bucks in my pocket. The beach wasn’t safe either. The tides were unpredictable and could sneak up when you least expected it. More than once, a tourist taking a beer nap had been pulled out into the Gulf.
I plopped down in the hot sand among the blankets of tourists and used my backpack as a pillow. I was hiding in plain sight. For a while, I watched people stalling out their rented jet skis and trying to maneuver their wind surfers without falling on their asses. Moms and dads cheered for their teenagers, watching as they finally got the hang of it and caught some wind, which took them just a few feet before they lost control and ended up back in the water. The moms and dads kept cheering, even when the kids gave up on their new sport and dragged their weary, defeated and worn-out bodies to shore. It was just windsurfing. Why were they so proud? Why all the cheering? Besides graduating high school and seeing the look on Nan’s face that morning as I dressed in my cap and gown, I’d never had anyone be proud of me.
If I wanted to learn something, I taught myself. There was no one there to cheer for the significant things, let alone the small ones.
I stayed on the beach until sunset, watching the tourists’ skin change from pasty white to lobster red by the time the sun and moon swapped places. I took the back roads to Bubba’s and lit a joint on the way. Headlights appeared on the dark road behind me. I moved to the side to allow the vehicle to pass so I didn’t end up like the possum I just had to step over. Instead of driving by, a superman blue lifted truck slowed and pulled up beside me. It was so tall that my head was aligned with the tops of the tires.
“Alone on a dark road?” I couldn’t see Owen Fletcher way up there, but I recognized his voice. “You gotta either be wanting to get attacked by coyotes, or you’re getting lit.”
He hung his head out of the truck window. His black baseball cap was on backwards, dark unruly hair peeking out from beneath the rim, the sleeves of his white t-shirt were rolled up with a pack of Marlboro Reds—the logo visible through the thin fabric—folded into one of them.
Owen had always been friendly, and he’d always made a point of making small talk with me when we found ourselves in the same place at the same time. But then, he did that with everyone. I suspected it was partly because of who his family was. Maybe, they were grooming him for a career in politics. When you have relatives embedded in every position of power to be had in a county, it’s not common to just go off and become the school janitor.
I raised my joint into the air so he could see that it was the getting lit part and not the wanting to be attacked by coyotes that I was up to. I breathed out the smoke I was holding deep inside my lungs. It burned, but I didn’t cough. Owen laughed. “I was hoping it was that one.” He put the truck in park, leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get on in, girl, and pass that shit.”
I wouldn’t exactly call Owen my friend, but I could’ve put him on the short list of people who didn’t make me cringe with either fear or anger when they spoke. At least not too much. I made up my mind to get into his truck when the hundredth mosquito of the night started making a meal of my arms through my sleeves. At the rate they were biting, it wouldn’t be long before I had no blood left.
Owen reached down and offered his hand to help me up. I shook my head, refusing his assistance, and leapt up into the truck like I was mounting a horse. I put one foot on the bottom lip of the tire, and I swung my other foot over the top of it before I shifted sideways and slid my ass into the bucket seat.
“Impressive,” Owen said, acknowledging my useless skill. I was more impressed by my ability to yet again avoid human contact. “Even Billy Rae still needs my help to get up in here. Then again, that fat-ass has an extra seventy-five pounds on him that gravity