Summer of '69(95)

When Jessie climbed the stairs to Little Fair, she expected to find Pick—his bike was leaning against the fence—but his bedroom door was closed. Frankly, Jessie was relieved. She opened the refrigerator. The bottom shelf in the door held a regiment of stout brown bottles of Budweiser. Jessie counted; there were nine. The bottles had been there all summer long. Would Mr. Crimmins notice if one was missing? Jessie doubted it, but just to be safe, she spread the bottles out to erase the gap.

She retreated to her room with the beer bottle and an opener from the utensil drawer. As she flipped the top off, she was reminded of the lesson about simple machines in her science class. A bottle opener was a lever.

She drank the beer. It tasted even worse than the champagne had initially, but after a few concentrated sips, Jessie felt the warm fuzzy feeling return. She was able to ignore the taste and just gulp it down. She belched.

Another beer? she wondered. Her head was starting to swim.

That was when she heard voices—Pick’s and a girl’s. Sabrina. Here, upstairs, in the house. Had they been in Pick’s bedroom?

Jessie slammed open the door to her room and stormed out.

“Hey, Jessie!” Pick said. “I heard the babies were born. A boy and a girl. That’s so cool.”

Jessie glared at Sabrina. “You know you two aren’t allowed up here without an adult present.”

Sabrina, who up until that point had been nothing but nice to Jessie, transformed into the witchy person Jessie had been hoping she was. “What are you going to do, tell on us?”

“I could,” Jessie said. “My family is already considering tossing Pick and his grandfather out. If my mother finds out Pick has you up here, I bet she’ll be pretty angry.”

“Jessie,” Pick said. He was afraid; Jessie could see it on his face. Jessie realized she had power.

Sabrina shrugged. “Whatever. I have to get home to shower.” She turned to Pick. “See you at work.” She kissed him and the kiss turned into something long and sloppy. Jessie’s stomach lurched and she nearly vomited right there, but Pick pushed Sabrina away. He, at least, had some sense of propriety.

Sabrina vanished down the stairs, leaving Jessie and Pick to stare at each other.

“Jessie,” he said.

“A few days ago,” Jessie said, “the person you were kissing like that was me.”

“I know, Jessie, but…”

“But what?”

“That was before I knew Sabrina liked me back,” he said.

This answer was a slap in the face, but Jessie was proud of herself—she didn’t even flinch. She simply stared at him with all the hate she could muster.

“I like you, Jessie, but you’re only thirteen. Sabrina is fifteen. We work together. I’ve liked her since the second I saw her. She’s so pretty. I mean, you’re pretty too, and you’re really nice, but—”

“But you like Sabrina. You asked her to go steady and you asked her to go to Woodstock with you. You do remember that you asked me to go to Woodstock, right?”

“Right,” Pick said. “But I was only kidding.” He swallowed. “Not kidding ha-ha, but, I mean, we both know you were never going to be allowed to go to Woodstock.”

“You aren’t allowed to go to Woodstock!” Jessie said, her voice growing belligerent. “There’s no way Mr. Crimmins is going to let you go so you’ll have to sneak away with Sabrina, and I’m sure you’ll get caught.” Jessie wanted to believe this was true but she also had confidence in Pick’s street smarts. He and Sabrina would go to Woodstock, hear the bands, dance together, and fall asleep curled up in the back of someone’s truck. Pick would find his mother and introduce her to Sabrina, his girlfriend. Jessie could see it all clearly: Pick and Sabrina—and not Jessie. Jessie would be here on Nantucket, dutifully going to tennis lessons and changing diapers and waiting to hear if her brother was dead or alive.

“Jessie,” Pick said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…I think you’re terrific. I mean, we’re friends still, right?”

Tears dripped down Jessie’s face. It was him being nice that undid her because all she wanted to do was hate him.

“Friends?” Jessie said. She tilted her head. “I’m not sure about that, Pick. I’m not sure at all.” She felt energized by this answer and she had watched enough soap operas with Blair to know what to do next. She spun on her heel, retreated to her room, and closed the door quietly but firmly behind her.

Jessie decides that Tiger does not need to hear about her grand humiliation, her broken heart, or her subsequent hangover—a headache so bad, it felt like her skull might crack. She now understands the appeal of drinking, but also the consequences.

Not worth it.

So that’s the story of the birth of our niece and nephew. Blair isn’t coming home until Sunday—because she had twins, she gets to stay in the hospital a really long time—and when the babies get here, I’m going to show them your photo and tell them about their brave uncle Tiger.

I miss you. Write soon!

Love, Messie



The next day, life returns to normal, though the very last thing Jessie wants to do is go to her tennis lesson. She tries to get out of it by asking to accompany Kate to the hospital to see the babies, but Kate informs her that George is being circumcised that morning and therefore the afternoon would be better for a visit. Jessie isn’t sure exactly what circumcision is but when she asks, Kate shakes her head as if to say it isn’t a subject for polite conversation.