimmy wanted to go check out chicks, so we would go for walks on the beach or into the little village town. I didn’t have the nerve to tell him that I was just fine checking out his younger cousin Christy.
There was more to it than that when it came to Christy though. We grew up together each summer. I loved Jimmy’s family, all of them in their own way, but this year Christy stole my heart. It didn’t help that she was a goalkeeper. There’s kind of a secret bond between keepers. Some call it the goalkeeper union. Unless you’ve put on the gloves and stood between the posts, you just can’t quite understand what the job entails. She understood though, and I loved her for that even more than for her style, grace, and beauty. I knew I was in deep and I think she knew it too. I would catch her looking at me, but her eyes would quickly dart away back to the movie we were watching.
Eventually I snapped, I couldn’t take it anymore. I made a move, if you can even call it that. It really wasn’t anything, but at the same time it was. She was laying on the couch barefoot in those little jean shorts of hers and a tank top. Her skin, dark from the summer sun. I smiled my best flirty smile and quickly slid onto the leather sofa, taking her feet in my hands and lifting her legs, then dropping them back in my lap. I don’t think I had a chance to say whatever lame line I had floating around my teenage mind. But she looked deep into my eyes as she pulled her feet from the top of my knees and I could see I had broken her trust. I must have mumbled sorry or something and then tried to play it cool, returning my gaze to the T.V.
That look in her eyes was bad enough, but that wasn’t the end of it. It must have been the last day of the trip, I remember having a big family dinner. Seafood. Christy’s dad Steve stopped me as I was walking over to the house where the adults would play their poker games and dinner would be served. I can’t remember the exact words he said, all I really remember is him condescendingly commenting on my outfit. I was wearing a tank top t-shirt, what some would call a wife-beater. Never quite understood how that affectionate nickname stuck, but I think I get the gist of it. Basically though, he was calling me country or white trash. At the time I feared that Christy had said something about my little move, but the truth is, she didn’t have to. Maybe the kids didn’t pick up on it, but as you get older you notice when two people are crushing. The adults were well aware and like me, Steve had finally snapped.
I tried my best to brush off the encounter, but embarrassment led to shame and guilt. I wish that I could put my arm around that young man and tell him that Steve was an asshole, and to go tell Christy how you really felt. But, in the end, Steve had succeeded in putting out the flame. There was a picture from that summer that I kept on my desk in my room back home. It’s me in the center, buried in sand up to my neck. Jimmy, Alex, Diane, and of course Christy all smiles, posing around the buried outsider. The country boy.
Oh, this one broke my heart.