We were now sworn enemies, and over the years there would be a multitude of confrontations, on land, and especially at sea, as we took to the waters in our father’s speedboats…
…and started stealing their girlfriends.
“Can’t cry over spilled milk,” said my mother.
“Live to fight another day,” were my dad’s latest words of encouragement (not so effective).
And, “Let’s go punch their stupid lights out, Jimmyrocket,” from my sister, who was absolutely stewing, never one to let someone mess with her baby brother.
All well-intentioned, all meant to cheer me up, and none of it helping, the sting to my ego hurting worse than the scrapes on my knees. But other than brooding for the rest of the day and trying to suck up any last bits of sympathy, I loudly vowed to no one in particular, “Revenge will be mine!”
Then hustled down to The Club to huddle up and game plan with my Mashnee cohorts, perfect strangers turned best of friends.
Oh ya…
Two years later, I would win that damn race!
Chapter 11
Vignette
Then, bam, in a flash, our month was over and we were packing to go home, (How did we ever fit so much stuff in the car in the first place?), saying our goodbyes, and exchanging addresses for potential winter reunions which would, despite our best intentions, never materialize.
It was the magic of the island which bound so many people together, and when the summer was over, and the goodbyes were long gone, so was the magic.
“See you next summer, Jimmyrocket!” said just about everybody.
“Can’t wait!” I excitedly replied, albeit having absolutely no assurance that would even happen. Would I ever even see this island again?
To think, a mere four weeks ago I knew nothing of Mashnee Island, or The Dike, or The Club, or Hog Island, or Memorial Beach kids I didn’t really know but now hated, or anything else about summers on the island, and now I was beyond depressed to be leaving. My sister felt much the same, accounting for the matched looks of dread on our faces, and lumps in our throats. “Oh joy, Boredsville USA here we come,” somebody in the backseat may have muttered.
On the way home my dad made a consolatory stop for lunch and ice cream at the Howard Johnson directly next door to the Bourne Bridge. As always, it was distinguishable by its orange roof and packed parking lot. Unfortunately, the stop for food quickly turned into a mini disaster.
Admittedly my sister and I were both a little, shall we say, rambunctious, coming off the island, which somehow led to uncontrollable fits of belly laughter steadily increasing in volume, to which my dad kept responding: “Knock it off! I’m warning you.” He warned us at least ten times. We should have listened.
The two of us sat across from our parents in a small booth with orange vinyl bench seats that squeaked with the slightest movement of one’s rear end. The table was already neatly set, with four glasses of water already poured.
Despite the progressively sterner warnings, each met with eye rolls and side-splitting giggles, we kept on laughing. I was right in the middle of deciding between the Tommy Tucker Plate and Little Boy Blue, my sister having already selected her usual favorite, the Small Fry, when without warning (or at least a specific warning!) my father coiled his arms like a pit viper and in one swift double-handed and shockingly accurate motion, backhanded us BOTH simultaneously, SMACK, right across our mouths!
We were, needless to say, stunned into immediate silence, until I nervously bit into my water glass trying to take a drink, instantly turning my awestruck mouth into a gusher of squirting blood. A red geyser! The waitress came running! Umm, I’ll take an ice pack and a butterfly bandage to go…
When we finally arrived home, everything looked the same but felt totally different. Yes, the cows next door still smelled, and our house was still standing at attention, totally unfazed by our month-long absence. The same yellow, wooden front door still welcomed us, and my room, walls covered end-to-end with posters of my favorite sports heroes and runners, still looked the way I had left it, neat to the naked eye but with stuff tossed in hiding under my bed.
But still, somehow the place felt odd, foreign, as if I had walked into an identical house, located in a different time and space. Twilight zone.
When I went to bed that night, I couldn’t sleep. My mind raced, replaying flickering vignettes of everything I had seen and done over the past four weeks. Was it only four weeks? Could that be even remotely possible?
Four weeks and I had new best friends, new freedoms (albeit short-lived), new memories, and a new place to call home. Yeah, I guess that was it. That’s what felt so weird. This was still my house alright, and it was still my town, but it was no longer my home; mine was 50 miles to the south, and I wondered to myself aloud, if I’d ever return.
School was like that too. Everything felt a little distant. I mean I did ok and had lots of friends and everything, some of them very good friends, but they felt more like bookmarks, winter placeholders tiding me over until the summer returned, and with it, with some luck or by divine intervention, so would I.
It’s funny when I think back on how envious I had been of my friends who attended summer camp, but between my great experience at Mashnee, and hearing their stories of six a.m. wake-up times and early morning mandatory swims in ice-cold lakes, I actually felt bad for those kids, and I’d never think about summer camp again. Ever.
I had something much better.
Chapter 12
Furloughed
Early that fall, my dad came home from work with “MORE BIG NEWS.” (Ok, by this time he had earned a little slack.)
“Kids,” he said, “we have a surprise for you that we know you’re gonna like!”
“Our family and The Millers are renting cottages right next door to each other on Mashnee for five days during Christmas Vacation!”
And BAM, just like that, I was returning! (I was freakin’ RETURNING!!)
“Wintertime at Mashnee is supposed to be great,” he continued. “They have lots of indoor activities including an indoor pool at Mr. Knights’ house that we can use, and we can toast marshmallows in the fireplace.”
“Well, what do you two think?” he queried.
My words were succinct and directly to the point. “That’s the best news I’ve ever heard in my entire life!”
My sister was equally excited and of course jumped right on the phone to call my cousins so they could giggle and plan and squeal, the way girls do, about, well, about everything. The rest of the school semester was one big countdown until Christmas break. I had the vacation date indelibly targeted in my brain and circled on my calendar as I eagerly checked off every passing day like a prisoner waiting to be furloughed.
As the island awaits.
Chapter 13
