Who’s Sorry Now?

All you had to do is call…

Photo by Clem Onojeghuo on Unsplash

The summer I turned seventeen was the best and worst three months of my life.

It started on the last day of school. I said goodbye to Terri, promised I’d be over her house right after dinner for our campout in her backyard, and walked into a war zone. My mother blazed fury at my older sister cowering at the kitchen table.

I vaulted up the stairs, not daring to break the tension. For the first time in my life, my perfect sister was the one who disappointed our genius parents. I closed my bedroom door and discovered my mother’s hard-sided, favorite suitcase on my bed. My shorts, t-shirts, and bathing suits were piled beside it.

A moment later, my sister’s door slammed. My mother knocked as she came into my room.

“You’re spending the summer with your Aunt Becky. You’ll have a chance to get to know one another now that she’s finally finished drying out.” She smiled the pained smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

I opened my mouth and my mother held up a hand.

“I know. It’s an incredible opportunity. Down at the shore, there’s peace and quiet and plenty of time for you to work on college applications and extra credit coursework. If you need more to do, there’s plenty of summer jobs so you can save for tuition. We’re leaving tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. to beat the traffic. I have a conference to prepare for and your father is overseeing new recruits at the laboratory.”

She waved at my suitcase. “You can use my suitcase. Please don’t damage it. I’ve had it ever since your father and I got married. Better get packing, honey. Don’t forget dental floss. Oral hygiene saves lives.”

Terri called up the stairs. My mother clucked her tongue. “You’d think your friend would know better than to walk into other people’s houses. I’ll handle this.”

At 7:00 a.m., my father settled the station wagon into the center lane of the turnpike and drove the speed limit the entire way down to Wild Crest Beach. My mother faced forward, rigid silence except for waving to furious drivers cursing my father’s driving and giving him the finger.

“Pay them no mind, Anne. Our country is being overrun with idiots. Fifty-five was fast enough for our parents and it’s more than adequate for our requirements. We will call every Saturday night at 7:00 to discuss your progress.”

Aunt Becky’s house was a merry yellow bungalow with sunflowers draping the front porch. Bright cushions were scattered on the grass. A tire swing swayed in the light breeze.

My aunt hurried up the path, barefoot and carrying an armful of flowers. She gave me a one-armed hug and invited my parents in for coffee.

They refused, citing heavy traffic, needing to get back to work.

A minute later, my suitcase had been deposited on the driveway, my cheek kissed, and my parents left.

“Aunt Becky, I….”

“Becky,” she said, bright blue eyes smiling. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come on in and meet everyone.”

Tangled men and women waved sleepy arms at me while Becky introduced them.

I caught a scent of something smoky and sweet. Ashtrays were piled with cigarette butts and twisted papers. A young girl roused herself from a young man’s lap, nudged him to take his hand out of her skirt.

Becky’s bohemians were poets, musicians, physicists, philosophers, and PhD. candidates at Berkeley, MIT, and Harvard. Every day they worked on theses, conducted elaborate experiments, sunned on the beach, and played frisbee with Becky’s dog Murphy.

Becky’s Bohemians claimed me for their little sister. Delilah helped me write essays, coaxed me out of obscure references, and loaned me Virgil. Gillie braided flowers into my hair, taught me how to blend perfumes, and loaned me her favorite blue jeans. Ophelia and Ray showed me their secret sourdough bread recipe. Jules and I built a model of the Colosseum with sugar cubes while Mike recited the Odyssey.

I was wearing Gillie’s jeans when I met Andy.

Streaky bleached blond hair and intense blue eyes, he showed up late to the party, helped me light the lanterns in Becky’s back yard, and told me I was an old soul.

We danced, laughed, and made out on the beach. I wanted to go swimming in the moonlight and he talked me out of it, saying he didn’t trust dark waves. We kissed goodbye just before dawn.

I was sure that would be the end of us, a great story to tell Terrie when I got home.

I woke up on the beach later that day when Andy tickled my foot with a daisy. He gave me the flower and called me Summer Girl, kissed me long, delicious, and warm. Before he walked me to my job at the amusement park, he promised my aunt he’d take good care of me.

From that day on, we were inseparable.

Becky’s Bohemians didn’t much like Andy, but didn’t make a big deal about it. The men stood up taller when he walked in and the women watched him with narrowed eyes. Becky sighed when she saw him, muttered under her breath, pushed the hair out of his eyes, and told him to behave.

In the middle of August, when I could feel school breathing down my back, Andy and I sat on the beach, watching the moon rise. He sang me the Summer Girl song he wrote for me, gave me a Cracker Jack box ring, and said I was his soul mate.

I was falling asleep in his arms when a low whistle cut the soft night air. Andy jolted up, dumping me on the sand.

“Summer Girl? I gotta go. Promise you’ll be here when I get back?”

His voice was tight. His kiss was hard, straight line, closed lips. He stalked off the beach.

Our nights started ending sooner. Once that low whistle sliced the air, he rushed off, saying he’d call me as soon as he could.

Andy never called.

He’d show up with a daisy or a doughnut or a feather he thought I’d like. If I bugged him about disappearing, he told me not to be a dark wave.

“Don’t drag me down, babe.” He’d kiss my neck and make me forget about fighting.

Delilah and Gillie cornered me in the kitchen one morning while I was flipping pancakes.

“So, how are things with Andy?” Delilah tore off a piece of pancake and popped it in her mouth. “We saw him at the Tunnel of Love with another girl.”

“You’re cool with him sleeping around?” Gillie wrangled her mane into a ponytail.

“What are you talking about?” I sputtered confusion, finally admitting the truth.

Andy was a man who loved all the seasons. He probably called me Summer Girl so he wouldn’t say the wrong name. I couldn’t believe I was the dumb high school girl who fell in love with the first guy who knew how to kiss.

Delilah and Gillie finished making pancakes while I cried on the back steps. I watched Murphy chew on a tennis ball.

Becky’s Bohemians joked while they cleaned up breakfast. They joined me outside, looking as serious and somber as I’d ever seen them.

“You want I should break his neck?” Ray cracked his knuckles.

“Vengeance is a dish best served cold.” Gillie chewed on the end of her braid.

“He’s terrified of dark waves.” I rubbed Murphy’s head. “I don’t know what you do with that.” I might be a dumb high school kid, but I was a genius little sister. You got to hit them hard when they least expect it.

“Senior year Physics. Wave tank,” Mike and Gillie nodded at one another and grinned.

A box of special brownies for the security guy and Becky’s Bohemians strode into the amusement park.

In under an hour, the Tunnel of Love had been adjusted to their specifications.

That night, Andy and I hung out after dinner, throwing sticks for Murphy to fetch. I pretended to have a cold so he wouldn’t get close.

A short time later, that whistle pierced the air and Andy took off. The Bohemians and I headed to the amusement park, taking back roads so he wouldn’t see us.

She looked like a doll, big eyes and bright pink lips laughing at whatever Andy was telling her neck. He wrapped his arm around her neck, kissed her head, dropped his arm and stuck his hand in her back pocket. She nestled under his arm like she belonged there.

They rambled over to the Tunnel of Love, Andy with both hands all over her and her giggling, pretending that she didn’t love it.

They climbed into the boat and it drifted into the tunnel.

The Bohemians took charge. Announcing the ride was closed, they handed riders and hopefuls their money back.

Only Andy and his girl were still in the tunnel.

At Gillie’s signal, the lights went dark. The speakers blared a recording of Andy singing the Summer Girl song. The gentle waves grew higher and stronger.

The Tunnel of Love was transformed into the Tsunami of Terror.

The girl waded out of the dark by herself, weeping dark streams of make-up.

“He’s freaking out in there. Can someone go in there and help him? He’s in really bad shape.”

Delilah wrapped a towel around the sobbing girl. Mike waded into the tunnel like he was going into help instead of amplifying the waves.

I left before the end, when Andy was hurried out in a straitjacket by burly EMTs.

The Bohemians drifted back to Becky’s later. Becky consoled me with stories about her own breakups and betrayals, served with double shots of whiskey in our chamomile tea. It didn’t taste very good, but it blurred the sharp edges of my broken heart.

Becky called her next movie DARK WAVES. The Bohemians and I were played by unknown actors who are now very rich and very famous.

No one quite knew what to make of the story. My parents forbade me from seeing the movie — even though I was the main character and lived the whole thing. My friends loved it. Teachers and adults looked at me sideways, like they’re not sure if I’m going to do something terrible to them. I got into every university I applied to.

No one has ever betrayed me again.