When the barbecuing was done, the boys came out to join us. What is there to say about Matt and Tony? First of all, they aren’t identical twins, but you would hardly know that from the way they acted. They were inseparable, joined at the hip, which I once overhead my mom telling dad “was a little strange at their age.”
True, they were nineteen and well past the “cutesy twin stage,” but they had always been a bit younger than their years. Not only in appearance, as both of them were roughly the same height and had the same roly-poly build with round eyes and a flat nose, but mentally as well. That said, I was hard pressed to find any nineteen-year-old boys who didn’t behave like they were twelve.
They approached me with beers in their hands and sloppy smiles on their faces. Underage drinking was never an issue in their household, though at times it probably should have been. The boys had always been a problem, but it was only over the past couple of years that they started getting into real trouble. Tony had a DUI last year and his driver’s license was consequently taken away. Matt was arrested for breaking into a community pool earlier this year (Tony was there too, but he ran off before the cops got him) and both had been busted for marijuana possession numerous times. I wasn’t sure how Al was coping with all of this, but judging from the recent acceleration of grey hair on his head, it was probably taking its toll.
“Yo, cuz,” Matt said, and gave me a quick hug. Tony just gave me a hard slap on the back. Though they were an odd duo, I couldn’t help but feel a lot of affection toward my cousins.
“How’s it going, guys? Keeping out of trouble?” I winked at them.
“Trying to,” Matt said. He shot a tepid look at his dad, then shrugged nonchalantly at me. “A couple of our friends are coming out tonight to have a bonfire on the beach.”
“I’ve got a gas can all ready to go,” Tony piped up.
Oh, great. Gasoline, booze, and my cousins—what could possibly go wrong? But the idea of having a bonfire with a bunch of young guys did sound more exciting to me than the night that usually unfolded at my uncle’s place: Trying to play Scrabble with the family without someone (usually me or my dad) flipping the board over in anger.
The rest of the day went along without incident. After everything was set up for the evening, I went on my usual exploration of the grounds with my SLR camera.
After I had roamed the fields, my leggings wet with last night’s dew that clung to the high, brown grass, I skirted alongside the beautifully broken down fence that divided their property and the neighboring cheese farm. I removed my sweater and tied it around my waist; the sunshine was blissfully warm.
The air was filled with the gentle sounds of the waves, with birds that flittered above my head and the occasional “moo” of faraway cattle. Behind me were the rolling hills of pine that soared up the nearby cliffs and undulated inland. In front of me was a cattle guard, which my Docs navigated with ease, and beyond that, the spotty dunes and its hardy foliage.
I climbed to the top of a small dune and looked over to my left. There I glimpsed the lighthouse, with its rounded head of cracked paint sticking out over a rusted red roof. The lighthouse wasn’t your typical straight up and down phallic-looking thing. Instead it was built into a two-story building, rising out of it like a bell tower (I fancied this one looked rather like the Mission in Hitchcock’s Vertigo). The building was boarded up and the lighthouse lacked a functioning light, but it still felt alive to me, like it was merely sleeping.
I was staring at the lighthouse when the breeze picked up. It came in off the coast, sweeping wet and salty air over my arms. I shivered and slipped my sweater back on. As I was doing so, I peeked out of one of the holes in the front. I saw a movement by the lighthouse door, like someone had walked in front of it.
I froze. Then quickly pulled down my sweater and looked again.
There was no one there.
Shivers ran down my spine and I was about to start for the lighthouse when I heard my mother calling for me, her voice faint in the deepening wind. I debated a moment, then decided perhaps the great indoors with laughter, family and a glass of wine might be the better option. I watched the lighthouse for a few more minutes until the lack of movement squashed my curiosity and headed back to the house.
***
It was about ten p.m. when our parents finally retired to their rooms. Ada and I were watching a ‘50s B-movie (None of Them Knew They Were Robots) but the minute they said good night, we were up with our box of wine and heading for the beach.
Matt and Tony were already there, as were several of their friends. Because a fence didn’t protect the beach area, it was easy for them to drive their dirty 4x4s off the highway and onto the sand.
The wind had picked up as the night went on, and I was grateful for the warm jacket and scarf I had packed. The night sky was still clear with millions of stars sprinkled across the smooth slate above, though off in the distance the hazy, grey mass of mist could be seen. It wasn’t getting any closer; it was just hovering. Waiting offshore.
The bonfire was going full-blast thanks to generous helpings of Tony’s gas can, which I eventually confiscated and kept far away from us on the other side of a dune.
It was a cozy scene. I was huddled on a long piece of driftwood beside the twins and some of their friends. On the log opposite the fire were a few more people, plus Ada.
I was keeping a very close eye on her. She had been sneaking sips of wine and beer all night. Now, I was definitely not one to talk—at her age I was doing far worse—but as far as I knew, I wasn’t sure if Ada was much of a drinker. In fact, I had never seen her drunk before and she obviously was now. She was drinking Old English out of a paper-bagged 40 oz (because that was cool?) bottle and alternating between cuddling up to and slobbering over a greasy dude called Whiz. That made me a bit nervous.
Whiz was probably the least eligible out of all of Matt and Tony’s friends. For one, I already knew he had a girlfriend. He was talking about her earlier and, as you can imagine, he wasn’t singing her praises. If that wasn’t enough, I had heard Al once say that the twins hadn’t started getting into trouble until they met Whiz. His name, by the way, was totally lost on me. He seemed to have half the IQ of someone from Jersey Shore.
And, as always, the fact that Ada seemed to be having a great time rubbed me the wrong way. This time it was over the fact that I didn’t have a guy to slobber over. Not that I would ever touch Whiz or any of Matt and Tony’s friends in a million years….well, OK, that wasn’t exactly true. There was a cute guy on the other side of the fire that I should have been all over if only I wasn’t a complete moron around guys. He was just my type, too: tall and broad-shouldered with light eyes and wavy chestnut hair that sparkled all pretty in the fire’s glow.