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Fisher ~ JamesCopyright © 2009
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It was 98 muggy degrees out, and the white-hot sun was broiling everything, including James, who was eager to get in and change clothes. He’d headed down here from Houston as soon as school let out. It was Friday afternoon, nearly 4 o’clock. Not ten minutes later, he was in dark grey board shorts and an old neon orange shirt, boat shoes and shades, running out the patio door, gym bag in hand, down the short stairs and onto the beach… Freedom!
Yeah, right. Freedom. He looked down the beach and could only shake his head. It wasn’t the same; wouldn’t be the same for months or years. This was the town of Barrera, with a small barrier island, Barrera Island, near Galveston, early May of 2009, after Hurricane Ike, last September. People were still rebuilding. James spent most weekends helping clean up and fix up. He was even getting paid, but nothing like last year’s job. It didn’t matter. He knew most of them, and people had helped his parents rebuild the beach house. It was hard, tedious, and not much free time, but he… sometimes, he actually liked it. That had surprised him. His classmates? Now, he knew they were spoiled, suburban kids, who didn’t know they were rich, upper-middle-class.
The beaches themselves were clean, but you could tell, if you were a local or a regular. James set his mouth in a determined line. He was gonna have fun. It was still a beautiful day and people were making slow progress. He loved it here, despite what the storm had done.
He ran down the beach, over to the Drift-Woody surf shack, and stashed his bag under the counter. “Hey, Chad, how’s it hangin’?”
“Hey, Jimbo. It’s hangin’ ten plus one. Toldja, if ya ask me that, someday, I might answer. Haha, then whatcha gonna do?”
“Uh… sorry, I forgot.” James looked genuinely embarrassed.
“Relax, doofus,” Chad laughed. “You’re just teasable.” Chad didn’t tell him he’d never really ask him that. It was too fun to see him react, and if he’d start teasing back.
“It’s just clean livin’,” he grinned.
“Or too much bubble bath, Squeaky. Go on, have fun out there.”
“Thanks, Chad!” James ran down to meet the water, and dropped his towel and shirt, with his shoes to keep them from blowing away.
“Sure, bro.” Chad shook his head and smiled, then turned as new customers began sizing up the wares.
A little later, James saw a commotion up at the Drift-Woody. Chad was out back, leaning against the wall. Someone was yelling, cussing, inside, and a boy in a hot pink shirt was standing outside, arms crossed, with an expression like a thunderstorm about to erupt. ‘Wow. Tourists. What now?” Chad thought. He was worried about Chad, but now wasn’t the time. He waded back out into the sandy Gulf waters and dove in, sunshine and water glinting off his pinkish-tanned back. Swimming back into shore, he stood and watched as the sherriff led one of the tourists away, and an old couple walked away, the woman’s arm across the boy’s shoulders, as he held his head down, with a small shopping bag. The old man was carrying the best orange and maroon surfboard in the shack, Chad’s finest work. ‘Whoa,’ thought James. ‘I prolly don’t wanna know.’
He laid out on his back, watching the scrubbed cotton clouds drift in the cheery blue above, imagining the profound and profane and absurd – Until some preschool boy ran over and past, without a stitch on, giggling wildly. James sat up, open-mouthed and chuckling.
“Young man, you get back here, this instant!” cried a young woman chasing after, holding a small pair of swim shorts and a sombrero. She ran past at full speed.
James howled his laughter. On impulse, he shouted, “Attaboy, surf naked!” – And promptly ducked his head, as several beachgoers frowned in his direction. After he’d stopped laughing, he walked back up to the shack and went in.
Chad wasn’t there. Instead, it was Simon manning the counter, though he wasn’t technically old enough. “Hey, Simon, what’s up? I saw somethin’ goin’ on up here. Where’s Chad? He OK?”
“Hey James,” replied the boy, who was expertly mending a fishing net. “Aw, some jerk causing trouble. Seems he didn’t like hot pink shirts… or his kid brother… or Chad. He’s cooling off in jail, now. Don’tcha love it when justice is served?” Simon beamed proudly.
“Yeah. Well, that explains it. The kid had a shopping bag. But what about Chad?”
“Yeah, his grandparents bought him the shirt he wanted, plus another couple things, and Chad’s best board. Chad’s over at the stand. Couldja go see if he’d like a shake? Dunno if he will, though. Something about it shook up Chad pretty bad. Better leave that alone, though. You know Chad.”
“Yeah, OK. Thanks, Simon.” James bumped fists and they touched thumbs and pinkies, a promise from after the storm.
“Sure thing. See ya.”
James went over and found Chad, who was staring at the beat up old table, not really seeing it. Chad didn’t react as James sat down. “Hey, Chad. Bad day, huh?”
After a minute, Chad looked over at him, “Yeah. Kinda. Simon doing OK?”
“He’s fine. He’s got a few people buying. Your best surfboard sold to the kid with the shirt. That’s awesome. I hope he’ll use it,” he said, trying to be cheerful.
“Yeah. Prolly not,” he said flatly, uninterested.
“Chad?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s a great board and a cool shirt. A guy who couldn’t be good to his own brother went to jail, and a boy got to see a neat surfer who cares more about what matters than about hating people. You did good.”
“I guess,” he sighed.
“I know so. I may be naïve, but I know you, bro.” James reached over and hugged Chad, who tensed for a moment, before relaxing and hugging back. When he let go, Chad had a watery smile.
“Thanks, James.”
“You know you love it. – Hey?”
“Yeah?”
“How about some of Simon’s Aunt Evelyn’s Fearsome Tearsome Salsa and a Key Lime shake?”
“Whoa, and you said you cared.” Chad laughed lightly.
“I do, that’s why the shake. Besides, I wanna buy your teal and sky board. Only, I’m gonna have to pay installments. And don’t reduce the price. I wanna pay full price. It’s worth it. Besides, that way, I can brag to the kids at school, and they’ll spend their bucks.”
“Whoa. You’re dangerous, when you think business, dude. OK, I like it.”
“I learned from the master, sensei. C’mon, that salsa and chips and shake await.”
“Kewl, bro. Thanks. …Someday, I’ll tell ya about it. Someday.”
“Sure thing, bro.”
The two bumped fists, thumbs and pinkies.
“Y’know, Chad, I dunno if it was you or Simon, who came up with the hand-bump thing, but I’m glad you’re both here.”
Chad looked at him, wide-eyed, and drew in his breath, and hugged him fiercely. James heard him sniffle a little, before he let go. James didn’t ask. Chad would tell him, when he was ready.
“James, you’re pretty cool for a mainlander, you know that? I’d better get back to the shack, before Simon outsells me.” Chad stood, chortling happily.
James stood and watched Chad retreat, once again the carefree surfer guy, friend to anyone who’d give him a chance. James walked down the beach, wondering how he’d get out of being called Squeaky again, and then decided he liked it.
James sat on the beach watching the sunset and listening to the sounds of the waves washing away the daily debris from the crowds and sighed contentedly.