Chapters 17, 18 and 19

Chapter 17

Billy took his time walking home. The sky was clear and there wasn’t a trace of humidity. It would’ve been a great night to drive out to the Watchung Reservation. He and his friends had found a spot on a hillside where on a clear night you could see the skyline of New York City. They’d bring a bottle of cold duck and some Doritos and talk about escaping from Fairfield. Billy actually thought the taste of cold duck was vile, but the idea of it was cool. The air would be filled with the smell of trees, and occasionally they’d hear a quick scampering of something running in the underbrush. Probably an opossum or a raccoon. They’d talk for hours. His mom would always ask him what he did with his friends, and he’d say, “Just talk.” She didn’t believe him.

“You can tell me,” she’d say. “When I was your age, sometimes kids would go to make-out parties. I’m not so innocent.”

Make-out parties. Billy could think of nothing more horrible than trying to make out with a girl and overhearing somebody else panting and moaning. Or worse, being walked in on, or feeling he was competing with someone in the next room.

“What do you talk about?” his mother would ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Just stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“I don’t know. Stuff.”

What would be the point of telling her? She wouldn’t believe him, anyway. Or worse, she’d get upset and tell him to get new friends.

By the time Billy got home, it was almost 11:30. He was surprised to see his mother on the porch, still awake. He had been counting on watching Johnny Carson by himself on the basement TV and then going to bed.

“The happy wanderer,” said his mom. She had a copy of People on her lap and a bowl of popcorn next to her that looked untouched. She opened the magazine and started riffling through the pages.

“I’m surprised you’re still up,” said Billy, opening the screen door and stepping on to the porch.

“I couldn’t sleep,” said his mom. She picked up the bowl of popcorn and put it down again, along with her magazine. “I couldn’t eat, either.”

“Where’s Justine?”

“She fell asleep listening to her music.”

Carol picked up her magazine and started leafing through it, too fast to actually be reading anything. “Well, goodnight,” she said off-handedly.

Instead of being relieved at the absence of questioning, Billy was unnerved. He took a step towards the kitchen door, but then stopped.

“Any news about Dad?”

“Nope.”

“Something wrong?” But he knew.

“I thought you’d be home when I got back from the hospital.”

“I needed to take a walk.”

Billy’s mom dropped the magazine back in her lap and stared out on to the street. “I thought maybe for one night you wouldn’t need to go see your friends.”

“Mom…”

“I thought maybe tonight you’d think that I needed company.”

He could see her jaw quiver. She inhaled deeply trying to contain herself.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, still avoiding eye contact. “This is hard for you, too. I told myself I wouldn’t heap guilt on top of it. I know this isn’t pleasant for you. It isn’t pleasant for any of us. We’re a family, and I –“ She stopped in mid-sentence .

Billy moved towards her. “Mom, really, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t…”

She raised her hand to stop him. It was like she had put a dagger in him.
“Please, Billy,” she said. “Don’t defend yourself. If you don’t want to stay here with me, you don’t have to. You’re a big boy. You’re almost a man.” She wiped her eyes and looked away. Now he couldn’t see her face at all. “Damn,” she said. “I wasn’t going to cry.”

Billy started creeping closer to his mother, but then stopped. What could he possibly say that wouldn’t seem forced? He had been crying on Shari’s shoulder and his mother had been here all by herself. That was the truth of it. ‘I’m so fucked up,’ he thought, but he said nothing.

“It’s OK, Billy. Go on inside. I’m going to bed.” She rose from her chair.

“Mom.” His voice was high pitched and thin. “I really am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Forget it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

She put her hand on his shoulder and looked up at him. He noticed a few silver strands scattered through her hair, like tinsel.

“Goodnight, Billy,” she said. She turned away and then let her hand drop from his shoulder as she walked past him into the house.

Billy stood on the porch. It felt like there was a boa constrictor around his lungs. His eyes burned but they didn’t form any tears. He flung the screen door open, went out on to the step, and sat down abruptly, burying his face into his hands and pulling at his hair. He rocked back and forth slowly, detesting himself.

*********************************************************

His mom used to call him her little man. When he was four years old and it was Justine’s first birthday, he had helped his mother bake Justine’s cake. “You are such a big boy,” his mother had said. “And such a big help, too.”

He beamed. As a reward she had let him lick the batter off the spoon. At the time he thought how fortunate his mother was to have him around. All that measuring and stirring and decorating. His mother had even been at a loss as to what color the “Happy Birthday, Justine” should be written in until he had suggested the obvious purple and green. Not to mention all the hard work he had done cutting out the stars and hearts that needed to be hung up around the house in anticipation of the big day.

The party had been a rousing success. Aunt Kate and Uncle Stu had driven up from Philadelphia. All of Justine’s playgroup was there, and Mom and Dad had even let him invite his best friend, Joey, who was moving to Syracuse the next month. For a while, Billy had been confused. He thought Joey was moving to “see a moose”, and wondered why he just didn’t go to the zoo.

They sang songs and ate cake. His mom had let him unwrap all of Justine’s presents. She was too little to do it herself. Besides, she only liked playing with the ribbons, anyway. Later he and Joey went outside and played with the junior-sized football his parents had bought him for being such a big help.

That night his mother had come to tuck him into bed and say good night.

“That was some party, huh?” she said. “And you did such a great job with the cake.”

Billy smiled. “I like baking cakes.”

“Well, you’re very good at it.”

“On my birthday, Mommy, “ asked Billy, “Can I bake my own cake?”

“Of course you can.”

She pulled the covers up around him and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“You’re getting to be such a big boy. Before you know it you’ll be all grown up.”

He couldn’t imagine it.

“Will I be as tall as Daddy?” he asked.

“Maybe taller! Now go to sleep.”

She gave him another kiss, and he rolled on to his side.

“Good-night, Mommy.”

“Good-night.”

She turned out the lights and stood in the doorway looking back at him. There was a full moon, and the light from the window washed over his face.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you more,” said Billy quickly, almost mischievously.

“No, I love you more.”

“No, I love you more,” he said, giggling.

“You couldn’t possibly love me more,” said his mother.

“Yes, I can.”

“Shhh. Good-night and go to sleep.”

He hugged his football and drifted off.

************************************************************

Billy stamped his foot on the step and exhaled through his teeth. One year. He’d be out of the house in one year. Then, he wouldn’t have to worry about anybody but himself. Every little thing he did wouldn’t be analyzed and blown out of proportion. No one would expect anything from him and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else. Damn them all, anyway.




Chapter 18


The frisbee curved way out of bounds and hit the ground on its edge, rolling in a sharp arc until it flopped over near Billy’s feet. He had only just arrived at the field, and hadn’t yet been noticed. Kyle pulled himself out of the game and ran over to him. Rooster trotted behind.

“Hey, man,” said Kyle. His hair was pulled back with a red bandana with a faint black paisley design. “I haven’t seen you around much the last couple weeks. How’s your Dad?” Sweat ran in tiny trickles down his neck.

“He’s OK,” said Billy. They clearly wanted more. “He came home from the hospital yesterday.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah,” Billy mumbled.

“Is he going to be all right?” asked Kyle.

“I guess so,” offered Billy. “He’s been taking it easy.”

They stood in a circle for a moment. Billy rubbed the back of his head.

“So, you’ve been hanging out at home?” asked Rooster.

“Yeah…and with Shari,” he added.

“Cool,” said Rooster, obviously impressed. “And may I say, about time. Where’s she now?”

“She left for North Carolina with her family.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Rooster swiped the disc from Kyle and started spinning it on his finger. “So now you’re back with the rest of the freaks, huh?” he said.

While they were talking, Susan had joined them. She was panting and sweaty from running. When she tried to grab the frisbee from Rooster, he held it over his head and laughed. She was not amused.

“If you guys are going to stand around and talk, give us the disc.”

She vainly jumped for it, and then gave Rooster a light poke in the gut.

“Yow!” he squealed. “All right. All right. Hey, Billy-boy, sorry about the old man.” Then, he took off towards the other kids with Susan matching him stride for stride.

“Thanks,” Billy called after him.

Kyle gave Billy a mock punch in the arm.

“Do you want to take my place?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Billy jogged over to the rest of the gang. He was greeted warmly with pats on the back and a few friendly insults. It felt great.

“Where’s our goal and whose on my team?” he asked.

Joel piped up. “It’s you, me, Darren, Jeff, Susan, and Mitchell. We’re going that way,” he said, pointing to the far end zone.

‘Mitchell?’ thought Billy. ‘What’s he doing here?’

He gave Mitchell a little nod. Mitchell answered with a big wave. Free of the hair net, his hair increased significantly in volume. He looked like a dandelion gone to seed.

‘Have I been out of it that long?’ he thought. “Mitchell?”

After one uncomfortable night at home with his mother, he had been spending nearly every waking second either at the Food Town or with Shari, talking or making out. Once they visited Rooster in his tent, but it had been really crowded, and for some reason Billy was getting tired of smoking dope. He and Shari had made what they laughingly called “The Great Escape” and went to Breyer’s for ice cream and then down to the park to throw rocks in the river. Later, they sneaked into some woods and made out with their shirts off. He had been almost overwhelmed at the sight of her breasts and the slightly salty taste of her skin as he had clumsily kissed them, not knowing whether he should avoid or concentrate on her nipples. In the end, they just lay hugging until their arms were numb. That night in bed he had jerked off, dreaming of being inside her, wondering how he would ever have the nerve.

“Next goal wins!” shouted Kyle. It was nearly dark.

Billy was guarding Dwight but he was always a step or two behind. Dwight caught a pass from Kerry and whipped the frisbee down the sideline. Mitchell, showing surprising speed, raced it down and slapped it, but the disc wobbled a few more feet through the air and into Kyle’s outstretched hands for the game winner. Rooster jumped on Kyle’s back and let out a scream, and started singing “We Are the Champions.”

As the kids coalesced at the end of the field, Kyle and Rooster approached Billy. “Hey, man,” said Rooster. “Up for an adventure?”

“What?” asked Billy.

“I’ve got the keys to my Dad’s Chevy,” said Kyle.

“How’d you wrangle that?” said Billy, obviously impressed.

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies. How about a run down to the shore tonight?”

“Tonight?” asked Billy.

“The night is young. We can be there in under an hour. Asbury Park, dude.” said Rooster. “Boardwalk, babes, greasy food, and roller coasters. Tell me that’s not heaven. Are you in?”

If his parents knew they’d kill him.

“Sure, I’m in,” said Billy. “Should we let the others know?”

“I can only fit five comfortably,” said Kyle. “Kerry, I guess, makes four.”

“Nah, she’s busy,” said Rooster. “This night is men only.”

“How about the twins?” asked Kyle.

“Sounds good to me,” said Rooster. “Billy?”

“Fine with me.”

They rounded up Dwight and Darren and casually separated themselves from the others. Once they were clear, they made a beeline to the other side of the high school to where Kyle’s car was parked. Rooster jumped up on the hood.

“Does this thing have a tape deck?” he asked.

“Take it easy, man. Yeah, of course. Four speakers,” said Kyle.

Rooster bellowed. “Four? Quadrophenia, man! Wild!”

Kyle opened the front door and pulled out a shoebox from under the seat. “I’ve got Elvis Costello, The Dead, Bob Marly, Springsteen…”

“Quite an eclectic collection, my man, but there is no question. We’re heading down the Jersey shore. It’s got to be The Boss!” said Rooster.

Dwight and Darren grunted their agreement.

“The Boss it is!” said Kyle.

As they were getting in the car, Billy spotted Freddie “The Slush Man” Schlossberg heading towards them. Freddie broke into an awkward run, waving his arms over his head.

“Hey, guys! What’s up? Where are you going?” he yelled, barely containing his exuberance.

They looked at each other. Rooster smiled and tilted his head, his eyebrows raised in a question. Freddie looked so excited. It would be hard to turn him away, but should they really bring him along?

Kyle asked, “You think so? You’ll be crammed in the back.”

“Fine with me,” said Billy.

“What?” asked Darren.

“Say, Slush Man,” said Kyle, walking up to Freddie. “We’re heading down to the shore. Do you want to come?”

“You mean you’re driving all the way to the boardwalk?” Freddie’s eyes widened.

“Do you want to come?” asked Kyle.

“I don’t know,” said Freddie, hesitantly. “That’s kind of far. I better ask my Mom.”

“Oh, come on, Freddie,” said Rooster. “You don’t have to ask your Mom. You’re almost seventeen. Just come with us. It’ll be cool.”

“Cool, huh?”

“The ultimate in cool,” said Rooster.

Billy could see Freddie working hard to come to a decision. His face screwed up with the effort. Then with a look of determination he said, “OK, I’ll come.”

“Way to go, Slush Man!” roared Rooster, pumping his fists.

“Yeah, let’s go!” said Freddie, nodding his head enthusiastically. He smiled broadly and raised one fist in the air. “I’m going!”

“Go, Slush Man!” cried Rooster.

Darren let out a whoop and Kyle slapped Freddie on the back. Freddie basked in their approval. “I’m going!” he repeated.

“Then let’s go,” said Kyle.

The boys piled into the car and headed for the Garden State Parkway. Kyle and Rooster were in the front seat and the other four boys were squeezed into the back, with Freddie on Dwight’s and Darren’s laps. Billy nabbed a window seat.

“You got Rosalita?” he asked.

“No, no, no,” said Rooster. “Born to Run!”

“Born to Run!” shouted Freddie, bouncing up and down.

“Hey, settle down a little, Freddie,” said Dwight. “we’re packed like sardines in here.”

They pulled on to the Parkway and Kyle pushed down heavily on the accelerator.

“Open all the windows,” yelled Rooster.

He put the cassette in the tape player and turned up the volume. The music blasted and the wind whipped their faces.

“We are on the road!” shouted Rooster. “Going mobile!” He drummed the roof of the car. “Wahoo!”

Darren and Dwight let out another whoop. They’d been in the car barely ten minutes, but already Billy’s cheeks ached from smiling. They zoomed down the Parkway, screaming along with the music. Rooster banged on the dashboard to the beat. Freddie bounced on Dwight’s and Darren’s laps, and the car practically pulsated as Kyle wove through traffic, changing lanes with aplomb.

Springsteen’s voice was raspy, hard-edged, and full of life.

Every day we sweat it out on the streets
Of a runaway American Dream.

The backstreet chorus sang, “Ba-Boom.”

At night we ride to mansions of glory in suicide machines.
“Ba-Boom”

Sprung from cages out on highway nine
Chrome wheeled, fuel-injected, and steppin’ our over the line.

“OH! OH!”

Baby this town rips the bones from your back
It’s a death trap
It’s a suicide rap
We got to get out while we’re young
Because tramps like us
Baby we were…

“BORN TO RUN!”


Rooster put his head out the window and yelled, “Did you hear that world? You are not real, so just get the hell over it!”

“Oooh yeah,” croaked Billy, “Born to ru-uh-un.”

His cares flew out into the night. The speed. The music. His buddies. The shore. For this moment, anyway, the world was good. He didn’t have to worry if he was kissing anybody correctly, or doing what he was supposed to, or pissing anybody off. There was no Justine. There were no such things as heart attacks. There was music and driving and the night. And there was the Jersey shore hanging out in front of him like a Christmas tree ornament waiting to be plucked.

Too soon, they arrived at Asbury Park. As if magically blessed, they found a prime parking spot almost immediately. The smell of brine was sharp in their nostrils.

“Gentleman, we have arrived,” said Kyle.

They burst out of the car and on to the boardwalk.

“Where to first?” asked Rooster.

“The rides,” said Dwight.

“Yeah!” said Darren.

“The pier of paradise, it is,” cried Rooster, “But first I need a funnel cake.”

The boardwalk was pulsing with life. Families, teenagers in packs and on dates, fat men in Bermuda shorts and skinny old women in flower print bathing suits. And girls. Girls in bikini tops and shorts, their hair bleached by the sun and their skin various shades of bronze.

“One funnel cake,” repeated the vendor. “Anybody else?”

Billy checked his pockets. He only had about ten dollars, and he didn’t want to blow it all right away.

“No, I’m OK,” he said.

Darren and Dwight shook their heads.

“Oh, man, you don’t know what you’re missing,” said Rooster, sprinkling powdered sugar on top of the hot and greasy fried dough. “Nectar and ambrosia, baby, nectar and ambrosia.”

The boardwalk was lined with restaurants, beach shops, and arcades. And of course a wide collection of games designed to steal your money. Knock down the milk bottles. Throw darts at balloons. Test your strength. See the wheel of fortune spin, as the person behind the counter sweeps piles of quarters into his money box.

Music blared from each stand. Lights flashed, and the barkers teased, urged, and coaxed. Some muscle-bound jock strutted by with a girl on one arm and a giant Winnie-the-Pooh in the other, carrying it with the puffed up pride of a prehistoric hunter.

“Are we going to the rides now?” asked Darren.

“OK, let’s go,” said Rooster, stuffing the last of his funnel cake into his mouth and noisily licking his fingers.

“No, wait!” cried Kyle, stopping suddenly.

“What?” asked Billy.

“Look at the prizes on the water gun race.”

The water gun race was a game where a row of contestants had to shoot water pistols attached to hoses at their own individual target. Each target– the mouth of a plastic clown’s head – was connected to a balloon. The more water that hit a switch in the mouth, the more the balloon inflated. The winner was the first to pop his balloon.

“What prize?” asked Billy.

“A Springsteen album. Greetings from Asbury Park.”

“For what it would cost you to win it, you could buy it,” said Billy.

“No,” said Kyle. He grabbed Billy by the shoulders. “Don’t you get it? To actually win a Springsteen album on the New Jersey boardwalk? That would be so cool.”

“The pinnacle of Jerseydom,” agreed Rooster. “A must.”

Billy had to admit the beauty of it.

“We’re going to the rides,” said Darren.

“Go ahead, then,” said Kyle. “We’ll meet you at Lucky Leo’s.”

“When?” asked Dwight.

“The stroke of midnight,” said Rooster.

The twins headed off.

“Are you with me?” asked Kyle.

“We’re with you!” shouted Freddie.

They waited for the next game to end and then all took their positions.

“I don’t have any money,” said Freddie. “It costs a quarter.”

“Here’s a buck,” said Billy.

“Gee, thanks,” said Freddie. “You guys are the best friends ever. I’ll pay you back. I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it, Slush Man,” said Billy.

“Is everybody ready?” yelled the barker, a middle-aged man with a beer gut and two days of stubble. He raised his arm and then lowered it quickly while pressing a buzzer. “Shoot your clown!”

Billy missed the clown’s mouth at first, but then quickly started inflating his balloon. He knew it was hopeless, though. In this game, every half of a second counted.

“We have a winner! The fine looking gentleman in the Zeppelin T-shirt!”

“Damn!” said Rooster.

They each put another quarter down and tried again. They lost, but Kyle came close. The third time was about the same, as was the fourth.

“Let’s give up,” said Billy.

“No, way,” said Kyle. “I’ve got to do this. Go on ahead if you want.”

“I’m with you, man,” said Rooster. “We will not be denied.”

Billy didn’t want to go off by himself and he knew it was too late to catch up with Darren and Dwight. He pulled out another dollar.

“OK,” he said. “I’m in.”

“Ready?” cried the barker. He paused for effect. The contestants gripped their water pistols and honed in on their targets. “Shoot your clown!” he cried. Then his arm came down, the buzzer went off, and the jets of water sprayed.

“I won!” screamed Kyle.

“The boy with the mop of golden hair,” said the man behind the counter. “Name your prize.”

“The Springsteen CD!”

Rooster gave Kyle a high-five.

“Sorry, son, that’s a five-win prize. For one win you get a giant crayon bank or a beach ball.”

“What?” asked Kyle.

“What a rip-off,” moaned Rooster.

“Those are the prizes, son, or I can give you a win token and you can keep playing.”

“I’m going to keep playing,” said Kyle, slapping down another quarter.

“Onward!” cried Rooster, doing the same.

Billy slipped another bill out of his wallet to join them. They might pull this off, after all.

“Shoot your clown!” yelled the barker.

Kyle was on a roll. He won the next two games and then Billy won the game after that. That gave them four win tokens. The boys were electrified. Then, to their dismay, a veteran player stepped up to the counter and nabbed three successive wins. Kyle nervously eyed the album. Two more wins, and this guy could steal it from under their nose.

“Look at that guy,” mumbled Kyle. “He thinks he has a mustache.”

“I thought it was some dirt,” said Rooster.

The barker came over to their end of the row, and leaned into them. He smelled of pizza and garlic.

“You boys in or not?” he asked while stubbing his thick fingers at the empty space on the counter in front of them.

“We’re in,” said Kyle and slapped down another quarter. The other boys followed suit.

“OK then,” said the barker. He let out a belch. “Sorry about the delay folks. OK, are you ready? Well, then…shoot your clown!”

Kyle’s water jet went directly into the clown’s mouth, as did that of the guy with the pre-pubescent mustache. Their balloons filled in tandem, stretching to their limits. Their pops were almost simultaneous.

“We have a winner!” screamed the barker.

They held their breaths in anticipation.

“The mop head!”

“Ay-ay-aya-ya-ya-yay!” screamed Rooster.

“Springsteen, man, give me Springsteen,” said Kyle. You’d think he just won a gold medal at the Olympics.

Billy was relieved, but he eyed the album enviously. “I’ve got to admit. This is going to be a great story.”

“Something to tell his grandchildren!” said Rooster.

Kyle gazed at his album lovingly.

“Wait until the twins see this!” he said. “Let’s head over to Lucky Leo’s.”

Kyle looked at his friends and smiled. Then Billy saw his face go blank.

“Where’s Freddie?” asked Kyle.

Billy’s heart plunged to his feet. He spun around.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

“He’s got to be around here somewhere,” said Rooster.

“Shit, shit, shit,” said Billy.

“Don’t panic,” said Kyle.

“Freddie! Freddie! Hey, Slush Man!” cried Rooster.

Billy looked around. There were people everywhere, but no Freddie. The three of them kept screaming his name. Rooster darted about like a decapitated chicken. A woman who appeared to be in her forties -- deeply tanned and wearing too much sky blue eye-shadow -- hurried over to them. “Did you lose a little child?” she asked, nervously in a high-pitched Brooklyn accent.

“No, he’s about our age,” said Kyle.

Billy saw her relax.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be all right,” she said, and started walking away.

“You don’t understand,” cried Rooster. “He’s retarded.”

But she didn’t hear him over the hubub.

The three of them walked over to the railing and started pacing back and forth. The weight of responsibility made them nauseous.

“Tell me he wouldn’t go down to the water,” said Rooster. “Tell me he wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t think he would,” said Billy. “He probably got distracted by something, and wandered off. We can find him. I’m sure he’s OK.”

Rooster was on the verge of tears. He was hitting his palm with his fist.

“If someone fucked with him, man, I’ll rip his head off.”

“Calm down,” said Kyle. “He’s probably been gone ten minutes.”

“How do you know?” yelled Rooster.

“Hey, don’t yell at me!” said Kyle. “You’re the one who asked him to come.”

“Don’t blame me man!”

Billy stepped between them. “Listen to me guys.” They stopped squaring off and looked to Billy.

“He’s probably all right, but yelling at each other isn’t going to help. What time is it, Kyle?”

“Christ! It’s almost midnight!”

“OK, look. Let’s go to Lucky Leo’s and get the twins. It’s not that far. Then we’ll spread out and look for Freddie. No wait,” said Billy, changing his mind. “You two guys head the opposite way until you get to the end of the boardwalk. I’ll meet up with Dwight and Darren and start heading the other way. When we each get to the end, we can turn around and meet up at Lucky Leo’s, got it?”

“That sounds good,” said Kyle.

“OK, I’ll see you at Leo’s”

Kyle put his hands on Rooster’s shoulders. “You, OK, man?”

“Yeah, I’m OK.”

“I’ll search in all the stores and stuff, you scan the boardwalk and the beach.”

The two boys took off down the boardwalk. Billy started heading for Lucky Leo’s. He could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. Was this what a heart attack was like?

Freddie was so innocent and clueless. How could they forget about him? What if they couldn’t find him? What the hell were they going to tell his mother? What time were they going to get home even if they did find him? He was sure to be screwed.

When he told Darren and Dwight they barely said a word but he could tell they were shaken, too. They scoured every inch of the boardwalk from Lucky Leo’s on down, checking stores, the public rest rooms, every place they could think of. As they ran out of boardwalk they became more and more concerned.

“That’s it,” said Dwight. “That’s the end.”

“Should we go to the police?” asked Darren.

“No, no, “ said Billy. “Not yet. Maybe Kyle and Rooster found him. Let’s go back to Lucky Leo’s.”

They started walking back up the boardwalk, still keeping alert for any sign of Freddie. Billy looked out at the waves crashing into the shore. ‘He wouldn’t go swimming,’ thought Billy. ‘He didn’t have a bathing suit. Freddie wouldn’t go swimming without a bathing suit, would he?’

As they approached the arcade, Billy could see Kyle and Rooster coming from the other direction. One look at their faces and he knew they had come up empty handed. They read the same thing in his face so when they actually met up there was no need to explain.

“What the fuck are we going to do?” said Rooster.

The crowd on the boardwalk had thinned out significantly. Most of the shops were closed.

“What time is it?” said Billy.

“It’s 1:30,” said Kyle. “Bar time is 2:00. Then this place will be deserted.”

“Maybe we should go to the police,” said Darren.

“Oh, Christ, I can’t believe this,” said Rooster. He walked over to the railing and banged his fists. “Where the hell would he go?”

“I say we go to the police,” said Darren.

“Oh, right, then our parents will know everything,” said Kyle. “He’s probably just walking around.”

“That’s right!” shouted Billy. “He’s probably walking around. He loves walking around at night. I’m always running into him on my way home. He just goes up and down the streets.”

An expression of hope blossomed on Kyle’s face.

“OK, this is what we do,” he said. “We go back to the car. We drive up and down the streets looking for him. If we can’t find him in another hour, then we go to the police. Sound good?”

“That’s OK with me,” said Billy.

“Yeah, yeah” said Rooster, “He’s probably just walking around.”

The four boys raced back to the car.

“OK, everybody look out a window,’ said Kyle.

“Why don’t you go up and down the streets parallel to the boardwalk first?” asked Billy.

“Shit,” said Rooster.

“What’s the problem now?” asked Kyle.

“Cop alert. There are some cops in that car over there looking at us.”

The boys turned to see them.

“Don’t look at them!” shouted Rooster. “What are you? Idiots?”

“We’re not drunk and we don’t have any dope, so what’s the big deal? Wait! Do you have anything on you?” asked Kyle.

“No, I’m clean for once in my life.”

Billy sighed audibly. Thank God it wasn’t going to get even worse.

“We’re leaving. What’s the big deal with cops?” asked Dwight.

“I think we should go to the cops,” said Darren.

“Not yet!” said Kyle. “And don’t worry about the stupid cops.”

“You don’t think it will look suspicious, us driving up and down the streets?” asked Billy.

Kyle sat with his hands on the steering wheel. Billy could see the muscles tensing in his back. His knuckles were white from the strength of his grip.

“OK,” said Kyle, “Let me think.”

“For cryin’ out loud,” said Rooster. He kept twisting and turning in his seat, occasionally hitting the dash.

“Will you stop it!” yelled Kyle. His face was red. Billy thought he was about to slap Rooster in the head. Things were definitely breaking down.

“Cool it, man,” said Billy. “If they stop us, we’ll explain. We didn’t do anything wrong. What are you so worried about?”

“Right, right. We’re clean,” said Rooster.

Darren mumbled something but Billy couldn’t hear him. He was probably just repeating his desire to go directly to the police.

Kyle slowly pulled out of the parking space. Billy kept his eye on the police. There were two officers. One of them resembled an older version of a high school football player with the beginnings of a middle-aged paunch. His partner had a dark moustache and his foot up on the bumper of his patrol car. He was swinging something on a chain, and was chomping on some gum..

As they rounded the corner, Billy saw the smaller officer watching them leave, but thankfully they didn’t get in their car to come after them. He relaxed a little and started scanning the street for Freddie.

They drove until they reached the end of the boardwalk and then turned the car around and went to the other end, but found nothing. In doing so, however, they passed the parked cruiser. This time, Billy saw the shorter office point in their direction. The burly one looked up and then motioned for his partner to get into the patrol car. As Kyle turned the corner, Billy saw the officers get in their vehicle.

“Cop alert,” Billy whispered.

“Remember,” said Kyle, “We’re just looking for a friend.”

He made two left turns and started heading up the next street that was parallel to the beach. Billy saw the cops’ headlights about a block behind them.

“There!” screamed Darren.

“What?”

“On that bench. Sleeping. Is that Freddie?”

Kyle swerved over to the curb and leapt out of the car. The other boys followed. It was Freddie.

Billy almost collapsed to his knees. Dwight sat down on the fender, as Kyle and Rooster rushed over to Freddie and shook him awake.

“Freddie!” said Kyle. “Are you all right?”

Freddie slowly woke up. When he saw the boys he smiled. “Time to go?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Rooster. “Where the hell did you go?”

Freddie started crying. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” said Billy. “Leave him alone, Rooster. What good is yelling going to do?”

Billy went over to Freddie and sat down next to him. “What happened, Freddie?” he asked. Freddie spoke through his sobs as he twisted and untwisted the bottom of his shirt. “I ran out of quarters so I couldn’t play the game anymore.”

“Then what?” asked Billy.

“I thought I’d go for a walk and wait by the car, but…but…” He started weeping.

“It’s OK, man, what?” asked Billy.

“I couldn’t find it. I’m stupid, stupid, stupid!” He started hitting himself in the head. The other boys were taken aback. They had never seen anything resembling anger from Freddie before.

“Let’s go,” said Rooster.

Billy took hold of Freddie’s hands and put them in his lap. He stroked his hair. The other boys looked on in silence. Billy put his arm around Freddie. “You are not stupid. You are the ultimate in cool. You just got lost. People get lost.”

Freddie wiped his nose with his shirt and stood up. He dusted off his pants and took a few big gulps of air. “I just got lost. People get lost.”

“Yeah, that’s right. People get lost. No big deal,” said Billy, reassuringly.

“Yeah, no big deal,” said Rooster. “Sorry about the yelling.”

He looked over his shoulder for the cops. They were sitting in their patrol car down the street. The taller one was drinking coffee.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Kyle.

They got back in the car and headed towards home, coming to a complete stop at every stop sign and using their blinker at every turn. The boys said nothing but they were all were painfully aware of the cop car following them to the town line, and they all sighed audibly when it abandoned them as their car headed onto the entrance ramp to the Parkway.


Chapter 19


They barely spoke on the ride home. The Parkway was deserted so they made good time, but Kyle was too freaked by the cops following them in Seaside Heights Park to consider speeding. He stuck to five miles over the speed limit. That was safe, he said.

Freddie fell asleep in the back, but the other boys sat facing forward, fully alert, each alone in his own thoughts, imagining what lay ahead. The Grateful Dead played on the car stereo. It was a bootlegged concert tape. They listened as Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir traded long, circuitous riffs on their guitars. Then, the band segued seamlessly into a rendition of St. Stephen.


St. Stephen will remain
All he lost he shall regain
Seashore washed by the suds and the foam
Been so long he’s got to calling it home.


Kyle guided the car off the Parkway and on to Central Street. The town was empty. All the traffic lights flashed yellow. “I’m taking Freddie home first,” he said.

The rest of the boys didn’t respond. Rooster tried to rock to the music, and Darren shifted Freddie’s weight back on to his brother. As they rounded the corner they saw the worst possible sight – a police car parked in front of the Schlossberg’s house.

“These cops are everywhere,” complained Rooster.

Mrs. Schlossberg was in the front yard. The light from the open front door spread out across the lawn, backlighting her. One of Freddie’s younger brothers was hanging on her housedress as she spoke to a police officer. With one hand in her hair and one hugging her waist, she was shaking her head and talking excitedly. Then, she caught sight of Kyle’s car, and followed it with her eyes as it pulled up behind the patrol car. When Billy saw the terror in her face his nausea returned.

“Wake up, Freddie,” he said, shaking Freddie’s knee.

“Are we home already?” said a yawning Freddie.

“Yeah, you fell asleep.”

As Freddie came to, Billy saw the fear emerge on his face. His voice got all choked up. “I’m in trouble,” he said. Billy thought Freddie was about to start crying again, which is not what they needed.

“It’s our fault, Freddie,” he said. “Blame us.”

“But don’t tell your mom you were lost,” said Rooster. “Tell her we just lost track of time.”

Kyle turned off the engine and the headlights. The cop and Mrs. Schlossberg started towards their car. Mrs. Schlossberg was running, her little one trailing after her. The car door opened and Freddie stepped out. He was crying.

“Freddie! Oh my God! Thank God!”

Mrs. Schlossberg grabbed him and squeezed him with everything she had. Freddie broke out into full-fledged weeping.

“I’m…sorry I’m…so late,” he gasped. “I got lost.”

“Oh shit,” said Rooster under his breath.

Mrs. Schlossberg held on to Freddie, but glared at the other boys. Dwight and Darren were still in the car, but the others stood sheepishly next to it.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why didn’t you call?”

“We lost track of time,” said Kyle.

“Where were you?” asked the cop. He was Lt. Stephenson. He had given a lecture on drugs at the high school the year before. The kids had laughed at his crew cut. He reminded them of an army drill sergeant.

“Where?” demanded the lieutenant.

The boys looked at each other.

“We were down at the shore,” said Kyle.

“What?” shrieked Mrs. Schlossberg. “You took him to the shore? Freddie, who told you that you could go to the shore?” Her fear was gone, replaced with anger. Freddie whimpered, “I’m sorry.”

“Get in the house,” she said, releasing him. “As for you boys, I’ll be calling your parents.”

Freddie walked dejectedly into his house, holding his little brother’s hand. Billy took a deep breath, and Rooster shook his head, muttering some profanity. Kyle stared ahead. The twins remained seated in the car.

“Everybody OK?” asked Lt. Stephenson.

“Yes, sir,” said Kyle. “We were just hanging on the boardwalk.”

The lieutenant went up into the boys’ faces.

“I don’t smell any alcohol,” he said.

“No, sir,” said Kyle. “We were just hanging out on the boardwalk.”

Lt. Stephenson appraised them for a few seconds, and then said, “Go on home. Now!”

“Yes, sir,” they all mumbled, and got back in the car, relieved to be leaving. Mrs. Schlossberg went inside with a wave to Lt. Stephenson who watched the boys as they drove off.

“Who’s next?” asked Billy.

“I’ll take you home first. You’re the closest,” said Kyle.

“We are screwed,” said Rooster. “So screwed.”

“What are you talking about?” snapped Darren. “You live in a fucking tent!”

“The hell with you,” retorted Rooster.

“You’re being tough now?” asked Darren.

Billy saw Rooster blanch. He’d be no match for Darren in a fight. “Screw you,” said Rooster, facing forward.

“Shut up everybody,” said Kyle. “We all lost Freddie.”

“Hey, he was with you,” said Darren.

“OK, we lost Freddie, but fighting won’t fix anything. And Freddie’s safe, so the whole thing will blow over.”

Darren went back to his usual silence. Dwight stared out the window. The drive home, barely half of a mile, took forever. The way the night was going, there was no chance his parents would be asleep, and they weren’t. Billy saw the living room lights on and braced himself for the worst. It was almost 4:00 in the morning. He got out of the car and poked his head back in the window. “Catch you later,” he said.

The other boys nodded perfunctorily. Kyle stepped down gently on the accelerator and headed for the twins’ house. The air was still. The only sound Billy could hear was the fading engine of Kyle’s car. He walked to the side door of his house, praying for a miracle. When he stepped into the kitchen he saw his father standing in the middle of the room in his bathrobe, talking on the phone. His Dad glared in his direction and pointed toward the living room. Billy obligingly went in.

“Yes, Jean, yes,” Billy heard his father say. “I understand. I’m terribly sorry. He just got home. Yes, you better believe I’m going to talk to him about it.”

Billy sat down on the couch across from his mother. She sat upright in the recliner, her arms at her sides, tapping her feet. She didn’t acknowledge him.

“Good-bye Jean," said his father. "I’m glad to hear that Freddie is all right.”

Justine’s door opened and she stuck her head out of her room.

“Is Billy home?” she asked, reveling in the moment.

“Go back to bed,” said her mother.

“Oh, Mom,” she whined.

“Get back to bed!” her mother snapped.

Justine rolled her eyes and closed the door.

Billy’s heard his father hang up the phone and come into the living room, but he didn’t look up. It was like there were a pair of twenty pound weights suspended from his eyebrows.

“That was Mrs. Schlossberg,” said his Dad.

Billy winced and clasped his hands. He stared at the carpeting.

“I said,” his father repeated, “That was Mrs. Schlossberg.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that all you can say?” asked his father. “Yeah?”

His dad walked over to the window and looked outside. He came back and sat on the other end of the couch, and picked up one of the ceramic farm children. He banged it down on the table. Billy jumped.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” his father said firmly. His face was turning red.

“Dad…” Billy started.

“Shut up!” yelled Frank.

“I don’t understand, Billy.” His mother’s voice was soft but it was emotionless. Like ice. “I don’t understand what’s happened to you.”

“Your mother was worried sick about you.” His father writhed in anger.

“Calm down, Frank. It’s not good for you to get angry.”

“Tell me how I can help it!”

Frank picked up the ceramic farm boy again. If it were a lump of clay it would’ve been twisted and pulled into tiny pieces. Billy was actually worried it would shatter in his father’s hands and cut him.

“You talk to him, Carol. If I do it, I might have another heart attack.”

Billy’s mom looked at him for the first time since he came home. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair uncombed. Billy could see small varicose veins creeping out from under the hem of her nightgown. She was wearing tattered terry-cloth slippers.

“Look me in the eyes,” she said.

He tried, but he could only hold his head up for an instant before the pull of gravity drove his eyes to the floor.

“All these years, Billy, I relied on you. Through all the problems with Justine, through all the years of going to my crappy job…your father’s health. With all the things to worry about, I thought at least I’ve got Billy. He’s a good boy. He’s a smart boy. I don’t have to worry about him. Oh no. Not Billy. Whatever goes wrong at least I know I’ve done right in something. Raising my son.”

Billy shifted in his seat. The blood welled up in his face. It was like their was a thin layer of acid over his skin.

“And now this. You drive off God knows where doing God knows what…Drugs? Is it drugs? I don’t know what to believe.”

“Mom…”

His father shoved the knick-knack in his face. “Shut up and let your mother talk.”

“And taking poor little Freddie Schlossberg along?’ his mom continued. “For what? What were you doing? Making fun of him? Having a little fun at his expense? Pumping him up on drugs?”

“Mom, no!”

“And you, with Justine for a sister. I’d think you’d have more compassion.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

His mom looked away. “I can’t talk to you now. I’m too tired and upset. But believe me, this isn’t over.”

“Not by a long shot!” added his father.

“Now go upstairs.”

Billy stood and walked towards the doorway. “We were not making fun of Freddie,” he said.

“I’m going to sleep,” said his mother.

“Let me tell you something, Billy,” said his dad. “For the rest of the summer, you are up shit’s creek.”