Too Many Summers

                                                               
Word Count:1849

    I was a little geeky that summer of 1968, but I never was afraid of girls. I was six-foot-one and a hundred forty-five pounds soaking wet, which was why I came to this little boat dock, to get that way. I had a few zitz-- but who didn't but the Elite? Everyone in town called me “High Pockets” or “Slim Jim” and I knew it was true. I was so skinny I had a pair of stripped pajamas but they only had one stripe. Now Audrey... she wasn't skinny-- not by a long shot.

    She sat there at the end of the dock swishing her feet amidst the tiny waves as she had the day before and the day before that and – I must confess – the day before that. I'd watched her from a distance last year when my family and I had camped here. She was a little taller than most girls and was almost as thin as I, but now she looked totally different. Her young womanhood was budding through her one-piece-powder-blue bathing suit, and her long, strawberry-blond hair rested on her shoulders and on each side of her ears. I made up my mind that this year I was going to at least say hi.

    As I walked up the dock one of my size thirteens tripped on a board that was sticking up a little and I fell uncontrollably towards her. But the gym class that I hated so much paid off as I turned a disaster into a somersault and sailed past her into the lake. I stayed under till I thought of a line that may get me out of this dumb ass-inspired move. Just before I died I thought of a plan.

    “Wanna go for a ... swim?”

    She looked at me like I was crazy and then cocked a little smile from one corner of her lovely lips. Her ears were a little bigger than normal and they showed between her locks of hair. One of her top, front teeth jetted out just a little. It didn't hit me till I was a lot older that whenever she smiled, even if she was eighty years old, she'd still look sixteen.

    “Maybe. You got a name?”

    “Tim, Timothy Richards.”

    “Mine's A--”

    “Audrey, Audrey Clemens.”

    “Have you been checking up on me boy?”

    “Nah, I just noticed your family name on the reserved sign at your campsite, that's all.” But I was lying. She dropped in the water gently and lady-like. We moved out a few feet and floated together, but she kept her distance. Funny thing is, she kept talking to me, and I took that as a good sign. Finally she pulled herself onto the dock in graceful move, stood up and pulled her suit back down over her lovely... dari...deari... of hell, her butt with both thumbs. She took three steps towards the camp and turned to me.

    “Why don't you stop by in about an hour, seeing as how you know where I live. Today's my sixteenth birthday. When's your thirteenth?”

    “Hardy-har,” I said. “My fifteenth was last week—do I have to bring a note from my mom first?”

    “If you have one.”

    Damn... was she ever cute.

                                                                                  ***

    I hung around the water for a bit, then walked up to the little store on the edge of the tents. I went the long way around to avoid her spot; no sense looking too eager I thought. Besides, they had a clock and my skills at sun-reading left a lot to be desired. At precisely five I showed up only to find her camp empty. There was one large tent and a smaller one behind. I snooped around whispering “Hello” until I saw two bare feet in the little one.

    “Come on in here, I've got something to show you.”

    Oh boy.

    It wasn't a total wash-- she did have a present for me.

    “Do you like Black Label?” she asked. “I snuck 'em out of my dads cooler before they went fishing.”

    Back then I'd drink anything, even this junky beer. But the price was right and the hostess was darling, so I took the bottle opener, popped the top and took a two-second swig. We exchanged small talk as we sipped, and stared, and sipped, and I just oogled and flirted.

    As I moved closer to receive my first real kiss—and maybe some tongue hockey too-- I started to tingle. My whole body seemed to reverberate as I counted the buttons of her blouse, the shiny zipper on her blue jean short-shorts, the scratches on her left knee and the small bruise on her shin. But the diastolic rise was only my old man  pulling me out of the tent by my ankles.

    “You mother says supper's ready Timmy—let's go. Afternoon, miss.”

      I don't know what was redder, the custom paint job on his Chevelle or my face. I walked silently about ten or fifteen feet behind him thinking-- “You ever embarrass me like that again, old man, and I'm gonna...I'm gonna...I'm just not gonna like it.” That's the best I could come up with.

    As we got close to our tents he slowed his pace and turned left towards a huge, oak tree in the middle of the campgrounds. He pulled out a Camel and lit it, took a long drag and handed me a plastic package of something called Sen-Sen.

    “Here,” he said. “Take two of these, they'll get that beer off your breath. You know how your mother feels about drinkin'-- what the hell's wrong with you? If she finds out about this there'll be three asses kicked tonight: mine, yours, and your's again—by me!”

    Oh no, I thought—he's really pissed. I stood there like a rock with nothing to say to defend myself. What was I going to say –we were discussing the Cold War?

      “Have you and I ever talked about sex yet, Timmy?”

    I had to put a stop to that discussion immediately. There was no way I'd talk about doing the nasty with my old man.

    “No Dad, but we don't have to go into all that—I know the details.”

    “Yeah, I know, but I bet you missed one.”

    “Which one is that?”

    “The one where I tell you that if you bring that girl, or any girl, to my house with a belleyfull, I'm gonna give you a mouthfull.”

    As he said that he tilted left and right four very big knuckles attached to one very huge right hand. He was a coal miner by trade, and nobody to mess with.

    “Got it?”

    “O.K.,” I answered sheepishly. “Lesson learned.”

    “ Good. Now let's go eat—I'm starved.” I didn't realize until he passed away how much I respected that man.

                                                                                  ***

    That disastrous day came to an end and I fell asleep thinking about her and woke up the same way. I had breakfast, milled with the family and after I tickled my little brother until he farted I took a walk. As I got closer to site No. 37 I sighted a small cloud of dust. I saw her waving goodbye from the back window of the pick-up truck, and I think I managed a half-hearted wave and smile. I turned and slinked back to our camp feeling lower that whale feces.

    I sat at the picnic table across from my dad watching him do his morning thing; smoking cigarettes and slurping coffee. I was angry at him, angrier than I'd ever been. I wouldn't look or talk to him. Then he said something.

    “Timmy, how do you like this site we've got here?”

    Like I was in the mood to write a travel review.

    “It's alright, I guess.”

    “Been thinking,” he said as he scratched his chin. “There's a better spot down by the lake I looked at last night. I put a deposit down on Lot No. 38 for next summer. In fact, a guy named Clemens did the same thing for No. 37 right before I did, and about the same weekend.” He smiled, and I was amazed—the old grouch could actually form one.

    “Thanks Dad, thanks a lot.”

    “Don't mention it,” he said as he gave me one of his “love taps” on the back of my head. After my headache went away, I felt really loved.

                                                                                ***

    The first two weeks of July were the coal miner's vacation period, and we hit road that first day. The Clemens clan was staked in, set up and off somewhere so I did all my usual chores, as was expected. Finally when the last stake and pole was secure I asked to be excused to hit the water. I didn't run to the lake, more like a fifteen-mile-per-hour walk. I saw a woman sitting on the edge of the dock but it wasn't Audrey; same hair color, but older. Her head was looking down and she had a hankie in one hand. This wasn't good. I approached her slowly.

    “Mrs. Clemens?” I asked softly.

    “Are you Timmy?”

    “Ye... yes ma'am.”

    “Sit down here by me, honey, we need to talk.”

    As my knees grew weak I sat quickly. There was a brief period of uncomfortable silence and I stayed silent until she finally spoke.

    “We... we lost our Audrey last summer after we left here. She went riding with some of her friends and didn't come home. She was in a bad wreck, and... and she and her two friends hit a big tree. The cop said they were traveling too fast and missed the turn and... and he said there were beer bottles everywhere--did you know she was drinking? Now tell me the truth, young man, tell me the truth!”

      I surprised myself at how quick I answered.

    “No, ma'am, not that I know of.”

    She looked me hard in the eyes, studied me and then turned away. She wiped a tear from her eye as she rose to leave, not saying another word. I hated to lie, and lie without forethought, but the poor woman had been through too much. Grief weighed heavily on her--why make it any worse? Sometimes  the truth can do more damage than good, or at least that's the way I saw it then.

                                                                                ***

    Forty years ago I stood here at this dock. Forty summers—too many summers—have gone by since that day. I've passed the road to this park a million times it seems on my way to work, and home again. I guess it's true that when you get old you get sentimental, and I look upon those days past as a long lost love, or a summer fling or just part of growing up. Who knows?, I thought as I took my work boots off, and my shirt and... well, that's it—I don't want to get arrested. After all, someone might not have the insight to lie for me.

Word Count: 1849