Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac(54)

“Well, I’ve never seen USC before, and isn’t that kind of the point of why you’re here?”

“I…I guess so. I thought we could go to the beach, maybe go surfing. I’ve been wanting to take you surfing as long as I’ve known you. We could take the tour tomorrow, right? I think I’d prefer that.”

“Okay,” I said.

So we drove to the beach, but on the way I started feeling a little queasy. By the time we got there, I was really ready to get out of the car.

“Christ,” James said right after he’d parked.

“What is it?”

“I should have picked up the surf gear from my dad’s before we came here.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just sit awhile, okay? I’m feeling kind of green, you know?”

James sat down next to me on the beach, but I could tell he was feeling antsy. He kept drawing these circles in the sand with his right index finger. Finally he jumped up. “Why don’t I drive back to my dad’s house, and you wait here? I’ll come back with the gear and lunch, too.”

“How long will you be?”

“Probably about an hour.”

I agreed. I’d been traveling for hours, and I was in no mood to get back in that car.

The beach was deserted, and it was a little too cold for beach-goers. The air was crisp and salty. The sand was different from the kind you find on the East Coast: softer, but also firmer somehow. I fell asleep.

I only awoke because a couple were having a picnic on the sand near me. It seemed odd that they would have chosen to be so close to me when they could have sat anywhere, but whatever. He was about forty-five and she was probably ten years younger than that. The guy had gone all-out. He had brought the bottle of wine, the checkered blanket, a stereo with some guy singing opera, roses, and a picnic basket. It was kind of sweet, really. You could tell he’d put a lot of effort into it.

“Sorry,” she called out to me, “did we wake you?”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. Would you happen to have the time?” I’d left my backpack in James’s car.

“About four,” she called.

“Thanks.” James had been gone for about two and a half hours.

Maybe he’d just gotten stuck in traffic again? He couldn’t call me; no one could. My phone was in my backpack in his car.

I decided not to panic. I would just lie back down on the beach and wait it out. I really wished I’d taken my bag, because at least then I would have had my headphones.

Another two or so hours later, it was dark, the picnickers were packing up to leave, and James was still not there. “Can we offer you something to eat?” the man called out to me. I figured he probably thought I was a street kid. “We brought way more than we could ever finish.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t at all hungry. I was too worried about James to be hungry. “I’m fine. I’m just waiting for someone.”

The man nodded at me sympathetically. “You shouldn’t keep a lady waiting,” he said.

“Damn right,” the woman said.

Still, before they left, the woman gave me the remains of their Caesar salad and half a carton of strawberries. “Just in case he’s too much longer, right?”

I didn’t touch the food. Looking at it made me want to weep.

I was terrified for James, of course, but thoughts of self-preservation began to creep into my brain. I wondered what I should do if James never came back. Who should I call? Alice, maybe? My mother? Not Dad. He’d worry too much. And I couldn’t bear telling him I’d lied. Maybe Will? Then I started to wonder where the nearest phone was. I didn’t even know that much about my location. Somewhere on the Pacific coast near L.A., I reckoned. That narrowed it down to roughly a thousand different places.

Just as I was about to enter all-out panic mode, James appeared. He was carrying a paper bag from a burger place.

“It got cold,” he said. “So I had to throw out the first bag and get another.”

I didn’t even eat hamburgers, but I guess he didn’t know that. I jumped up and hugged him and kissed him all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Even in the dark, I could tell his eyes were bloodshot. “I…I tried to call you. Your phone was off.”

“It was in your car,” I said.

“Oh, right.”

“Looks like you already ate,” he said, pointing to the picnic remains.

“Some people felt sorry for me,” I said. “They thought I was homeless.”

“Are you mad?” James asked. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Only the smallest amount. Mainly, I was scared for you.”

James sat down on the beach next to me. After a while, I sat down, too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m such a goddamn loser.”

“No, you’re not,” I said.

“I am. I am. I am.”

“James, don’t say that,” I said.

He pulled up his knees and set his head on them so that I couldn’t see his face.

“James, would you look at me?”

But he wouldn’t. It was awkward, but I tried to put my face under his so that he would have to look at me. He still wouldn’t move. I kissed the back of his neck. Then I kissed his arm.