A Place In This Life – Chapter 1

At what age does a girl get to make her own decisions? Like whether to hang out with her parents, or not? I mean, at 17, I thought I’d be allowed to stay home while my family went on their usual summer vacation to Santa Catalina Island. It’s not like I’d never been alone before, either. There was the weekend they went away for their anniversary, not to mention two New Year’s parties where they never came home. Being alone was not only familiar to me, it was necessary for sanity purposes.

“What if you needed to reach us?” asked my mother, shooting questions laden with guilt out of her mouth when I tried to argue my reasons for staying home.

“Isn’t that what cell phones are for?” I said, waving mine around.

“You know what I mean,” she responded, hands molded to her hips and a big no on her lips.

“But I know how to cook. I won’t answer the door to strangers. And I’ll dial 911 if there’s an emergency.”

“Nope.”

“But I don’t fit in the bunk. My feet touch one end and my head the other,” I moaned, pulling at straws in a final attempt to ditch the vacation.

“Bend your legs,” said Taylor, my 13-year-old brother. Even at the crest of puberty, he still had a girly voice and plenty of zits for five other people, and I wasn’t looking forward to having him sleep in the bunk above me. He smelled like he never bathed, which was true, and had a gas problem that only compounded the issue.

“Pack your bag, Natalie,” she said, turning to walk away from me as I stuck out my tongue.

No matter which way I argued my case, I wasn’t going to win. It all came down to the fact that I was a minor with parents who controlled my access to money, television, the Internet, text messaging, and my desire to be alone — just to keep me in line. Hence the reason I was now stuck in the middle of the God-forsaken Catalina Channel on a small boat, somewhere between the California coast and Catalina Island.

“See? Isn’t this better than staying home alone?” said my mom, slathering her arms with thick gobs of sunscreen.

“Yeah, much better,” I mocked, looking out over the dark blue water as the wind chopped little waves on the surface. A few flying fish whizzed by.

To keep me focused on the positive so I wouldn’t be so pissed-off about the trip, I tried to think of what I did like about going to Catalina Island. I was fond of the gay men in Speedos loitering on the Avalon boardwalk, as well as the drunk people hanging out of Luau Larry’s bar window, Wicki Wackers in their hands with more rounds on the way. And then there were the dime-a-dozen pervs standing outside the gift shops, their hands deep in their pockets, while the wives were inside buying something for the dog babysitters back home. Oh yes, at least I had these various weirdos to keep my attention while I endured the week of so-called family bonding on the boat.

Then there was Two Harbors… the only other city on Catalina aside from Avalon. It was dusty and I think there were only three or four residents, tops. The place had a huge buffalo population, so there was crap all over the hills and trails. I even saw gold-dipped poop being sold as a souvenir once. But as for people my age, I was in the negative, instead surrounded by the mid-life crisis crowd and its Botox mentality.

To deal with it all, I would snag one of my dad’s beers whenever possible and chug it in the boat bathroom to enhance my mood. If I could get two, my mood would become even better. My parents never seemed to notice when I was a little buzzed, but I sure did. It felt good and naughty. In fact, I liked being naughty, having matured a bit in both body and mind since the previous year’s vacation. For one, my boobs finally got bigger, but unfortunately so did my hips. Even so, I bought my first bikini for this trip, making sure it at least covered my hips and butt. The thought of my father seeing me in it made me think twice, so I packed my one-piece and a million cover-ups as well.

On this particular trip, I was more of a woman than a girl, which made me nervous as hell but really excited, too. The prospect of attracting the opposite sex was heavy on my mind. I wondered about boys a lot, having never really dated one myself. I was feeling reasonably attractive, being rather tall and of medium-build, with long brown hair and, unfortunately, big feet. Not a jock or an extrovert, I preferred spending time at the library, bookstores and coffee shops, debating oddities with the friends in my head. Needless to say, that didn’t make for a very vibrant social life back
As our boat rounded the rocks toward Two Harbors, my mother made lunch for me and Taylor.

“Nally, do you want turkey or chicken?” My mom held out two packets of lunchmeat, each the same paltry pale flesh color.

“Chicken, thanks,” I said. Lunchmeat tasted all the same, full of nitrites and fillers, and looked like pressed skins in the package.

But I needed to eat, so I took my sandwich and a Coke and sat down inside the cabin. Taylor had already wolfed-down his lunch, and was sucked back into his silent world of video games. Even if he wasn’t playing the games, I doubted we would talk much. Taylor was extremely anti-social. He had no friends and a temper that flared with the slightest provocation.

#

In spite of being on his fourth beer, my father expertly maneuvered the boat around the shoals that bordered the harbor’s entrance. I liked the word “shoal” because it sounded like “shit-hole.” And shit-hole was exactly what Catalina was to me.

“Natalie, hook the line around the cleat,” yelled my dad from the wheel as we came upon one of the last available moorings. I brought the wet rope under the cleat, chafing my hands as I secured us to the mooring.

“Oh crap.” His beer fell into the water, the silver can bobbing against the side of the boat. He’d be okay — there was a bunch of beer under my bunk, and if that wasn’t enough, there was always the Two Harbors General Store, ready and waiting with more.

A harbor patrol officer came around and took down our numbers, name, and collected the mooring fee. Then he dropped a yellow dye tablet into the holding tank — a nice way to indicate who flushed their toilets into the harbor. This was one of my mother’s obsessions.

“Stay away from the holding tank. Don’t touch the release handle,” she would remind us constantly, living in fear of the yellow dye tablet and the fine attached to its discharge.

Once the boat was moored, I scuttled back to the cabin to wait for Plan A, which would likely include my dad changing his clothes, getting the dinghy off the top of the boat, hooking up the outboard engine and loading us into the contraption. We would then putt-putt to shore to get some more beer (beer math — a six pack loses one beer, and therefore needs to be made-up by purchasing another complete six pack, resulting in 11 beers total).

“No really, I don’t want to go with you and I hope you understand.” My parents looked at me in disbelief. “I won’t set the boat on fire. I won’t fall in the water and float out to sea. Just go, come back and I promise I’ll be here, okay?”

My dad shook his head, my mother frowned, and Taylor didn’t look up from his video game. But I got what I wanted, and was allowed to stay on board all by myself, taking advantage of my moment alone to snag two beers, putting one in my duffel bag and the other in my bloodstream, crushing the can and throwing it out the boat bathroom window.

#

The next day, I drifted around on my boogie board in between our boat and the shore. Out of modesty and embarrassment, I wore a t-shirt over the bikini, giving me an added layer of sun protection as I relaxed, kicked my feet around and watched the dinghies travel back and forth to the pier.

“Hi there,” said a voice that coincided with a splash of water and the appearance of a boy. His light brown hair was shaved close to his head, the paleness of his skin enhancing his lankiness, which bordered on being too thin. A navy blue t-shirt clung to his chest as he swam over to me.

“I’m Todd.” His eyes riveted on mine. I had never experienced such an intense display of attention from a guy, something I’d only dreamed of from my many school crushes.

“What’s your name?” he said, treading water, only his head above the aqua. I felt put on the spot and unable to escape, so I pretended to be mellow about the whole situation.

“Natalie.” Okay, so now what? I clung to my boogie board, careful not to splash around or seem overly shocked to have a boy suddenly pop out of the water in front of me.

“That’s a nice name,” he said, moving closer to my board. “I’m here to celebrate getting out of the hospital.”

“Why were you in the hospital?” I wasn’t sure where the conversation was going. It’s not every day that someone says hello and then immediately tells you they’ve been in the hospital.

“I have leukemia,” he said, peeking inside his shirt. A concerned look spread across his face.

“Excuse me, I think something is wrong.” He turned his back to me. “Shit.”

He fiddled with whatever was in his shirt and turned back around. “That’s better,” he said.

“Are you okay? Do you need to go back to your boat?”

“Naw. Just had to fix something… so, Natalie, what’re you doing in Catalina? On vacation with your family?” His eyes pierced right through me, and suddenly I felt naked.

“Yeah, we come here every year. That’s our boat over there.” I pointed to the wooden sailboat five moorings across the harbor.

“Nice boat. Bigger than what we’re on. It’s my mom’s boyfriend’s boat — she thought I’d like coming here.”

“What do you think of the island?” I clung tightly to my boogie board, feeling a hollow, sucking motion swerve through my stomach.

“It’s okay. Better than being in the hospital. I’ve had enough of that.” He stopped treading water and reached for my board.

“Hope you don’t mind. I’m just a little tired.”

“That’s okay,” I said, noticing that he was awfully close to me. I felt a chill climb up my spine that was slow and deliberate, piercing each nerve with a tingle that raised bumps on my skin. At the same time, I felt hot with a thrilling, feverish glow.

“I found out I had leukemia last year, when I couldn’t shake the flu. Went and did a few tests, they told me I had it, and then they gave me chemo. It’s shit. Don’t ever let anyone make you do it.”

“My grandma had it… for cancer,” I said, recalling the two years that lead my grandmother and family from her diagnosis to death, with a generous sprinkle of chemo and intense guilt along the way.

“Is she still around?” He had a look of expectation in his eyes, of which he already knew the answer.

“No.”

“Thought so. The poison didn’t work for her, obviously, but I guess it’s working for me.”

“Are you done with it?” I couldn’t envision a doctor letting him go on vacation, let alone swimming, while on chemotherapy. Then again, I didn’t know a lot about it.

“No. I’m going into consolidation therapy when I get back, to stay in remission.”

“What’s consolidation therapy?” I asked, pushing for a crash course in chemotherapy.

“It’s more chemo, but not as much and for not as long — at least that’s what they tell me.”

It was good to know he was in remission, but I was still a bit shocked by what had just gone down. It is one thing when a boy pops up out of the water and says hi, but another thing entirely when that boy is so blunt about having something like cancer.

He looked like he would be tall out of the water, with skin that clung dangerously close to his bone structure, his cheekbones protruding. Now I knew why he had a shaved head — his hair had fallen out because of the chemo. But he seemed relatively happy to have me to talk to.

“How many days have you been in Catalina?” I asked, trying to neutralize the conversation.

“Four days — two in Avalon, and two here. This place is cool. I like how empty it is,” he said.

I looked around at the brown hills, the craggy rocks along the entrance to the harbor, and Bird Rock, a white mini-island covered with bird bombs. With only a few outbuildings, a lodge and a pier, Two Harbors was definitely empty and desolate.

“Goddammit,” he said, taking his hands off the board and turning his back to me again. Just as quickly, he turned back around.

“I keep thinking I’m having a problem with something, but I’m not sure. I need to go back to my boat.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, patting the board before swimming off behind the boats. I couldn’t see where.

Floating alone and feeling changed by meeting this strange and stunning boy, I decided to paddle to the beach where my family had set-up camp for the day. Starving from being in the water so long, I chowed down on string cheese and soda.

Within 15 minutes, I spotted Todd standing on the back of a small sailboat and looking toward the beach. When he saw me, he started waving both arms. The goosebumps rose on my skin again with the thought that he was seeking me out.

“Who is that waving to you?” my mom asked.

“Someone I met in the water.” Todd motioned for me to go back in and swim over, which would mean having to get cold and wet again. If it meant seeing him again, it was worth the trip to find out.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, taking my board and returning to the water. Todd watched me make my way over to the side of his boat.

“Wanna come up?” He reached over the side with his hand.
“I’ll stay here, thanks,” I said.

A short, hairy man appeared behind Todd and peered over the side at me. The attention made me want to shrink. “A guest! Come on up!” he said, reaching out a fuzzy arm.

“Mom’s boyfriend, Tom.” Todd shrugged before turning to the man. “She’s staying in the water. Leave us the fuck alone.”

Tom shook-off Todd’s acid tongue and went back inside the boat without another word.

Todd leaned over the side to talk to me. He was wearing mirrored sunglasses and I couldn’t see where his eyes were looking. “I wanted to see if you’d like to go for a ride this afternoon. You know, just float around the tidepools, push the outboard till it croaks. Sound fun?”

“Sounds better than sitting on the boat with my parents,” I said without thinking that I would be going out with a boy I did not know — alone.

“Good! I’ll be over around 3-ish!” He slapped the side of the boat and flashed a near-perfect grin across his thin face.

“Okay.” I looked back at the shore, feeling my mother’s concern about my taking so long with the shaved-headed boy.

“You better get back — she looks worried,” he said with a devilish grin.

As expected, as soon as my feet hit the gritty sand of the shit-hole island, my mother grilled. What is his name? Who is he here with? Is he your age?

I answered each question while my mind went to another place. This boy was interested in ME, and wanted to spend time with ME. The thought of finally being the object of someone’s attention turned my stomach in a good way, but still made me run for the public bathroom before throwing up all over the place.