U Is For Undertow

“Go and god bless, but leave me out of it.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to live on the wing?”

“Not particularly. What about your kid? He might not appreciate being dragged all over just to satisfy your whims.”

“I’ll leave him with Creed. Sky’s crazy about Deborah. He’d be happy as a clam.”

“You can’t do that. You told me he’s not even Greg’s kid.”

“What, you think kids are possessions? Mine, yours, and his? Sky’s a child of the universe. He’ll find his own path in life. He doesn’t need me for that.”

“He’s eleven. You can’t just dump the kid and run off.”

“I’m not dumping him. I’m thinking about what’s best for him. Deborah thinks I’m a crappy mother anyway and maybe she’s right. At least with her he’d have a normal life, whatever that’s worth. We’d have a blast, the two of us. We could go anywhere. Nova Scotia. Have you ever been to Nova Scotia? I love the sound of it. Nova means ‘new,’ but what’s a scotia?” She put her head on his chest and wrapped her leg over his.

Her flesh was hot and the weight of her leg made him tense. He could feel her pubic hair against his thigh like a Brillo pad. “Nice idea, but it won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Here’s some late-breaking news. I’m eighteen. I live at home. In two months, I start college. I don’t even have a job.”

“Neither do I. Who needs a job when you can panhandle? You ought to see ’em in the Haight. Tourists stand around gawking at all the hippie freaks. For them, it’s like being at the zoo. Hold your hand out, they’ll give you cash. They’re scared to death of us.”

“I don’t want to be a beggar when I grow up.”

She hooked an arm over his shoulder and shook him playfully. “Come on. You old sourpuss. This is the Summer of Love. We’re missing all the fun.”

He stared at the ceiling, wondering how long he’d have to put up with her before reclaiming his day.

She kissed his neck, making a low sound in her throat like she was turned on. “I love you.”

“Stop.”

“I mean it.” She licked his neck. She nibbled on his shoulder while she rubbed against him, amorous despite his failure to respond.

“Cut it out.”

“So uptight. Such a grouch. Don’t you even love me a little bit?” She put her lips to his ear and ran her tongue around the rim.

“Goddamn it. Get off.” He loosened her arms and rolled out of her embrace. He found his shorts and pulled them on. He ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it.

She sat up, agitated. “What’s wrong with you? Ever since I got here, you’ve treated me like shit.”

“I told you. I have work to do.”

“That is such a lie. You don’t have work. That’s ridiculous. Writing stuff down is not work.”

“What do you know? You barely made it out of ninth grade.”

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“Fine. I’m an asshole. So what?”

She pulled her legs up under her and got on her hands and knees, crawling across the bed. “What if Creed finds out about us? You think he won’t come after you?”

“You said you had an open relationship.”

She reached for him, her tone of voice teasing. “But you don’t know if it’s true or not. I might have made it up.”

Abruptly, he sat. “Jesus, don’t say that.”

She smiled. “Why, are you nervous what he’ll do if I tell?” She held him from behind, her arms around his neck. He tried to shrug her off and she laughed, grasping him tightly as though prepared to ride piggyback. He pushed himself up, using the bed for leverage. She locked her legs around his waist and the weight of her pulled him off balance. He stumbled sideways and they tumbled to the floor. Anger fa

He stared at her for a moment, fascinated. What kind of creature was she that violence served as an aphrodisiac? Killing her would be the ultimate turn-on from her point of view, and what did that make him? Not another word passed between them. She dressed quickly. She wept and her hands shook as she struggled to fasten her skirt. He sat on the bed stupefied, his head in his hands.

When she was gone he sat down at his desk, where he rolled a sheet of paper into his typewriter. He wrote for four hours, took a break, and then wrote for another two. Words poured out of him. He could feel sentences form in his head, almost faster than he could type. It was like taking dictation. Paragraphs lined up and passed through his body onto the paper in front of him. No thought. No analysis. No hesitation. He wrote about Mona. He wrote about his mother’s death. He wrote about his weak father and his own loneliness. He wrote about what it felt like to be shut away upstairs while the rest of the family enjoyed the comforts of home. He wrote about being a fat boy and what it felt like to run seven miles in the rain. He wrote without once thinking of Mr. Snow.

At 10:00 he stopped. He went downstairs and out into the chill night air. The property overlooked the ocean and he could see the sheen of moonlight on water as far as the islands. He was exhausted and energized. He thought he’d never sleep again, but he did. In the morning he read what he’d done. Some of it was awkward and inadvertently comical. Some of it was mawkish and maudlin. It mattered not. He knew what it felt like to work from the heart and he was hooked. Even if it took him years to get back to that flow, he knew it was worth every failed attempt and every misbegotten word.

At eight, he brushed his teeth, showered, dressed, and rode his scooter to Walker ’s house, taking the bridle paths that wound up the hill. He had to cross a public road only once, and even then there was no traffic. Walker had just gotten up and he was sitting in his kitchen in his boxer shorts, hair rumpled, his face embossed with wrinkles from his bedsheet.

Jon let himself in as he usually did. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. “I have to get out of the house before the Amazing Mona returns with her merry band in tow. She sucks all the oxygen out of the air and I can’t take it anymore. I thought we could get a place together near UCST or close to City College, whichever you’d prefer.”

Walker said, “I’m up for that. How do we pay the rent, rob a bank?”

“I’ve been thinking we’d borrow Rain-fun and games for a day or two-and then we exchange her for a bag of cash. Easy does it. No rough stuff and nothing scary. We get a kitten and she can play with it. She gets to drink pink lemonade laced with tranquilizers. Mona has a big stash, fifty-two by my count. She won’t miss a few. You have folks, so we keep the little girl at my place while everyone’s gone. I have a new hot-water heater going in and we can use the box to make a house for her. As long as she naps, she won’t make a fuss, which should give us time to negotiate.”