Punk Love

My phone rang, and I answered frantically, stomping my way to a secluded spot behind a wooden lifeguard tower.

“Honeypie?” Alex asked. It was dead quiet where he was. He sounded so far away, I wanted to cry. Then again, maybe I wanted to cry because I had three cocktails in me. I was a lightweight, and the kind of drunk who gets sad, not fun.

“Alex.” I sighed. “How are you?”

“Great. We just got to Krakow. The drive was a bitch, though. Nonstop goddamn traffic. You’d think the world is ending. Where are you? It’s loud as fuck.”

“At a beach party.”

“Beach party?” he boomed, confused.

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” But he sounded slightly pissed, and that pissed me off, because he was in Poland right now, with his cousin, after traveling Europe for two weeks, about to cheat on me with the imaginary Anja.

“No. Spit it out,” I ground out.

“Didn’t realize it was your scene. That’s all.”

“You live, you learn.”

“Okay, prickly.”

“Cheated on me yet?” I asked, bitter.

“Not yet.” He chuckled. “But the night’s still young.”

“You’re not funny,” I deadpanned.

“No. And I’m not cheating on you, either. Lighten up, Honeypie. I’m seeing you in a week.”

I let out a small, girly whimper.

“Look, I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Love you. Don’t drink too much. And tell Pauly to keep an eye on you or I’ll kill her.”

He hung up.

Exhausted from missing him, I collapsed on the white sand, burying my face in the grains. It was cool against the unbearable August heat. I closed my eyes and wondered if I really was going to marry Alex. I didn’t know why, but suddenly, and maybe for the first time, I didn’t actually like that idea all that much. Marrying the man I was going to lose my virginity to, the man I was going to give all my firsts, the first man I loved, was a terrifying prospect. I had nothing and no one to compare him to. And besides, even though our love was real, we were essentially very different people, and growing to be more different every day.

As much as I hated to admit it, I did care about materialistic things. I liked shopping, and nice clothes, and going into Target without a plan and getting out of there with a hole in my pocket and a whole lotta things I didn’t need. And even though animal rights were still important to me, I gravitated more toward vegetarianism than veganism.

And…gosh, there was no good way of saying this. I liked mainstream stuff, okay? Pulp fiction and NYT bestsellers. And reality TV. And eating cheese, for goodness’ sake.

Alex liked reading books by social reformers like Robert Owen and Karl Marx and enjoyed getting into random brawls with other punks over the weekend, pissing people off, and building carefully constructed, small life.

He wanted to settle in a small village in Sweden, and I wanted to conquer Sunset Boulevard.

I just didn’t know anymore. I mean, what if under the same, low, midnight-blue sky, littered with pollution and zero stars, was another man I was destined to live the rest of my life with? What if I chose different? Someone sensible and strait-laced? Someone who would consult with me before taking a three-week trip abroad?

“You better not be dead.” I heard Brent’s voice hovering above me. “Because you’re a minor, and tanked, and I’m going to get into a lot of trouble if I call an ambulance and it turns out you passed away.”

I lifted one arm weakly, flipping him the finger as I spoke into the sand.

“Not dead, just chilling.”

“Your underwear is showing.” I had on a flowery short dress. I groaned, but didn’t make a move to rearrange myself. I was too drunk and tired. I felt Brent’s hand pulling the hem of my dress down. Bless him.

He took a seat next to me on the sand.

I didn’t see it, but I felt it.

“I’m not really fucking around at home,” Brent said.

“Okay,” I mumbled into the sand. “Good to know.”

“I just enlisted. Navy.”

“Hmm,” I answered, settling deeper into the sand. I was so drunk, he could tell me he was going off to audition as an elephant at a traveling circus and it would fly right over my head.

“Next month,” Brent said.

“Wow,” I belched. It was beginning to occur to me I was treading into throwing-up territory. And fast.

“I can’t tell you anything about the training,” Brent continued. “It’s top secret.”

“Well, then, I’m certainly not worth breaking army protocol over. But do you think you can maybe help me get to the nearest trash can so I can puke?”

There was a pause, and then. “Anything for you, milady.”

Brent helped me to a trash can, and I threw up. He held my hair up, and when I was done, he went to get me a bottle of water.