Under the bridge I row hard, maneuvering the boat away from the concrete pillars. My elbows ache and my knees ache. The sun slashes across the boat like the scene in Apocalypse Now where the ceiling fan blades are spinning and Martin Sheen’s character is in some kind of drug fog or heat exhaustion. This bridge always gives me the creeps like that scene. Something’s so not right. But there’s nothing to see, you just feel it.
It’s probably the creepy half-sunken old dock with the fishing boat tied up. The boat’s too new and kept too well for the age and condition of the dock. Almost like the owner has hidden it there for a getaway. Except it’s right out in the creek for anyone to see who comes on the other side of the bridge. Not that many people do come all the way up here. Unless you’ve done it in a little boat, you don’t have any way to know whether the water’s deep enough and you wouldn’t take a chance of getting stuck in that mud with a big boat. There’s nowhere to turn around.
On the other side of the bridge the phragmites are waiting. Out in the open. Their ditzy blond heads make them look like a line of cilia on the paramecium in my bio book. Even without a breeze they bow and dip like those couples in the ice-dancing competitions. It’s better up here, back in the open air and away from that strange fishing boat at the falling-down dock. The creepiness is gone.
Phragmites (pronounced like mighty) can’t be just in Virginia, because they’re actually weeds. And weeds grow anywhere. Miss T. Undertaker and her rank-and-file environmental saviors raise money every year to pay for a gazillion gallons of safe herbal spray to kill the phragmites. Supposedly they block out the good plants. I know it’s weird, but I kind of like them. They’ve figured out a way to grow no matter what. They morph or something. Every season they’re slightly different and they rise again out of the mud, to hell with the pesticide squad.
As I row against the current, I’m thinking about Meredith again. It’s not that I’m so sure she’ll say yes about sleeping with me. God, I can hardly let myself imagine how that might happen. When am I ever alone with a girl? Either Mom or Dad, or both, is always at home. Or Nick’s bouncing in and out. I won’t live long enough to get to college, where Joe says almost anything’s possible. In college dorms you might have a single or your roommate sometimes goes away for the weekend.
Plus, how do you bring up a subject like wanting sex? Especially with a girl like Meredith. Only she does put off these signals like she might be interested, and she likes being kissed. According to Dad, adults talk about everything beforehand. Plus, I know she’s the kind of girl who would want to not just get led away in the dark. Mack says, mention being dead next year and any girl would let you do it, out of sympathy.
See what I mean about Mack? It’s not exactly honorable how he thinks. And if I only have so many chances, I don’t want just any girl to “let” me do it to her. I want her to be part of it, wanting it as much as I want it.
If Meredith thinks about it at all—I don’t mean with me, but with her ideal guy—I bet she wants it to be perfect, not rushed and sleazy in the backseat of a car. When Mack told me about his first time, it knocked me out. In the woods at some church camping retreat with a girl he’d never seen before. Or since. Last year I might have gone for something like that, but it’s different when you know you might have only one shot.
The kind of girl who’d stand on a bridge and yell at the top of her lungs to the world is going to have an idea of the perfect first time. I don’t even have a sister and I can figure that out. Although I don’t think Holden ever talks to Phoebe about sex—she’s too young to know about stuff like that—he knows that a girl like Jane has a different idea about the first time than a girl like Sunny. You have to think about who the girl is. I mean, if you want to be fair about it. To be honest—sorry, old Holden—girls are way more savvy these days. They’ve seen it on TV and all the movies are full of it. Maybe just to earn the R rating to increase the box office take, but maybe because girls are different now, more up-front too. With Victoria’s Secret and that kind of public display, I wouldn’t be surprised if Nick’s friends are all popping some girl behind the soccer stands.
I’d like to ask someone, Joe, I guess, or Dad if he remembers his first time. I don’t want to hear the details—God, no, no details—just whether you forget or whether it’s worth remembering. If it was a mess or a good memory, something he likes to remember. Just to know if I’m on the right track.
My thinking is if Dad or Joe said the first time is always a jumble and no one really remembers it because they’re too scared and it’s too new, then I might stop being so nervous about it. Trouble is, if I ask Dad a question like that, he’ll know what I’m thinking and he’ll probably figure out Meredith is the one, since the subject is coming up right after I met her. That would be the kiss of death. He’d say something to Mom. They’d never let us be alone together after that.
The rowboat is really cruising along now. Upstream the mudflats disappear and the creek twists. The current’s weaker, so I can row less and glide more. The river is narrower, too. And there are tons more birds. They must like it here because boats don’t invade very often. The birds can sit on the reeds or the phragmites and look out without being disturbed. It’s also warmer because the shore breaks the wind.
Then this flash hits me. I should bring Meredith up here before winter. With the binoculars she could see the kinds of birds we get in this part of Virginia. They’re bound to be different from the mountains. No room in the rowboat for Juliann. Or Mack. The more I think about it, the more I know Meredith would like it. There’s a first time for everything.
When I pull alongside the houseboat, Joe’s ride from Warsaw has arrived. Joe’s already in the skiff. Nick’s getting ready to pull the choke and start the engine. Big smile when Joe sees me.
“Dan. You been hiding out? Listen, come spend a weekend in C-Ville. See what college is really like.”
“I’ll ask Mom.”
“Don’t do that. Just pick a date. Rusty’s girlfriend drives from Warsaw almost every weekend.”
Rusty’s waving from the shore for Joe to hurry.
“Come on, Daniel, say you’ll come.”
“I have to ask.”
“What’s with that? You’re not a kid. It’d be different if you needed them to drive, but Jessica can bring you. Any Friday. She’ll drop you back on Sunday. Say yes.”
“Okay, yes, yes, I’ll come, but I’ll have to let you know about the date after I talk to Mom.”
“All right, baby brother, be that way. If I were you, I’d start doing what you want to, I’d—”
Nick has to get in the picture. “Joe, cool it. He said yes, leave him alone.”
“What is it with you guys?” I can’t stand it. “Let’s just drop the whole thing.”
Nick can’t let it go. “He’s not here enough to know how tired you get.”
“Jeez, Nick, I think I can handle this without my little brother taking up for me.”
Joe starts to say something else, but then just reaches over the railing and hugs me hard. Maybe he does understand. Halfway to the D-funct marina dock, he calls back.
“Danny boy, you better be there one of these Fridays. I mean it.”
Nick jerks the skiff hard and the spray arcs up and rains down on Joe, who flips him the bird.
Once Rusty has driven off with Joe waving madly from the side window like a weak sister, I go inside to change out of my sweaty rowing clothes. He’s left me a present on the top bunk. An envelope with my name in his perfect draftsman block letters, with extra tape on the flap. Inside are two condoms.