My hair had grown out a bit straighter ever since the hair-cutting incident, thank you Jesus. Being twelve is awkward enough without a rat’s nest on the top of your head. Jax was starting to look a little goofier, his skin a little oilier, but I never said anything to him about it. I barely understood the changes our bodies were going through.
We hung out a lot, and pretty soon the kids at school got used to seeing us together.
Everyone said we were boyfriend and girlfriend, but we didn’t care. We liked each other, so if they wanted to say those things about us, then so be it.
When we played together, we’d pretend like we were explorers on a big ship in the middle of the ocean. I’d never even seen the ocean in real life, but I saw it in my dreams. I would say to Jax, “Someday I’ll have a house on the ocean, and dolphins will swim right up to my back porch and I’ll feed them grapes.”
“Dolphins don’t eat grapes, dummy. They eat fish, and they’re better at catching it than you are, so you don’t need to worry about feeding them.”
“Where’d you learn that?”
“Discovery Channel.”
I wished we had cable, but we didn’t. My dad would always say, “That costs money. Last time I checked, you weren’t making any.”
The urge to say, “Neither are you,” was so strong in me, I literally had to cup my hand over my mouth to stop it from slipping out.
This was all during Jax’s Melville phase. He’d stand on the top of our wooden fence in the pouring rain and point and yell, “There she blows, a hump like a snow hill, it’s Moby Dick!” I would laugh and roll my eyes, but I’d still call him Captain Ahab when he was feeling down, and that would lift his spirits.
We were each other’s only friends. That year Jax’s mother, Leila, was working two jobs and his brother was always busy doing whatever to pass the time. Jax had to quit baseball since no one could pick him up after practice, which pretty much ruined his chances of ever making male friends. He was alienated, isolated, just like me. We were outcasts in every sense of the word, but as time went on, I cared less and less what everyone else thought. All that mattered was us.
We both got into books. Even at twelve, we were determined to read all of the classics. They were probably way over our heads, but we challenged ourselves anyway. Our only escape was that back toolshed among the weeds and out of earshot of my father’s drunken rages. There, we could make our own fictional world. We could be English royalty in the sixteenth century, or wizards or dragon slayers. We weren’t poor, hungry, abandoned kids at the end of a desolate road. We were superheroes and magicians and presidents of our own country.
When spring finally came, we were ready to be outside and explore again. There was a creek about half a mile behind our houses, past the tree line. Because of all the rain that year, it had become more of a river, with the strongest currents right behind where we lived. Every adult warned us to be careful; even my deadbeat dad would say, “You better use that big brain of yours and stay out of the creek. You want to go swimming, you can go to the pool in town.” But the community pool was a seven-mile bike ride away, and it cost three dollars to get in. There was no way I was going unless Leila gave us a ride, and even then, I would have to borrow the money to get in. Frankly, going to the town pool was a pipe dream. It became a myth to us, a fantasy, like Disneyland or Europe. Jax and I would try to imagine what it was like to go there.
“I bet they sell Popsicles and popcorn, and they probably have clowns too,” I said as we lay spread out in the weeds on an old sleeping bag I had found in my garage, enjoying a makeshift picnic. Jax had brought a jar of applesauce, and I had brought Fun Dip that my dad had bought for me at the 7-Eleven. We mixed the Fun Dip into the jar and took turns eating spoonfuls.
“Community pools don’t have clowns, genius.”
“How do you know?” I said.
“Because I just do.”
“I bet there’s a high dive, like fifty feet in the air.”
“Do you know how high fifty feet is? You would die hitting the water. The impact would kill you.”
“You’re such a know-it-all, Jackson. Why can’t you let a girl dream? We’re never going to that pool because no one will ever take us. Plus, it costs money, and last time I checked you weren’t making any.”
He lay back on the blanket, propped his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. “I’m not a know-it-all—I just have cable. And as soon as I turn sixteen, I’m getting a job. I’ll pay for us to go to the pool. You’ll see. It’s just a big hole with water in it.”
I took the time to inspect every inch of him as he lay there, his eyes still closed. I was so curious about his body. My own body was changing, and I was terrified of it. Jax was getting taller, and I was certain he was going to be as tall as his father, but he looked more like his mother in his coloring and features. Jax’s mom was French, and they both had this creamy skin that looked sun-kissed year-round. His brown hair and brown eyes had strands of gold running throughout them. He was letting his hair grow longer because he’d been watching some show on TV that took place in California. He said everyone in California had long hair.
I was trying to grow out my own unruly brown locks. I didn’t know why since I always wore them in a braid. Maybe a part of me thought I would go to California with Jax one day, and I wanted to look the part. We both yearned for more than weeds and corn. All the books we read gave us silly ideas, filled our heads with things that might never be.