Page 119 - What They Did to the Kid

What They Did to the Kid 107

from them. They were unquestioning. My nagging analysis isolated
me from them.
On the opposite side, I felt myself defending my vocation from
boys like Rip and Kenny who were worldly the usual way with alco-
hol, tobacco, cars, and girls. No wonder faith had to rule reason.
Maybe these unanswerable questions Dick Dempsey and I had dis-
cussed so often had caused him to quit. At least he wasn’t shipped
off to the insane asylum where I was obviously headed.
It was all too much on the hot beach. I wanted to plunge into
the cold water, swim ming out over my head to the raft. I wanted to
watch the girls up close touch their blonde hair, wet in strings, fin-
ger-combing it, their arms lifting and tightening their small breasts
under the swimsuits. I wanted to hear them scream and dive off the
float, piercing the water around me when wild boys in red and blue
and yellow racing Speedos pulled their arms or slapped at their hard
little rears. They were golden angels chased by young devils and their
play drew me fascinated toward them. If I were to be their priest, I
had to under stand them.
“Mike, I’m going into the water.”
He groaned a bit, lying all lifeguard-tan on his white towel,
stretched half asleep in the sun. I walked across the beach of hot
sand through the wonder of half-naked flesh. They think nothing
of tomorrow, I thought, circling the prone baking bodies, splashing
into the green water. They’re lost, nearly all of them, unless saved.
I swam out into the water, almost as far as I could, until the rock
‘n’ roll pounding from the speaker on top of the bathhouse grew
soft under the lap of the waves around my ears and was lost in the
quivering heat and voices on the shore.
I was out too far and began to swim back nearer to the diving
raft. I hung on it, turned from the float, in over my head, tread-
ing water, feeling, feeling it warmer around my shoulders, feeling it
bubble dark and cold around my moving feet. A girl swam up from
the bottom so close to me her hands brushed my legs on her ascent
and her solid breasts, wired in her suit, graded up my back.
My God, I want no bad thoughts.
“Sorry,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” I avoided her direct eyes.

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