Here's the end of this story. I've delayed it, partly because I had other things to do, but also I think partly because I couldn't quite briong myself to let Jesse and Mike go.
This story has taken a long time to tell. For the few who've followed it and graciously given me comments, my thanks. For those who may be new to it, I hope you'll take a look now at its completed form, and perhaps enjoy it a little. I welcome any comments and suggestions, apologize for the typos (I'm a really lousy typist), and hope it's not entirely too shabby.
This is, as always, a work of fiction. I use real places etc here in south Orange County to ground the story in as much reality as I can, but the people and events are entirely my invention, and by using place names etc I don't intend to imply that any of them endorse their use in a story that is, after all, pornographic in at least some ways. If you're not of legal age, or live in a place where such writing is illegal to be viewed, by all means don't read it. Thanks again to all, and to Nifty for allowing open access for this and other stories.
Seal Rocks Part 30
Jesse slept uneasily that night. He kept dreaming about Falcone breaking into the house, walking in on him making love to Mike and filming it, shouting at them to "do it harder" while Kevin and Julian stood by, ready to take their turns. Ernie walked through, shrugging, saying "I tried, I really did," and snapping pictures of a very naked Brent, who was fucking the life out of Ben. There seemed to be a lot of people watching, off in the shadows behind the lights. Uncle Booth watched disapprovingly from somewhere just out of sight, and when he heard his mother's voice coming down the hall, he shot awake.
It was about 2:30. Jesse sat on the side of his bed for a few minutes, catching his breath. He stretched. Well, no time like the present, he thought, and slid on a T shirt to head to the garage. He found some muriatic acid that his father had used to clean the Jacuzzi the previous spring (again, the passage of time weighed heavily on him). That was perfect. It didn't take long to find a cloth bag and some good, heavy deep sea fishing line sinkers, also in his father's things. The smell of the muriatic acid, especially once he mixed it up in the glass jar, was strong - he hoped his mother wouldn't notice when she stepped into the garage after sunrise. It took him about half an hour, along with working with the tin snips, to get things done. By that time, he was sleepy again, and fell back into bed quickly.
Jesse's mother had decided that they should all go to church that Sunday. This didn't bother Jesse terribly - he liked it well enough, and of course Pastor Ed had been as supportive as he could when his father had died. The main drawback was getting up - especially after having blown the better part of an hour in the middle of the night preparing things for Monday. He decided to skip a shower, simply raking a comb halfheartedly through his tangled hair and brushing his teeth vigorously, as if cleaning them would somehow make up for his overall slobbiness.
He hadn't reckoned with the gauntlet that walking into church would turn out to be. He'd not been to a Sunday service since just after his father's death, and it seemed everyone in attendance - at this service, and the holdovers from the earlier service, mostly older people in suits and dresses - wanted to talk to him, to touch him, to pat his back, to offer reassuring words of a sort that flowed together into incomprehensibility. He blushed, kept his head down, fought back tears that threatened to rise for no specific reason. The old people smelled funny to him in a vague way, their clawlike emaciated hands put him off - not quite scared, but politely repelled. He noticed that Ben was getting the same sort of treatment, but appeared to be handling it much better, nodding and smiling and making small talk. That further shamed him - he should be nicer to these people, they were trying to be nice to him. He looked into the face of the old man who was talking softly to him, eyes filmed over and watery, and tried to remember what he'd just said, so he could answer. He couldn't. The man smiled tolerantly, placed a damp hand on his hair, and rubbed. "God bless you, young man. Peace of Christ," he whispered as he moved away, to be replaced by another and yet another like him, male and female, a stream of them that seemed to go on and on. Is this what 'world without end' really means, Jesse thought, and a snorting laugh escaped him before he could stifle it.
Pastor Ed had an aloha shirt on. He smiled over the congregation as he stepped up to deliver his sermon. Jesse found himself listening as he drew toward a close. " . . . and so we gather here, at another turn of the tide. We mark our life by such turns - most of them artificial, when you think about them. Easter, in secular terms, anyway, is the signal of spring. Memorial Day is summer's, and this weekend - Labor Day - is commonly regarded as the start of autumn. Vacation season is over. We'll get our streets and beaches back after tomorrow, the weekend and summer tourists will depart. The kids will be back in school Tuesday - believe me, they know it." (A collective groan from the section where the kids sat, and a mild chuckle from their parents). "We adults, against our better judgments, will start thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas, and New Year's - the next great symbolic turning points of the year in our collective consciousnesses.
"It's a natural human instinct - to mark the passage of time by milestones. Birthdays, anniversaries, school reunions, holidays, all those personal little commemorations we all carry in our own minds. The day we met our spouse, or proposed, the day one of our parents died, whatever else marks our memory. And each such date is a milepost - it denotes an end to a particular season of our lives, and - what's far more important - the beginning of a new one.
"So here we are, at one of those roadway markers of our lives - a turning point, if you want it to be. A moment when we take stock of our lives and see where we stand. Or, at least, we can do that. What do you see, when you take stock? How do we evaluate what we've done with our lives up to now? And how will we do better in the new season to come? It's a cliched question, to be sure, but it's one that recurs for us with the passing of every milestone and the turn of every season. We always face that question, whenever we step back, at some milepost of our lives - whether it's an external one, like Labor Day, or one that we've set ourselves based on our own experience, or even just one of those sudden times when we find ourselves reflecting - and ask ourselves: How have we done? And what now?
"And these moments are also a reminder, I think, of God's love - of his ever-open arms, waiting for us to turn to him in every new season of our lives. It's a chance that never goes away. At every milepost in our lives, big or small, He's there. We can always turn to Him, because He's always waiting - infinitely patient, infinitely loving, and forever ready to have us say yes to him at last. Whatever the horrors of the season we've passed through, no matter how dark or bleak the season ahead may appear, that invitation always is open to us, if we only accept His love and the grace He bestows on us through Christ Jesus. With that help, with that unending love, we can make the next season not just one of a new school year, and waning daylight, and the approach of holidays, but one of accepting the eternal grace that's freely offered to us all.
"And that makes this new season, this milepost, this turning of the eternal tide, a welcome one. We can start fresh in our lives, with the welcome love of the one true God. Let's hope we can, each of us, be open to that opportunity, and receptive to the ever extended invitation, to a new life in Christ."
Jesse blinked back his tears. The season was turning for him, all right - the summer, and its pain and fears and discovery and new love were past him. What would remain? It was almost all over. Tomorrow morning.
Erick texted him during the service; he read it when he stood blinking out on the patio again being crowded by sympathetic adults. He'd gotten a firepit just south of T Street and was holding it. The list of people who'd be there later that afternoon was ridiculous. He sent a quick text to Mike, and verified that they'd meet up in an hour or so. He wolfed down his lunch at Ricardo's - much to his mother's chagrin, since she enjoyed relaxing over such a meal and getting as many refills on chips and salsa as she could politely request. Ben was trying not to laugh - he knew damn well why Jesse was in such a hurry.
He was going to bike down the hill, but Ben offered to drive him. Jesse appreciated the offer - the prospect of trekking the bike and board back up the hill well after dark was less than thrilling. "I need to stop at 7-11 for some chips and shit - I'm gonna hit Trestles myself this afternoon."
"That's cool," Jesse answered, tugging on his T shirt. "I know Erick got a lot of food and all but I should probably bring something anyway, right?"
The 7-11's little parking lot at the base of the hill was jammed, even for a Sunday when the cleaner's shop that shared the mini-mall with it was closed. People weren't supposed to park there for Pedro's, across the street, but they obviously were. It took a few minutes for them to get a space.
They were strolling back to Ben's car, Jesse's arms full of junk food, when a voice called out, "Gantry!" Jesse froze, recognizing the voice. He turned slowly to face Denny Falcone. He held a brown papered cigarette in his right hand, wore jet black sunglasses, and had a disturbing line of sweat along his upper lip. "We need to talk, kid. You're screwing me out of a lot of Goddamn money, and screwing yourself, too."
Jesse was too mortified to speak. He was trapped, in a public parking lot, being called out by his porn star name, by the man who'd sold him to the world. He glanced about to see who had noticed, certain that all the guys at Pedro's would realize what was going on in an instant. How could he get out of this?
A hand pulled him toward the truck. "Get out of here, dude," a hard military voice snapped. Ben's voice. He looked up. His brother had taken off his sunglasses and was staring hard at Falcone, his eyes slitted, his jaw set. The image of a Marine.
Falcone snorted. "I got no business with you, kid. I'm talking to my performer here. You know about him? Maybe I should tell you."
"Save it. He's done, and you're done here. You're harassing a fifteen year old. Get lost."
"You know who you're talking to, kid? Who're you anyway, his brother or something? Maybe you're slipping him a little sugar too, huh?" He pointed at Jesse. "I got well over 50 grand at stake with that kid, and I mean to collect on it, you got me? I'm not losing all that money without a fight."
"You want a fight, asshole?" Ben was on him before Jesse could blink, and Falcone was on the asphalt, a nasty split on his lip, before he could blink twice. Ben stood over his victim, fists balled up. "You're a cheap fucking pimp and you sell kiddie porn, and I got the proof. Now, if you want me to take that to the cops or the Feds or whoever, I'm happy to, because I'd like nothing more than to get your slimy ass locked up where people'll take even more pleasure in kicking the snot out of you than I just did. You want that, just come near my brother again. Just once, that's all I'll need. I'll do more than bust you up, I'll fuck your life over so bad you won't have one left. Am I very, very clear on this?"
Falcone wiped his mouth awkwardly, struggling to his feet. "You owe me like 45 thousand, kid. You and your buddy. I want that back."
Now it was Ben's turn to snort. "Cost of doing business, asshole. Swallow it. You'll make it back with the next poor kid you pimp out. But it won't be Jesse." He stepped toward Falcone slowly. "Maybe I won't wait till you're in jail to see you get fucked up, maybe I'll do it right now myself."
Falcone tried to get his sunglasses back on his face, but failed. "I'll get you in jail for assault."
"Dude, you just sexually propositioned my fifteen year old brother. When the cops look into your background you'll be lucky if you get out of the slammer to get Medicare." He put one hand on Falcone's shoulder, slowly, and pushed him away. "Go. Now. I got other relatives around here you really don't wanna meet. Consider yourself lucky."
Falcone, adjusted his shirt, trying to smooth it out and wipe the blood off it. He fumbled again with his sunglasses. "Little shits, I'm not done here."
"Yes you are. You're now an insurance policy."
Falcone goggled at Ben. "Huh?"
"Jesse's an active guy," Ben answered, his hard tone of voice still leaving Jesse too stunned to move. "But from today on, if he gets hit by a car while he's skateboarding, or wipes out bad surfing, or gets hit by lightning or struck by a meteor, or anything - I'm gonna know who to look to for an explanation, and who I'm gonna point the cops to. You're his insurance company from here on. You need to really really hope he stays OK, because if he doesn't, . .. "
Falcone looked at Jesse a moment. Jesse could feel the anger in his eyes even through the sunglasses. He turned, gave them the finger, and stalked away. "I'll make more money than you little shits can imagine."
"Good luck with that, dickhead. Been nice seeing you. I won't see you again, right?" Ben got no answer. Falcone walked up the hill to a Cadillac and drove away in a cloud of dust.
Jesse reminded himself to breathe. He looked over at Pedro's. No one seemed to have noticed a thing. He peered into the 7-11. The Indian clerks were chatting amiably with the people who'd been in line behind them. He looked at Ben, who'd walked a little way past him, following Falcone's car as it sped up Camino Real toward the freeway ramp. Ben's fists were still clenched, his shoulders tense. He saw Ben's chest expand once, then a long exhalation. "Damn," he said, turning back to face Jesse with a wry smile. "I really wanted to kill that motherfucker."
Jesse swayed a moment, caught himself, and realized that the chips he'd been carrying had been crushed to the consistency of dust. "Oh, shit, Ben, will he be back?"
Ben laughed. "Dunno. I don't think so. I do hope so, in a way. I really do wanna fuck him up. But I don't think he will. Too much to lose." He took another deep breath. "You dealt with that guy? Jesus."
"No, actually, it was more Ernie - the camera guy. Denny - that guy - he only showed up a couple of times." Jesse dropped his eyes. "He kinda grossed me out."
"No surprise there. You OK?"
"I - yeah, I - Ben I'm sorry, that was so awful -"
"Nah, it was fun, in a way. I needed to take it out on somebody for what they did to you. It ate at me all night last night. This was like heaven sent far as I'm concerned." He took a bag of chips from Jesse's arms. "Though I really shoulda busted him up more. That would've been sweet." He unlocked the car and motioned for Jesse to get in. "I told you, it's over, Jes. It's all done."
Jesse sat quietly for a minute before tearing up. "I - I can't, like, live, with this. With what I did - to you, to Mom, to Dad. I fucked up so bad. . . ." He waved his hand weakly. "I mean look at what just happened. That fucker showed up here. And he'll be back, he'll fuck my life up even more. I can't get out of it." He fell back against the headrest, despairing.
"Jes, you don't have anything to apologize for. You didn't fuck up, you're a victim, OK?"
"I knew better. I know I did."
"Well," Ben smiled, "you didn't know well enough, though, did you? Look, it's OK, really. I got your back, and so does Uncle Booth."
Jesse sighed deeply. When would it end, and how? Tomorrow morning.
Mike's house, as always, was shaded and cool. Mike's dad was refinishing a table in the garage when they pulled up. He waved casually, without straightening up from over his Workmate bench. "Mike's inside, Jesse. Been waiting for you. Kind of antsy. No idea why." He looked sideways at Jesse and grinned. Jesse grinned back, in spite of himself, and fairly sprinted past and into the house. Mike was sprawled on the couch in the front living room, with some game on the flat screen. He had no chance to rise before Jesse tumbled into him, both boys rolling awkwardly off the couch in a clumsy embrace.
Mike was laughing into the crook of Jesse's neck. "Jesus, dude, coulda killed me."
Jesse laughed back. "Hi."
They kissed softly, falling the rest of the way to the tiled floor. Mike rolled atop Jesse. "You fucked up my game, dude. I had that level almost beat."
Jesse couldn't stop grinning. "Sorry." Another kiss. Nothing felt scary, or sad, or overwhelming, as long as he could look into Mike's eyes, see them sparkle, watch wisps of hair fall across them. It all melted away, right here, right now. He hugged Mike down onto him tightly, his left leg wrapping over Mike's as he did so. "Missed you."
Mike sighed deeply, relaxing down into Jesse. They seemed to merge into each other as they lay there, their breathing synchronizing, their limbs softly entwining. Jesse realized he had one limb that was instead hardening, and giggled again. "Can we fuck on the floor?"
Mike chuckled into Jesse's shirt and raised his head. "Bad idea. Uncomfortable surface." He lifted up, pulling Jesse with him. "Better in here."
About 25 minutes later, the two boys re-emerged into the garage, hair disheveled, grinning lopsidedly, and deliberately bumping shoulders with every step. Mike's dad laughed at the sight of them. "You two OK?"
Jesse squeaked girlishly. Mike blushed. "Um. Dad, could you jet us down to T Street when you get a chance? Gotta get to Erick's thing there." He glanced at Jesse and licked his lips subtly. They both broke into laughter again.
Mike's dad set down the sandpaper block he was using on a small nightstand. "No problem, I could use the break. You don't mind my being all dusty?"
"Keep the window open, Dad, it'll all blow off."
"Yeah and the cops'll come after me for polluting the air or something." He ruffled his son's hair. "How about you, Jesse, you doing OK?"
"Yes, sir," Jesse said, blushing. His ass was tingling. "I'm great."
Mike's dad laughed. "It looks it. So will you want me to get you later on or do you just want to walk back?"
"Probably get us, we're taking boards and all. It's kind of a long walk, and it'll be after dark."
"No problem, just call me. But don't be too late, OK? You need to get yourself into school hours now or you'll be a mess on Tuesday, like you were last fall." He stepped toward the rack at the rear of the garage. "So which boards do you guys want?"
The sunlight was dazzling at T Street. The boys padded across the overpass as a freight train rumbled past beneath them, drowning out any attempt at conversation. The beach was crowded, as befitted the holiday weekend, and the break was if possible even more crowded, a mass of bobbing dark blobs against the sparkling water. Mostly guys, of course, and mostly shirtless, but here and there a spring wetsuit contrasting black against the deep blue. Jesse picked Erick out of the lineup way outside; he was riding a shortie and working a long left break aggressively. The waves were small but decently shaped.
A pile of beach gear and coolers was the main sign of habitation around the firepit that Erick had staked out. Everyone, it seemed, was either in the water or down near it. Jesse squinted through his sunglasses to spy Kate Sandowski sitting crosslegged on a towel, chatting with some other girls. He waved to her, she waved back, and the boys slogged through the hot sand towards her, boards in tow.
"Hey hotties!" she exclaimed as they reached her towel, jumping up and giving them each a brief hug. Jesse felt slightly embarrassed for no good reason. She wore a T shirt over a bikini, and an odd misshapen baseball cap, bright pink, was crookedly perched atop her head. The other girls - Molly DeVries was the one he immediately recognized, the others he wasn't too sure of - nodded casually and resumed their conversation. He wondered if they could tell. "So what's going on? You guys have a nice day so far?" Kate grinned as she asked the question, making her subtext abundantly clear.
"Hellz ya," Mike said, grinning and glancing at Jesse. "How about you and Erick - a nice, fine day so far?" He fairly leered.
"Pervert," Kate snorted with a giggle. "Not yet, but I have major hopes for later." She turned to look out toward the lineup. "Most everybody is out now, you guys joining them?"
"For now," Jesse said, recovering his power of speech a little. "Sun's going down earlier, need to hit it while it's warm."
"It's hella warm today, Jes," Kate said. No worries there." She leaned in towards them. "I didn't mean to put you guys on the spot," she whispered. "Sorry."
"It's fine," Mike answered. "I didn't think we were that obvious."
"You're not," Kate assured him. "Not unless you know. Then the way you two look at each other and all makes sense. I think it's sweet, really."
"Great, that's just what I wanna be: sweet," Jesse groaned.
"What you wanna be you already got," Mike shot back.
"Dude!!" Jesse shouted, as Kate stumbled backwards, laughing hard. The other girls looked up for a moment, only marginally interested, before turning away again.
"Go surf, you guys need to cool down a bit," Kate finally managed to say between giggles.
And they did. The water was surprisingly warm, and the sets built over the next half hour or so, until they were easily five footers. They broke long and left off the reef, and Jesse caught a number of strong rides that he milked all the way into shore. Erick shouted hello to them, as did many of their other friends, and the time not spent actually surfing was passed with casual conversation while bobbing atop boards, squinting out at the approaching swell. Someone was paddle surfing out around Seal Rocks. Jesse kept an eye on that - how the current moved, the progress the paddler made against it. The afternoon flew by. Jesse felt the familiar ache grow in his shoulders and legs, a wonderful feeling of exertion and endorphins. He couldn't stop looking at Mike as they surfed - when he sat on his board, laughing and talking with everyone else, when he pivoted his board around and took a wave in, his shoulders flexing as he paddled into the break. Jesse remembered the feeling of those shoulders as they had hovered above him barely an hour before: the warm smoothness of the skin, the sinuousness of their movement, their slender strength as they pulled his legs upward and locked him in an embrace. He had to dunk himself several times to stop a growing tumescence, passing it off as having lost his balance atop the board and accepting the teasing from the other guys that resulted.
They surfed until the sun started to sink into the layer of coastal fog that was gathering offshore. The air temperature dropped markedly as soon as the sun became shrouded, the beach emptied quickly as they maneuvered for one last ride before day's end. Erick was particularly unhappy. "I shoulda brought my suit," he shouted to Jesse. "I could surf out here all night!"
"That'd really thrill Kate," Jesse teased him back. Eddie Boynton hooted and splashed some water at Erick's face.
"Dude, I make it up to her later, that's the good part!" Erick crowed, grinning.
"Too much information, dude," Mike yelled, paddling idly up nest to Jesse. His foot pressed against Jesse's leg beneath the water. They glanced at each other and grinned. The Boyntons had both just taken a wave in; the three of them were the last ones out past the break.
"You guys OK?" Erick asked, dropping his adolescent bravado as he increasingly did in their presence. "You don't think Kate's pissed that I'm staying out here so long?"
Mike smiled. Jesse loved to see his smile. "Nah, don' think so. She's shooting the shit with Molly and all o' them and all. You gotta pay attention to her when you get in, though, dude. She deserves it."
Erick ran both hands through his hair, sweeping it back from his face and squeezing out some of the salt water. "She does, ya. Shit, she deserves better'n me, that's for sure."
"Dude, she likes you. You been perving on her for two years now and now she likes you. Be happy, or grateful, or something. Don' go all mushy shit on us now."
Erick laughed - a clear, unforced laugh of the sort Jesse hadn't heard from him in he couldn't remember how long. "I am happy Jes. Well, yeah, grateful actually. It - it's just so cool, y'know? How it's all working out. How all that bad shit is gone and things are like turning. Like we turned a corner, or passed some milepost, or something." He smiled shyly at Jesse for a moment before dropping down to paddle into a long left swell that was rising behind them, leaving Jesse blinking in wonder.
Mike was perplexed. "What?" Jesse smiled, ran a hand through the water at his side, and told Mike everything - about Pastor Ed, and his plan. Mike wasn't happy. "Are you sure?" Jesse nodded, blinked his eyes dry, and without another word kicked off himself for a final long ride.
Onshore, the party got going as the light faded. Erick seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of firewood, not to mention ridiculous amounts of food and drink. Kate had brought a small IHome, and its battery lasted long enough to give them a few hours of entertainment. As night fell, Erick broke out some Killer Dana hoodies for those who needed them (the evening was becoming chilly despite the fire). "Joy of bein' sponsored - I get shitloads of these!" People danced, played childish trick on each other, laughed, talked, played guitars and Frisbee, and ate.
It was perfect.
As the night wore on, some people left. Those who remained started slowing down, sitting in clumps around the firepit, getting up only long enough to throw more fuel on or to grab some more food. Jesse was sitting crosslegged on the sand next to Mike, their shoulders slightly touching, leaning back against a picnic table. Erick was across the firepit, talking to Kate, his hand occasionally sliding across her shoulders. Jesse felt the fire's heat on his face, and how the day had worn on him, and he grew drowsy. He leaned into Mike, tucking his head onto his shoulder and resting his cheek against his chest. His arms casually encircled him. Mike's arm rose to hold Jesse at the waist, and his head dropped against the top of Jesse's. Their eyes closed.
The crunch of a log hitting the fire startled them both awake, and they realized that they'd been cuddling against each other. They looked about nervously, and saw everyone around the firepit was looking at them. They all had slight smiles. "For Christ's sake," Erick said quietly, "will you guys just make out already and be done with it?"
Jesse felt himself turn scarlet. Everyone around the firepit started laughing, but the laughter wasn't taunting or derogatory. Someone started chanting "Kiss him! Kiss him!!" and soon the whole group joined in, throwing napkins and small beach stones at them and laughing. Jesse pressed his face into Mike's chest, hiding, and giggling uncontrollably, before looking upwards. Mike was laughing too, glancing now and then at the kids watching them, but always returning his gaze to Jesse. His eyes were damp.
"It's mushy shit, time, Jes, Wanna go for it?"
Jesse took a quick look outwards, then threw his left arm up around Mike's neck and pulled him downwards into a long deep kiss. Their mouths opened to each other. The current that flowed between them, at that moment, with their friends hooting and clapping all around them in the firelight, they never forgot.
When they finally ran out of breath, they broke their kiss.
"I love you."
"Me too, Jes. Always."
Jesse looked out at the sea of laughing faces and clapping hands, and hid himself again in Mike's sweatshirt, giggling again. People were tousling his hair now, clapping his shoulder, saying warm kind things he couldn't really make out. He didn't want them to see him crying, but his chest was heaving and his shoulders were shaking and he knew he couldn't control that. Finally he felt one cool, soft hand against his cheek, and he turned to meet it. Kate was kneeling in front of him, smiling softly, and wiping his face.
"Hey, sunshine," she whispered, and pulled his head against her chest. Ne nestled there a moment, feeling her breasts rise and fall with her breathing, and his smile grew even bigger, if that was possible.
Erick shouted, "Hey, that's my woman!" dissolving the whole group into laughter. Jesse laughed too, and pulling back he grabbed Kate and tackled her down onto his and Mike's laps, holding her there as she squirmed to get free.
"Girls are yucky!!" Jesse announced loudly, to more laughter. He glanced down and pecked Kate on the cheek. She smiled and clambered to her feet.
"Erick, why are their laps all pokey like that?" More laughter.
"You want pokey, I'll give you a poke."
Kate gave an exaggerated "Ooooohhhhh" and ran back to throw herself against Erick. They tumbled backwards together, tickling each other and kicking sand up over everyone.
Jesse and Mike sat and watched the ensuing horseplay and teasing, arms around each other, faces pressed together, in silence. Jesse wiped his face. Mike smoothed his hair gently. "Do you want me to go with you?"
"No. Alone. I want to do it myself. OK?"
Mike nodded. And it was decided.
Jesse was amazed at how much the water had cooled off overnight. Maybe it was a localized current out here that was chillier than the water at T Street, but he was shivering as he sat astride his father's longboard in the predawn grey. The sky above the bluff behind the beach was mottled blue and orange. He was bobbing in surprisingly calm water, about 50 yards out past Seal Rocks. He had gotten there about 10 minutes before, after a hard wrestle through the breakers and a long paddle out. His arms were tired. The sea lions, who had barked angrily at him as he'd passed them, nonplussed by his intrusion into their world at such an hour, had largely gone back to lolling about on the rocks. The smell of them - bird and seal guano, rotting seaweed, salt spray - wafted to him on the breeze, which was blowing faintly offshore. It was going to be a Santa Ana condition, blisteringly hot even at the coast. Just what the doctor ordered for Labor Day.
He was careful as he unshouldered the cloth backpack he'd found in the garage. It was heavy and cumbersome; getting through the breakers safely with it on his back had been no easy feat. Now he set it on the board in front of him, balancing it and himself so as not to topple over, and opened it for one last look.
He pulled out each item in turn. There were about 10 pounds of deep sea fishing sinkers, to ensure that the pack would go down quickly and without any chance of refloating. Everything decompose in the water long before anything floatable could free itself. There were the cut up pieces of the master DVDs of Ron Gantry and Jamie Holder's Voyeur Video sessions, that had been soaked in muriatic acid and thus partially eaten away. Even if someone ever found them, they'd never be able to reconstruct them. There were shredded bits of their fake IDs, and of their contracts and bank statements. Mike had given his to him the previous night, after his father had picked them up from the firepit.
And there were his father's Marine dress shoes, which he had taken quietly the day before from his mother's bedroom closet and spent most of the night shining to a gleaming perfection, using his spit and his tears. He held one up now, watching the growing light reflect dazzlingly off the black leather and the small droplets of water that beaded up on its surface.
I did it right, Daddy, you'd be proud to wear these. These are my gift to you, my last gift. I'm not going to be ashamed, or scared, or cowed, or exploited by anybody again - not because of who I love. And I love you, more than I ever could have if I'd never gotten to understand you. To admire how you soldiered through it all. How you ever lasted so long I can't imagine. I was selfish, I was a kid, I didn't see it. I didn't know. And maybe you never would have wanted me to know. How much it hurt, how it ate you away. But I know now. And I know love, and I'll be true to it like a good Marine, always. I'll make you proud, Daddy. I'll finish the long walk for you. From this milepost on.
He stuffed the rest of the offering deep into the shoes, replaced the shoes in the pack, and tied it tight. He held it out at arm's length for a moment, trying to think of a benediction, but none came. "I love you, Dad," he finally whispered, and he let go. The pack fell into the water at the side of his board and sank fast. The water was clear, he watched it for several seconds before it vanished from sight. The spot where it had hit the water grew suddenly tranquil for a moment, and the face that was reflected back to him in that second of calm was more like his father's than he had ever recognized.
He looked up, and inshore. He had to shield his eyes with one hand. The sun was about to peek above the rim of the bluffs. It would be in his face the whole way back in. He scanned the beach. To his left, up toward T Street, he saw some early surfers already getting ready to head out. Erick was among them, his blond hair contrasting against his dark wetsuit. Kate was with him, wearing an overlarge sweatshirt, pulling now and then on his arm and lugging a second board.
His gaze traveled southwards, past the few early morning walkers on the sand or along the trail just on the other side of the railroad tracks. The beach at Riviera, directly in front of him, was deserted. Almost. A single figure sat at the high water mark, arms around knees, very still, and watching. Jesse was tempted for a moment to raise his hand and wave, but he knew it wasn't necessary. The sun chose that moment to appear, blinding him, but he'd seen all he needed to.
He dropped down onto his board and started to paddle. It would be a long hard pull, but the waves were breaking pure and rolling. He knew he'd get a good ride when he got to them, and that Mike would be waiting, always waiting, when he came at last safely to shore.
The End