– Yep, that one, too.
The woman plants the stick of driftwood in the sand next to their sketch.
– Nice to meet you.
I wave.
– Nice to meet you, too. Take care.
She smiles, waves back, and they walk together, calling to the dog as it wanders toward them, tired and sick, but still lolling its tongue and barking happily at the ocean.
Stupid maddog.
I smoke and watch them walk back up to the road where their car is parked. When my cigarette is done I grind the cherry out in the sand and tuck the butt back in the box. The sun is almost gone now, sliced in half by the horizon. I close my eyes and try to feel what little heat it gives.
The sun is down.
The wind cuts deeper. I stand up and tuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans. I take a step over to where the couple was sitting and look at their sketch.
A heart with an arrow piercing it.
In the middle, a word.
Henry.
Funny they didn’t recognize me. I touch my carved face. But I guess not. Not really. I think about going after them. But that would be a bad idea. They already have one maddog to deal with. I think about smoking another cigarette. But I don’t. I think about going home. But I don’t. I stand here and watch the stars come out.
And then I close my eyes.
I OPEN MY eyes.
I’m sitting on a beach.
The sun shines. I can feel it baking my face, the heat occasionally relieved as clouds sweep across the bright blue sky. A wave crashes and the surf washes up over smooth dark sand, stopping just short of my toes. “Easy” is playing somewhere behind me.
I look at the people on the beach.
There are kids, mostly Latino, playing in the surf. Off to my left is a woman in a lime green bathing suit and pink headscarf, knitting something orange. A man with skin tanned like an old, brown penny jogs past. A tiny, round Mexican woman is pushing a shopping cart filled with mangoes through the sand.
I raise my hand to her. She pushes the cart over. The mangoes are on sticks that are stuck into a giant Styrofoam block. She plucks one out and offers it to me.
I wave my hand up and down.
–
She undoes the twisty at the top to the stick and pulls the mango free of its plastic bag. Thank God. It would have taken me an hour to get that thing off. I take the mango and offer her a dollar. She takes it. She looks at it, then at me, then she grips her cart and shoves it away. I look at the rest of the money in my hand. It’s bloody.
I look down. Blood is soaking through the knotted sleeves of my jacket, dripping slowly to be sucked up by the sand between my legs. That’s not good. You only have so much of that.
I crane my head around. There is a trail of tiny red spots on the sand leading back to the boardwalk. They might be the drippings from a child’s Popsicle, but they’re not.
The boardwalk is very far away, the music is coming from Rudy’s. How’d I get all the way here? Lucky, I guess. I look down again. The sand had absorbed too much of my blood; it has begun to pool at my crotch.
So, not that lucky.
I look at the mango in my hand. It’s been peeled, slit in rings around and around. It looks like a giant, pale orange artichoke dusted with chili powder. I bring it to my mouth. It’s sweet and peppery on my lips, but I’m no longer strong enough to bite into the soft fruit. It feels heavy. I want to put it down. I try to jam the stick in the sand, but I can’t get it in deep enough to stand upright. It lists slowly to one side until it falls and is crusted in sand.
What now?
Shoes.
Gonna take my shoes off.
It’s not easy, but I manage. Then I tug my socks off. Then I get to push my bare feet deep in the sand. And you know what? It was worth it. My eyes try to close. I open them. My eyes closing now would be a bad thing.
My eyes start to close.
I stop them.
Look for something to look at.
Some teenage girls sit in a circle to my right, all of them talking into their cell phones.
Cell phones.
I shift, and tug at my jacket. It pulls at my wound and I gasp. I feel in the jacket pockets and find Branko’s phone. I go through my pants pockets and find the number.
I dial.
It rings just once.
– Hello!
– Hey, hey, Mom.
– Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh. Oh.
– Hey. Hey. Sorry I. Last night. I didn’t mean to scare you. My phone. The battery.
– I knew. I knew. Henry. Oh. Henry. Henry, Henry.
– I love you, Mom.
– Henry. I love you. I love you so much. I.
– Is Dad there?
– He’s here. He’s.
– Henry? I’m here. Where? Are you OK? Where are you? Are you? What can we?
– Dad. Hey, Dad. Wow. You guys sound.
– What is it, Henry? We. How do we?
– Hey. Hey. I just. I can’t talk. Just. I wanted to tell you. I really love you guys. And.
Mom clucks her tongue.
– Are you drunk, Henry?
– No, Mom.
– You sound drunk.
– No, Mom.
– Well. I. Oh, God.
– It’s OK, Mom. Dad?
– Yeah?
– I love you guys. And. I know. Nothing I did. You guys were great to me. No matter what people say. Nothing that happened. It was all me. And I love you. And.
Mom is crying now. Of course. Making Mom cry is the easiest thing in the world.
– Don’t cry, Mom.
– Don’t be stupid. How can I not cry?
– Dad, tell Mom not to cry.
– Your mom cries at TV commercials.
– Right.
Mom cries for awhile. Nobody says anything. She stops.
– I’m better. Sorry.
– That’s OK.
More of nobody talking. The beach spins a couple times. My eyes try to close some more.
– OK. I. I need to go, guys.
Mom starts crying again.
