A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius (28 page)

“
And how will you do this?
”
she wants to know.
“
A political party? A march? A revolution? A coup?
”

“
A magazine.
”

“
Oh... right.
”

“
Yeah,
”
I say, looking out to the ocean, basking in its applause.
“
It
’
s going to be huge—we
’
ll have a big house somewhere, or a loft, and there
’
ll be an art gallery, and maybe a dorm—
“

“
Like the Factory!
”

“
Yeah, but without the drugs, the cross-dressers.
”

“
Right. A collective.
”

“
A movement.
”

“
An army.
”

“
All-inclusive.
”

“
Raceless.
”

“
Genderless.
”

“
Youth.
”

“
Strength.
”

“
Potential.
”

“
Rebirth.
”

“
Oceans.
”

“
Fire.
”

“
Sex.
”

Our mouths are all over each other. All the talk of plans and new worlds... We sit upright as we kiss, and at first we kiss like friends, with our eyes open, almost laughing. But as our hands start moving, we begin to believe, and our eyes close, and our heads turn this way and that, we
’
re kissing each other but so much more, kissing like warriors saving the world, at the end of the movie, the last two, the only two who can save everything—and because we are too post-drunk tired to keep our heads upright with our eyes shut, we recline, and soon the towel underneath Meredith is just a crooked snakeskin and we have taken off our pants, the air cool where we are now bare. And sex, inevitable, will make us more powerful. A manifesto consummated under this great sky, the approval of the pounding sea—

There
’
s noise down the shore. I squint and can see a group of
people coming our way, loud, emitting bursts of noise, shrieks of laughter. I set myself on my elbow to watch, squinting harder. A group of maybe six, seven, are fully dressed, with dark pants, shoes, hats. We move the towel from under Meredith
’
s head to over our naked lower halves. We will act casual. We fall back into an embrace, so they
’
ll leave us alone, not that they would ever bother us in the first place.

The voices get louder, and closer.

“
Just wait until they go by,
”
I whisper into Meredith
’
s lips.

“
How far awa—
“

“
Shhh.
”

Then louder and the scratching footsteps audible and then, instead of passing by, they are suddenly upon us. Legs everywhere. I look up. One has taken my pants and is rifling through them. He throws them toward the ocean. They are Mexican, Mexican American, teenagers. Four boys and three girls. Five boys, two girls. Men, women. Ages unclear.

“
What was you two doing?
”
a voice asks.

“
Naughty naughty!
”
says another.

“
Where
’
s your pants, stud?
”

Only female voices so far, strong accents. Naked from the waist down, we can
’
t even move. I hold the towel around both of us, disbelieving— What is this? This is the beginning of something very bad— The end?

I look for my boxer shorts. They
’
re in the pants, by the water. I take the other towel, the one underneath us, pull it out, wrap it around my waist and stand up.

“
What the fuck are you d— Fuck!
”
Someone
’
s thrown sand in my eyes. My eyes are full of sand. I blink wildly, epiieptically. I stagger then sit down.

“
What the fuck—
“
The sand is under my eyelids. I can
’
t open them.
I
’
ll be blind.

The girls are on Meredith.

“
Hey honey!
”

“
Hey baby!
”

“
Fuck you,
”
says Meredith. She is still sitting down, head in her knees. One of the girls shoves her.

/
am blind.
I blink frantically, swatting the sand out of my eyes. while wondering if I am blind and if we
’
ll both be dead soon. What a stupid way to go.
Is this how people die? Can we outrun them?
I refuse to have these people kill us.
Do they have weapons?
No weapons yet. Toph, Toph. Blinking, tearing madly, I clear one eye out. I stand up again, get the towel back on, holding it around my waist like I
’
ve just gotten out of the shower.

They are all around us, almost perfectly spaced, almost perfectly boy-girl-boy. Strange—

One of the girls has come behind me and is trying to take the towel from my waist. It
’
s unclear what they want. I
’
m assuming already that the guy who went through my pants took my wallet. Now what?

“
Get the fuck away!
”
I want to swing at the girl. I scan the ground for my boxers.
“
What the fuck do you want?
”

“
We don
’
t want nothing,
”
says a male voice.

“
Hey, you got any money?
”
says a girl.

“
You
’
re not taking any of our fucking money,
”
I say.

Who are these people? One is smiling at me. A small guy with a fedora. I
’
m pushed from behind, trip on the towel and fall to the sand. Meredith is holding her knees. They
’
ve done something with her pants, too.

They stand above us, grinning. There are laughs. There are six of them. Did one leave? Is Meredith crying? Three guys, three girls. The lights from the headlights behind them give everyone three, four shadows. Where did the other one go? There
’
s the one tall guy, a medium-sized guy, and a small guy, the fedora guy, who looks older. The girls wear skirts and black leather jackets.

“
Why don
’
t you just leave us the fuck alone?
”
says Meredith.

The question loiters for a minute, lamely. Stupid question. This has just begun, surely—

“
Okay, let
’
s go,
”
says the short one.

They start to—Jesus—walk away. All we had to do was ask? This is unbelievable.

The short one, the oldest of the group, turns to us.

“
Hey listen, man, we was just goofing around. Sorry.
”

Then he jogs down the shore to catch up with the rest of them.

It
’
s over.

They are gone and I am soaring. Those motherfuckers! My head is clear and muscular and filled with blood. Something has happened. We
’
re alive, we
’
ve won! Powerful us! They were scared. We scared them off. They feared us. We won. We told them to go away and they did. I am the president. I am the Olympics.

I find my boxers in the sand, cold, put them on. Then my pants. Meredith is putting on hers. I feel my pockets.

“
Fuck.
”

“
Your wallet?
”

“
Yeah.
”

They
’
re walking back the way they came, a hundred yards away now. I am barefoot and running feels good—my legs feel strong, light. My head is clear and straight. Are they armed? Toph, Toph. Will it get worse now? No, no. I am huge, I am Captain America. Halfway there I start yelling.

“
Hey!
”

Nothing. They are oblivious, disbelieving even.

“
Hey! Wait, goddammit!
”

A few stop and turn around.

“
Hold on!
”
I say.

They all stop. They wait, watching me run toward them.

Twenty feet before them, I stop, hands on my waist, breathing hard.

“
Okay, who took my wallet?
”

A beat. They look at each other.

“
No one took your wallet,
”
the fedora one says. He looks about thirty. He turns to his friends.
“
Did anyone take his wallet?
”
They shake their heads. These fucking people.

“
Listen,
”
I say,
“
what the fuck did you think you were doing? There
’
s going to be hell to pay if we don
’
t fix this shit up.
“

No one says anything. I nod to the short, older one:

“
Should I be talking to you about this? Are you the man?
”

The words come before I know them.
Are you the man?
I just said that. It sounded so good. That
’
s how people talk. But should I have dropped the Are in the question?
You the man?
—

He nods. He is, apparently, the man.

I motion for us to take a few steps aside, to talk. Come here. He complies. This is what one does. He is shorter close up. I look down to him, his face stiff and tan.

“
Listen, man, I don
’
t know why you guys were fucking with us, but now my fucking wallet
’
s gone.
”

“
We didn
’
t take the wallet, amigo,
”
he says.

Did he just say amigo? That
’
s so weird, so
21 Jump Street,
that he
’
d actually say amigo
—

“
Listen,
”
I continue,
“
I
’
ve seen all of you. I can identify you, every single one of you guys, and you
’
ll be in deep fucking shit if you
’
re caught.
”

He considers this for a second. My eyes burrow. / am the man!

“
So, what do you want?
”

“
I want you to give me the fucking wallet back is what I want.
”

“
But we don
’
t
have
the wallet.
”

The tall one hears him.
“
We didn
’
t take the fucking wallet.
”

“
Well,
”
I say to all of them now, loudly,
“
before you came and started fucking with us, I had a fucking wallet. Then you come and start fucking with us, and now I don
’
t have a fucking wallet. And that
’
s all the fucking cops need to know.
”

The cops.
My
cops.

The short one looks at me.
“
C
’
mon, we don
’
t have the wallet. I swear. What do you want us to do?
”

“
I guess you guys are gonna have to come back and help me find the thing, because if you don
’
t, I
’
m gonna call the cops, and the fucking cops
’
ll pick you all up, and
they
’
ll
figure out where the fucking wallet went.
”