Summer of '69(86)

“Can I borrow a dollar?” Jessie asks. “I’m biking to Surfside and I want to get a burger at the shack.”

She worries for a second that Blair will check to see if Jessie is allowed to bike to Surfside or that she will tell Jessie that spending fifty cents on a burger, a quarter on fries, and a quarter on a Coke is a waste of money when there is perfectly good food in the kitchen.

But Blair doesn’t even look up. “My purse is in my bedroom,” she says. “Take as much as you want.”

“Okay, thank you,” Jessie says. She eyes Blair for a second. Should she be worried about her sister? She looks like an enormous, sad orange zombie, entranced by the soap operas on television. “Can I get you anything?”

“Me?” Blair says. “No. Thank you, though.”

Jessie decides she is never getting pregnant.



It’s amazing how freedom changes everything. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer, the window boxes of the houses on Fair Street are all first-prize winners. Her breath comes easier, and her legs feel sure and strong as she pedals along.

She’s going to meet Pick at the beach!

Once at Surfside, she hunts for Pick’s bike in the rack. When she doesn’t see it, she panics. What if he went somewhere else? Cisco, Madaket, Steps? Jessie imagines herself on a wild-goose chase around the island. But then she sees his bike on the very end, the telltale greenish-black color, the white tape on the handlebars. It’s not locked up, which is careless of him but not surprising. Probably Pick is used to life on the commune, where everyone shared and there was no need for locks. Jessie chains her bike to his and then chains her bike to the rack.

There’s the enticing smell of burgers and grilled onions wafting over from the shack. Jessie thinks of stopping but she wants to find Pick first. She took two dollars from Blair’s wallet so that she could offer to pay for Pick’s lunch.

Surfside Beach is packed. The wide swath of sand is dotted with colorful umbrellas and blankets and competing music from transistor radios. First Jessie hears “Proud Mary,” by Creedence, and then, a few seconds later, “Touch Me,” by the Doors. The crowd is mostly families, but here and there are groups of teenagers—boys tossing a football, girls rubbing baby oil on their arms and legs. Jessie scans the beach for Pick. She imagines he swims a lot, then naps; maybe he’s invited to join these football games. She hopes he is. This is a busy, happy beach, and for that reason, sitting alone seems like a maudlin prospect.

“Jessie!”

Jessie lifts her gaze, and yes—down toward the water she sees Pick in his mustard-colored trunks waving at her. She can’t hide her smile as she shuffles through the hot sand in her flip-flops.

Pick grins. “I thought that was you,” he says. “But imagine my surprise. You’ve not only been sprung from jail, you ventured all the way out here on your own.” He checks behind her. “You’re alone, right? Or did your mom come?”

“I’m here alone,” Jessie says. Her cheeks burn; he certainly didn’t think she’d come to the beach with her mother? Then Jessie notices that behind Pick, lying on a beach towel that Jessie recognizes from All’s Fair, is a girl in a black bikini. When Pick sees Jessie notice her, he says, “Oh, hey, come meet Sabrina.”

Jessie’s legs suddenly feel weak and watery. She tells herself to breathe. This is nothing to worry about.

Sabrina jumps to her feet. Sabrina is Pick’s age, fifteen or sixteen, and Sabrina is beautiful. She has a blond ponytail, a toothy smile, actual breasts, and toenails painted the color of strawberries.

“Hey,” Sabrina says. She offers her hand, like an adult. “I’m Sabrina. You must be Jessie. Pick talks about you all the time.”

“Hi,” Jessie squeaks. She’s slightly bolstered by this statement—Pick talks about her all the time—but she’s afraid it doesn’t mean what she wants it to mean. And sure enough, Pick wraps an arm around Sabrina’s shoulders and kisses her cheek.

“Sabrina is a waitress at the North Shore,” Pick says. “And last night, she agreed to be my girlfriend.” He beams at Jessie. It feels as though he has just crushed her heart under his bike tire or picked her heart up like a shell at the shoreline and hucked it out to sea. Agreed to be my girlfriend.

Sabrina elbows Pick in the ribs. “You know I only said yes because I’m dying to go to Woodstock.”

“Woodstock or bust!” Pick says. “Four weeks from now I should have a pile of money saved.”

Sabrina smiles at Jessie. “Set your things down,” she says. “Then we can go for a swim.”

“Oh,” Jessie says. “I’m not staying. I just came to say hi.” She squints out at the ocean through her gathering tears. The water sparkles and Jessie is hot from biking, so hot, but there’s no way she can stay here at the beach, no way she can swim with Sabrina and Pick. Sabrina is Pick’s girlfriend. They are going steady, and Sabrina, not Jessie, is going with Pick to Woodstock. But what about the other day? The necking in Little Fair? It wasn’t just a peck on the cheek; they had really been kissing. What changed? Pick had gone to a bonfire, maybe two bonfires, and it’s true that Jessie hadn’t really seen him since then, but she had relived the kissing in her mind a thousand times and she assumed he had too. But the necking with Jessie must not have lived up to his expectations because now look—she has been relegated to little-sister status.