When Everything Is Blue(42)

I nod in agreement, wondering how it was that Sean ended up picking through the trash on the beach, and who we are as a society if we can’t even take care of our veterans.

“So, what’s your story, man?” Sean turns toward me, catching me by surprise. I’m flattered he wants to know me better. A lot of the bums just want to talk about themselves, mostly to tell you a sob story so you feel bad enough to give them money to go buy beer or drugs. Not that I’m judging. We all get by however we can.

“I don’t know if I have a story.” I’m not necessarily looking for sympathy, but not avoiding it early. “It’s my birthday today.”

“Really? Shit, happy birthday.” He claps me on the back and taps the rim of his can against mine. His is already empty, so he cracks open another one. “Drink up, man. These won’t stay cold for long, and they taste like ass when they’re warm.”

I chug the rest of my beer and accept the open one he offers to me. The first beer was ice cold and went down like water with only a mildly bitter aftertaste. My stomach is full and sloshy, but I start on the second one with just as much enthusiasm.

“So, how old are you now?” Sean asks.

“Sixteen.”

“Sweet sixteen, never been kissed,” Sean muses.

I chirp a bitter laugh because it’s true. I’ve still never been kissed. Saving myself, I guess.

“Where’s all your boys?” Sean scans the shoreline, where the surfers are all packing up for the night, maybe wondering if I know them. I probably do, but not well enough to call them my boys.

There’s something about this second beer, which is quickly going down the gullet and working its way through my bloodstream, making me giddy and light-headed with a general sense of not giving a fuck. “There’s a picture of me going around school,” I tell Sean. “It’s pretty bad.”

“Dick pic?” he asks.

If only it were that. “No. It’s of me sucking off another guy.”

Sean flinches like he’s just woken up from a bad dream. “Shit, man, that’s a lot to unpack.”

I laugh at the way he says it. “You’re telling me.”

“That’s pretty shitty, sending around that picture. You know who did it?”

I sigh because more than being pissed at Dave, I’m disappointed. I trusted him, and he screwed me over. It hurts on a superficial level—my reputation and my privacy and the fact that I don’t want to show my face at Sabal Palm High ever again—but it also hurts on a much deeper level.

“Yeah, I know who did it,” I tell him.

“You going to beat his ass?”

I consider it. I can’t really see myself beating Dave’s ass, if I even could. I’ll probably never talk to him again and avoid him at all costs, but hitting people isn’t really my style. “Probably not,” I tell Sean. “I’m kind of a pussy.”

Sean’s head wobbles back and forth like he can’t make the call either way. “You do that, though? Give head?” Sean glances over with what I can only describe as a hopeful look on his face.

“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, not as like, a job. The guy who took the picture, I was interested in him, even though he’s kind of an asshole. I guess he showed his true colors.”

“That he did.” Sean crushes his empty can between two fists. Like a real man, I think. A real man would beat Dave’s ass, wouldn’t he, which makes me wonder, what is a real man, anyway? All I have as a reference is my dad and all the mixed emotions tied up in who he is and what he’s done or failed to do for our family.

“Anyway.” I stare out at the waves, finish my beer, and toss the can in the sand. Just when I think the silence is going to be awkward, Sean starts talking about how when he came home from his last tour in Afghanistan, he was in all kinds of bad shape, how he felt like no one understood him and he couldn’t adapt to everyday life. How things that shouldn’t scare him did, and the things that should scare him didn’t.

“Then I started smoking crack, man,” Sean says. “I was working nights at Publix, stocking shelves, and there was a guy there who offered to get me high, and I was, like, yeah, sure, why not? I mean, I’ve survived a war, twice, what could crack do to me?”

I’m silent at that, sensing it’s a rhetorical question.

“You ever tried crack?” Sean asks.

I shake my head. Until this moment, I’ve never gotten drunk either. Crack seems like the Mount Everest of drugs, even though I could probably score some there at the beach before the night was over if I really wanted to.

“Man, it’s good. So goddamned good. Made me feel like I was all right. Actually, made me not give a shit about anything else but getting high, which was a relief in a weird way.” Sean glances around at who might be listening, but there are only a few shifty characters gathered over in the parking lot and a couple making out on a blanket farther down the beach. The dusk settles in around us like a fat, fluffy cat.

“Wish I had some right now,” Sean says longingly, like he’s pining for a lost lover.

“Probably best to stay away from it,” I tell him, thinking what a hypocrite I am because here I am getting drunk when my father’s an alcoholic.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Sean admits.