Hearts In Atlantis

“It’s sort of a baby card, I know, but the others were even worse,” Carol said matter-of-factly. A little farther up the hill Sully-John was waiting for them, working his Bo-lo Bouncer for all it was worth, going under his right arm, going under his left arm, going behind his back. He didn’t try going between his legs anymore; he’d tried it once in the schoolyard and rapped himself a good one in the nuts. Sully had screamed. Bobby and a couple of other kids had laughed until they cried. Carol and three of her girlfriends had rushed over to ask what was wrong, and the boys all said nothing—Sully-John said the same, although he’d been pale and almost crying. Boys are boogers, Carol had said on that occasion, but Bobby didn’t believe she really thought so. She wouldn’t have jumped out and given him that kiss if she did, and it had been a good kiss, a smackeroo. Better than the one his mother had given him, actually.

“It’s not a baby card,” he said.

“No, but it almost is,” she said. “I thought about getting you a grownup card, but man, they are gushy.”

“I know,” Bobby said.

“Are you going to be a gushy adult, Bobby?”

“I hope not,” he said. “Are you?”

“No. I’m going to be like my mom’s friend Rionda.”

“Rionda’s pretty fat,” Bobby said doubtfully.

“Yeah, but she’s cool. I’m going to go for the cool without the fat.”

“There’s a new guy moving into our building. The room on the third floor. My mom says it’s really hot up there.”

“Yeah? What’s he like?” She giggled. “Is he ushy-gushy?”

“He’s old,” Bobby said, then paused to think. “But he had an interesting face. My mom didn’t like him on sight because he had some of his stuff in shopping bags.”

Sully-John joined them. “Happy birthday, you bastard,” he said, and clapped Bobby on the back. Bastard was Sully-John’s current favorite word; Carol’s was cool; Bobby was currently between favorite words, although he thought ripshit had a certain ring to it.

“If you swear, I won’t walk with you,” Carol said.

“Okay,” Sully-John said companionably. Carol was a fluffy blonde who looked like a Bobbsey Twin after some growing up; John Sulli-van was tall, black-haired, and green-eyed. A Joe Hardy kind of boy. Bobby Garfield walked between them, his momentary depression forgotten. It was his birthday and he was with his friends and life was good. He tucked Carol’s birthday card into his back pocket and his new library card down deep in his front pocket, where it could not fall out or be stolen. Carol started to skip. Sully-John told her to stop.

“Why?” Carol asked. “I like to skip.”

“I like to say bastard, but I don’t if you ask me,” Sully-John replied reasonably.

Carol looked at Bobby.

“Skipping—at least without a rope—is a little on the baby side, Carol,” Bobby said apologetically, then shrugged. “But you can if you want. We don’t mind, do we, S-J?”

“Nope,” Sully-John said, and got going with the Bo-lo Bouncer again. Back to front, up to down, whap-whap- whap.

Carol didn’t skip. She walked between them and pretended she was Bobby Garfield’s girlfriend, that Bobby had a driver’s license and a Buick and they were going to Bridgeport to see the WKBW Rock and Roll Extravaganza. She thought Bobby was extremely cool. The coolest thing about him was that he didn’t know it.

*

Bobby got home from school at three o’clock. He could have been there sooner, but picking up returnable bottles was part of his Get-a-Bike-by-Thanksgiving campaign, and he detoured through the brushy area just off Asher Avenue looking for them. He found three Rheingolds and a Nehi. Not much, but hey, eight cents was eight cents. “It all mounts up” was another of his mom’s sayings.

Bobby washed his hands (a couple of those bottles had been pretty scurgy), got a snack out of the icebox, read a couple of old Superman comics, got another snack out of the icebox, then watched American Bandstand. He called Carol to tell her Bobby Darin was going to be on—she thought Bobby Darin was deeply cool, especially the way he snapped his fingers when he sang “Queen of the Hop”—but she already knew. She was watching with three or four of her numbskull girlfriends; they all giggled pretty much nonstop in the background. The sound made Bobby think of birds in a petshop. On TV, Dick Clark was currently showing how much pimple-grease just one Stri-Dex Medicated Pad could sop up.

Mom called at four o’clock. Mr. Biderman needed her to work late, she said. She was sorry, but birthday supper at the Colony was off. There was leftover beef stew in the fridge; he could have that and she would be home by eight to tuck him in. And for heaven’s sake, Bobby, remember to turn off the gas-ring when you’re done with the stove.

Bobby returned to the television feeling disappointed but not really surprised. On Bandstand, Dick was now announcing the Rate-a-Record panel. Bobby thought the guy in the middle looked as if he could use a lifetime supply of Stri-Dex pads.

He reached into his front pocket and drew out the new orange library card. His mood began to brighten again. He didn’t need to sit here in front of the TV with a stack of old comic-books if he didn’t want to. He could go down to the library and break in his new card—his new adult card. Miss Busybody would be on the desk, only her real name was Miss Harrington and Bobby thought she was beautiful. She wore perfume. He could always smell it on her skin and in her hair, faint and sweet, like a good memory. And although Sully-John would be at his trombone lesson right now, after the library Bobby could go up his house, maybe play some pass.

Also, he thought, I can take those bottles to Spicer’s—I’ve got a bike to