Reach the Beach
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They reached Berea, Kentucky, around six that evening, after leaving their school in the middle of Michigan earlier that morning. The day was now at the point where a blinding sun sank over the rolling hills of horse farms along the interstate. It caught the driver’s eye just right and made the driving difficult. Sunglasses and visors helped. They took the second exit to let the sun retire.
Peaceful. Serene. A comfort filled the evening. The air no longer carried that extra layer of late winter like it did in Michigan. Here they could wear shorts. Comfortably. Go without a jacket. They could feel spring. Almost tasted it. Middle of Kentucky. A virtual Eden just off the Interstate.
Berea was not their final destination. Daytona, another eight hundred miles south, was.
Eddie Rampovich’s ’77 Buick Century, going on ten and close to rolling over a hundred thousand miles on the odometer, needed a break.
The Old Man, as Eddie liked to call the car, was also in need of gas and a fluids check. Tire pressure could use some attention, too. He couldn’t do anything about the rust along the bottom of the gray quarter panels except wait for it to break off the car.
Ricky and Joyce were still inside the truck stop. Joyce was having a hard time with motion sickness. Cathy suggested a fountain soda and some over the counter medication. Ricky, prepping for a lifetime of caring for Joyce, stayed by her side.
Cathy and Eddie waited outside by the Old Man while Joyce self-medicated inside the convenience store. They ate fudge ripple sundaes from plastic cups with flat, wooden spoons that had no scoops and could have been tongue depressors.
“Be honest,” Eddie said. “You’re hoping the sea-sick pills knock her out.”
Cathy smiled around her flat spoon. “She never shuts up.” The ice cream almost slipped from Cathy’s mouth. “She’s either telling a story or she’s reciting some poem or she’s singing.”
“Don’t sleep in the—”
Cathy pointed her flat spoon at Eddie. “Don’t start.”
“It wasn’t a good cover, I agree.”
“I don’t know what Ricky sees in her.”
“Someone for everyone, I guess.”
“You know, when we get back, people are going to think we’re dating.”
Eddie snort-laughed through his nose. “You and me?”
“Yes. Me and you.”
“Are we dating?”
“I kind of think we are.”
“Really?”
“We do a lot of things together. We watch movies together. We go to the bar together. We go to games together.”
“We grocery shop together.”
“See?”
“We’re going to Florida together.”
“You’re catching on.”
“I think there’s only one thing couples do that we haven’t done together.”
“We have five days in Florida.” Cathy took another scoop of ice cream. “It’s going to happen.”
“About time.”
Cathy smiled around her wooden spoon. Eddie set his sundae cup on the hood of the Old Man. He reached over, pulled Cathy against him.
“What are you doing?” Cathy asked.
“Checking.”
“Here?”
“We have to know.”
Cathy put her sundae on the hood. She slipped her arms over his shoulders. “Does it feel like something?”
“It does.”
“Does it feel like you’re trying to kiss your sister and not a girl you could be in love with?”
“Why? Do I feel like your brother?”
“I don’t have a brother.”
“A cousin?”
Cathy laughed. “If this is bawdy talk, we’re pretty bad at it.”
Eddie laughed. He didn’t realize it at the time, but it was the ease with which they could make one another laugh that attracted him to her and her to him. In that moment, all the anxiety he’d had about taking that next step in his relationship with Cathy left him. He sensed it left her as well.
The kiss tasted like fudge ripple. It felt genuine.
“We can’t leave you kids alone for a minute.”
Cathy grimaced then turned and smiled at the person behind her.
Ricky stood on the curb. He held an open bag of super-hot cheese balls and a fountain drink with a straw in its lid.
“Dinner?” Eddie asked.
“Joyce is getting a bag of plain hamburgers for us to eat in the car.”
“Plain?” Cathy scoffed. “I’m going to get some for us with mustard and pickles.” Cathy went inside the sliding doors.
Ricky leaned back against the car. He held the bag of cheese balls out to Eddie. Eddie took a handful of the snacks. They were a little bigger than a nickel and dusted with a reddish-orange powder that stuck to his fingertips.
“So, you and Cathy.” Ricky sipped his soda.
“Are you surprised?”
“A little. When did you two become a thing?”
“We think we’ve been a thing for a while.”
“She just broke up with Stewart.”
“A year ago.”
“Has it been a year?”
“More.”
“Joyce and I just started dating when Cathy transferred up to Mid-Michigan and that was when she dumped him. And we just celebrated our one year so, yeah, I guess it’s safe.”
“Safe?”
“I mean enough time has passed that it’s okay to date Cathy.”
“Dude. Stew was dating that girl from Northern a week after Cathy dumped him. He moved on. She moved on. He has moved on, hasn’t he?”
Ricky shrugged. “I guess.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
Ricky sipped his drink. “I don’t know. Been a while.”
“Me, too.”
“It must have been Thanksgiving break. Yeah. We ran into each other at the Rock the night before Thanksgiving.”
“How was he?”
“Drunk.”
“They say it’s the busiest bar night of the year.”
“It’s tradition.”
They each tapped their beverages on the hood of the car, raised the containers to their foreheads, and drank. Ricky from his fountain soda and Eddie tipping his melting sundae to his lips. They finished with an ‘ahhh.’
“Used to be, we were all inseparable.”
“Yeah. Then we met girls.”
They bumped fists.
Ricky set his drink on the hood of the Old Man. He wiped the condensation from the cup onto his jeans leaving red streaks on his pant legs. He dipped his hand into the bag of super-hot cheese balls. “She hasn’t slept over yet, has she?”
“No.”
“Have you slept at her place?” He ate a mouthful of the cheese balls.
“Just that one time when I was too drunk after the game to make it back to the apartment and then I slept on her couch.”
“Did she sleep there with you?”
“No. Dude. Seriously. It’s over between her and Stew.”
“All right. I just want to make sure it doesn’t violate the code.”
“Everyone violated the code.”
“Why did we put it in our handbook then?”
“Why did we have a handbook?”
“We thought we were studs.”
“The Studnix.”
They tapped the tips of their pointer fingers to their chests and said in unison, “Studnix!”
The convenience store doors slid open. Cathy and Joyce came out singing ‘Our House’ by Madness. They did the funny walk Madness did in the video. They laughed.
Eddie did a thing with his eyebrows. “Friends now?”
Cathy did a thing with her eyes. “We’re going to be in Florida for five days, so I’m making the best of it.”
Eddie laughed. “We should get the show on the road. We still have cold pops in the cooler?”
“I think we have wet pops,” Cathy said.
“Better than nothing. Load up. My turn at the wheel.”
“Shotgun!” Cathy’s response was automatic. No one protested.
Ricky held the back door open for Joyce.
“Did you call your folks?” Joyce asked.
Ricky leaned away from the car. “Yes.”
“Did you tell them I was going to be there?”
“I said we’d be in Florida tomorrow.”
“Did you say who ‘we’ is?”
“I told them I was coming down with Eddie and some friends.”
“So, they don’t know I’m going to be there.”
“They know.” Cathy said. “Ricky’s parents know what friends means.”
Ricky shrugged. “See? Nothing to worry about.”
“Ricky…” Joyce dropped her head against the backseat. “This is stressful enough for me. I told my family I was going to be working on a major project for my Women’s Studies class. I told them I’d see them next Sunday. We will be home by next Sunday, won’t we?”
“We have class on Monday,” Eddie said. “So, yeah.”
Cathy shook her head. “They don’t know you’re going to Florida, do they?”
Joyce closed her eyes. “They’d never approve.”
“You’re not car sick,” Cathy said. “You’re nervous about meeting Ricky’s mom and dad.”
“Or she’s pregnant,” Ricky said. The joke bombed.
“What are you going to tell them about your tan?” Eddie asked.
Joyce looked panicked. “I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll have to stay out of the sun.”
“We’re going to Florida. The sun is everywhere.”
“We’ll get you a big, floppy sun hat and smear you in sunblock.” Ricky kissed her forehead. “It’ll be okay. My parents will love you.”
“Oh, hey, about that,” Eddie said. “When we get to Daytona, why don’t you take the Old Man over to St. Pete to see your folks for a couple of days instead of them coming over to Daytona for a couple of hours.”
Ricky eyed Eddie. “You don’t want to see my parents?”
“Your parents don’t want to see me.”
“True.”
Eddie was two years older than the others. He turned twenty-one while the gang was nineteen. The summer the others graduated, Eddie attended a local university known as Commuter College. There was a little bit of partying at beaches and houses and fields. The parents saw Eddie as the bad influence. He transferred to Mid-Michigan University the fall Ricky and Cathy were sophomores.
Maybe it was true. He convinced Ricky and Cathy to go to Florida for spring break.
“Come on,” Eddie said. “We’re burning daylight. My road tripping acumen says we should arrive in Daytona tomorrow morning.”
Cathy closed her eyes and sniffed the air. “I hear it calling.”
They switched drivers at the Georgia Welcome Center. The bathrooms were open, but the tourist information counter was closed. Georgia State Troopers were on hand to make sure the throngs of southbound revelers didn’t disrupt the rest in the rest stop.
Thirty minutes later they stopped for gas at a Dalton, Georgia, exit only to discover the Old Man’s gas gauge wasn’t working. The needle would not move to F. Eddie flicked it with his finger a few times but it was frozen below E.
The clerk at the gas station didn’t know anything about cars. A truck driver scratching a couple of instant lottery tickets said it was probably just a bad solenoid. He took a break from losing money to shine a flashlight at the Old Man’s undercarriage. He didn’t see any gas puddles which he said was good. The Old Man wasn’t leaking.
The trucker pulled himself up on the trunk hood. “How many miles you get a gallon?”
“Fifteen to eighteen, depending on my speed.” Eddie knew it was closer to twelve.
“You have a what? Fifteen-gallon tank?”
“Sounds right.”
The trucker looked at the pump. “Yeah, pump stopped at just under fifteen. Here’s what you do until you can get the gauge fixed. Write down the number on the odometer. When you’ve gone two hundred miles, stop for gas. Write down the new mileage. Do this every time and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m on it,” Joyce said. “It’ll help take my mind off other things.”
The trucker offered more advice. “You have cruise control on this battleship?”
“Yep.” Eddie nodded.
“Set it to sixty-five. It’ll give you a little leeway.”
“I really appreciate the help,” Eddie said. He’d known most of what the trucker said but the reassurance was appreciated. Also, he didn’t want to humiliate the guy who was just trying to lend a hand.
He’d done that once before on an earlier road trip with Ricky, Stewart, Cathy, and some other friends. They had been on their way to an amusement park for the day and stopped for gas and food. The group had known one another for several years by then.
When people spend that much time together, the simplest gesture can speak louder than words. A raised eyebrow. Tightly closed lips. A blink.
They had taken over two round, metal picnic tables outside the fast-food restaurant. They were being their obnoxious, silly selves when an older man wandered over to their tables.
He just kind of started telling them his story, how he used to take groups of students on field trips. How he enjoyed the ease in which they could enjoy one another’s company. How camaraderie was the best tonic in the world.
They ignored him.
He was just a lonely old guy who had retired, not because he wanted to but because his principal thought it was time.
The group fell silent. Spoke silently to one another with their eyes. When the man asked if they were going to Erie Shores to ride the coasters, Eddie made a sarcastic remark. The man apologized for interrupting them and walked away.
A restaurant employee sweeping the picnic area called out to the man. Called the man by name. The man stopped. The employee reminded the retired teacher who he was. He thanked him for teaching him how to write, told the old guy he was studying creative writing and that he had two sales to major magazines.
When the man went back into the restaurant, the worker walked over to the tables when Eddie and the group sat. He told him the man was the High School Teacher of the Year in Ohio three times. One of the man’s former students went on to be a senator. Another, an astronaut.
“I may be sweeping a parking lot today,” the employee said. “But when I write my first book, you better believe I will include what I just saw happen to a great man and the people who made him feel insignificant.”
It stung. Eddie and the gang were better than that. Snarky when it was just them but otherwise decent folk when in crowds. They still went to the amusement park. They still had a great time. Eddie never forgot the old man.
Eddie offered the trucker the five a second time.
“No,” the trucker said. “Not necessary.”
“Come on,” Eddie said, holding out the money. “Buy a winning scratch-off.”
“Well, thank you for your help,” Joyce said. Ricky put his hand on her arm. Ricky remembered, Eddie realized, as did Cathy.
“It’s important to me — to us — to repay you for your assistance..”
The trucker took the money. “All right. I’ll split it with you if I win.”
“We really need to get on the road.”
“Hold on,” Cathy said. “I have to pee.”
“There you go,” the trucker said. “It’s a sign.”
He purchased a five dollar scratch off and won a hundred dollars. He gave fifty to Eddie and ten to the clerk. With the remaining forty he bought four ten-dollar tickets and didn’t win anything.
“Should’ve walked when I was ahead.”
“My dad used to say a dollar’s too much and a jackpot isn’t enough,” Eddie told him. He held out his hand, and gave the trucker their names.
“Dennis,” the trucker said. “Farina.”
“Like the actor?”
“Yeah, but I had the name first by a month.” He laughed like everyone was in on the joke.
They followed Dennis and his truck south on the interstate until he took an exit. Ricky pushed the Old Man’s horn. Dennis Farina flashed his brights.
Ricky told Joyce the story of the retired teacher.
“We felt like crap,” Ricky said.
“For about ten minutes,” Cathy reminded him. “One ride on the Demon Whip and we were over it.”
“I thought you were sleeping back there,” Ricky said.
“Eddie is.”
“No, I’m not,” Eddie said.
Right around Macon, Ricky announced they were closing in on the two-hundred-mile mark. He drove a little farther and then even farther after that, finally stopping in Perry when it looked like Joyce was going to hyperventilate.
Eddie filled the tank.
“The Old Man was thirsty,” Eddie said. “Drank in fourteen.”
Joyce let out a rush of air. “Pushing it,” she said. “We went an extra eighteen miles.”
Ricky griped. “We could have gone another fifteen.”
“Like I want to walk to the nearest exit to get a gallon of gas in the middle of the night,” Cathy said. “And then walk all the way back.”
“We could hitch.”
“Like that time you told Stewart we should give that woman a ride?”
“How was I to know she was running from the police for assaulting her neighbor?”
“That’s the point, Ricky. You don’t know who these people are.”
“I just saw her waving her hands. I thought she was in trouble.”
Ever the optimist, except when it came to her family, Joyce said, “Maybe someone like Mr. Farina would pick us up.”
“Do you honestly think if Eddie and Ricky hadn’t been there that trucker would have been as nice?”
“If you have a good soul…”
“I’m not willing to take the risk.”
“Okay, everyone back in the car for some quiet time.” Eddie took the keys from Ricky. “My shift.”
“Shotgun!” Cathy called.
“I don’t think you have to keep saying that,” Eddie told her. “Joyce, you get the mileage?”
“All set, Captain.”
The car was quiet. Eddie listened to a radio station doing a two-hour Phil Collins set. He heard ‘In the Air Tonight’, ‘You Belong to Me’, “Sissudio’, ‘Take a Look at Me Now’ and ‘Take Me Home’ every thirty-five minutes. Everything repeated. The show was taped then looped because apparently no one wanted the late-night on-air shift.
The programming kept him awake. He didn’t stop again until they reached the junction with I-10 in Lake City, Florida, just after three in the morning. Eddie had driven two-hundred-sixteen miles. The Old Man needed all fifteen gallons.
A caravan of spring breakers rolled in behind the Old Man. Cars unloaded. Some of the travelers went into the convenience store. Some stayed outside, paper maps unfolded across the hoods. Plastic soda bottles were drained. Cigarettes were smoked. Eddie went past a group of young women filling a corner of the curb.
One blond girl watched him.
“Hey, Michigan,” she said. She jetted smoke into the night.
“How’d you know I’m from Michigan?”
“You have Michigan plates on your car.”
“So, what do I call you? Newport?”
She laughed as she exhaled smoke. “You could try Cindy.”
“Hi, Cindy.”
“Hi.”
Eddie entered the store. The place was active. People in every aisle. The beverage cooler was pretty well picked over leaving bottles and cans of diet ginger ale, sweetened iced tea, or milk. Plain potato chips dominated the shelves. The candy bar boxes sat empty.
Eddie picked up a red basket by the door. He wandered down an aisle of cereals, donuts, and lite-auto repair items. He found a variety pack of cereal. He also grabbed two bags of little chocolate donuts.
He went back to the beverage cooler where he got a quart of milk and a couple of large bottles of water. He found a sleeve of red plastic solo cups. Next to the cups was a box of plastic knives, forks, and spoons.
“You cooking breakfast, Michigan?”
Cindy stood next to him. He hadn’t noticed her IUPUI tee shirt when he spoke to her outside the store.
“Last leg of the trip. Need a little energy.”
“Where you headed?”
“Daytona.”
Cindy nodded. “Awesome. Cool. We’re headed that way, too.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. Where you staying?”
“Aztec,” Eddie said.
“Oh, wow. You have money. We’re at the Coral Surf. Old place. I mean old. The travel brochure said it has AC and HBO.”
“Necessities.”
“It’s near the pier.”
“We’re near it, too.”
“Yeah, but you’re on the beach.”
“And you’re not?”
“Had to go cheap. I went to a huge party at the Aztec last year. Couldn’t get into the bars so I cruised for hotel parties.”
“Sounds like you’re a veteran.”
Cindy smiled. “I am. I can show you around.”
Her friends came down the aisle. They were excited about something. The friends pulled Cindy away.
“See ya around, Michigan.”
Cindy disappeared into a cabal of gossip and squeals.
“Making friends?”
This time when Eddie turned around Cathy stood beside him.
“She was a little aggressive.”
Cathy laughed. She kissed him. “Breakfast?”
“Boost to get us to the beach.”
They took the supplies to the counter. A tired clerk rang them up. Eddie tipped her two dollars. He bought four one-dollar scratch off tickets.
Outside, the four travelers from Michigan gathered around the trunk of the Old Man. They each chose a flavor of cereal. They shook the contents into a red plastic cup then added milk. Joyce had bran with raisins. Cathy took one with sugar-coated flakes. Eddie had one with marshmallow bits. Ricky dunked his chocolate donut into pink milk left over from his fruity, sugary rings.
Eddie held the lottery tickets like a fan. He offered the cards to Cathy, then Joyce, then Ricky. He took the last one. They used a penny Joyce found on the ground to scratch away the film on the tickets.
“Nothing,” Joyce said.
“Same,” said Ricky.
Cathy tore hers in half. “What about yours?”
Eddie smiled. “I’ll be right back.” He went into the store, passing Cindy as she exited.
“We meet again, Michigan.”
Eddie grinned. “Third times the charm, right?”
Cindy’s friends pulled her into a car. She smiled out the back window and waved to Eddie. The driver honked the horn. Indiana plates showed on the back.
“You’re Mr. Popular tonight.” Joyce said.
“I’m about to be more so.” Eddie gave each of his friends fifteen dollars.
“What did you win?” Ricky asked.
“Fifty bucks.”
“So, you kept five?”
“I did. But then I bought a five-dollar ticket, and I won two hundred.”
“You’ve been bitten by the gold bug,” Joyce said.
“Is that a good thing?”
“Depends. It’s a long story by Poe about a man who finds a gold beetle and tells his friend that it will lead them to a great fortune.”
“Does it?”
“I don’t want to spoil it for you.”
Cathy bumped her hip into Eddie’s. He spilled a little milk on the Old Man.
Ricky took the keys. “Over to Jacksonville and down or down to Ocala and over?”
“Your choice,” Eddie said. “But when I wake up, I want to see sun over surf.”
Eddie and Cathy climbed into the back seat. She laid her head on a pillow that she put on his lap to cushion her face and tucked her hand beneath Eddie. He rested his head on another pillow propped against the window. He stroked Cathy’s hair, ran his finger over her lips. She slipped her lips around the tip.
Five days in Florida.
It was going to happen.
A couple of hours later, Ricky shook Eddie’s knee. He was reaching over the front seat, shaking his friend awake. Eddie woke up in a kind of stupor. The sun was rising.
“Yeah? What?”
“Sign about a mile back said Daytona next five exits,” Ricky said. “Which one do we take?”
“Take the first one.”
Cathy sat up next to Eddie. “My mouth tastes like old leather.”
“Want a mint?” Joyce asked.
“I want a bag of mints.”
Joyce handed her a bag of individually wrapped peppermint candies.
Ricky took the first exit. Two lane black top and seedy looking buildings. It didn’t look like a beach town. Several miles later they turned south on Ridgewood. An energy churned inside of them.
The anticipation was building. Local bars advertised drink specials. Small motels welcomed Spring Breakers on white marquees. Tee shirt shops offered tourists a deal: Buy one, get a second one free.
Ricky headed east on International Boulevard then turned south on A1A. They drove slowly, watched the beach come to life with cars and kites and college students.
Then they saw the sign for the Aztec, a taxi-cab yellow building with red accents and black doors on all ten floors. All rooms faced the ocean. All rooms had a balcony. All rooms had a kitchenette. They were paying extra for these amenities with money they’d gotten from going around to homes and apartments, or after parties and basketball games and asking for returnable bottles.
Each can or bottle of a carbonated beverage represented a dime. They took turns hauling the returnables to supermarkets, gas stations, or convenience stores. They raised three-hundred and fifty dollars. Arduous at the time, but now worth every can or bottle they found.
Ricky pulled into the Aztec lot. He parked.
Before they went in, before they checked in, before they did anything else, they went down to the beach. Shoes came off in the powdery, white sand.
They stood in a line, shoulder near shoulder but not touching, giving one another enough space to let the magic engulf them individually.
The sun was over the horizon. Hot already. A giant cloud almost blocked it but moved out of its path.
The waves broke over their bare feet. The water was a bit cooler than expected. It rushed between their toes, splashed up against shins and ankles. As the ocean pulled back the water, the sand sucked their feet down into a muddy pool. They let this happen over and over until their feet were covered by the soft, murky surf.
That moment was everything. A memory burn. In the days and years to come, as their lives changed and moments like this, a moment with a particular group of people or a friend or even on their own, when they experienced a journey in a manner that no one outside of the trip would ever comprehend.
When that memory sneaked up on any one the four and taunted them with that precise instant that each of them changed, if only ever so slightly, the remembrance would melt from melancholy to grief for they would never be the four people they were before they reached the beach ever again.
In that moment they both bonded and separated, matured and recessed, lived and died. Like the roll of the waves over the beach. Here and then gone.
“Let’s get drunk,” Cathy said.
They washed their feet off at the beach shower and checked into the hotel.
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