Hey, you doing all right?”
I looked over at Tommy. I could barely see him in the dark. A car’s headlights flickered across his sleepy face.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I told him.
“I’m sorry I zonked out. How long did I sleep?”
“You were pretty quiet when we crossed the mighty Mississippi.”
“Where are we?” he asked. I liked his voice. Before, I was looking at his face and not thinking about how he spoke. But now that I couldn’t see him I was drawn in by his voice. It was a man’s voice, but not too deep. It also had a sleepy quality to it, soft, rhythmic.
“We’re in Alabama. Just.”
“You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“You must be tired, Annie.”
“We need to stop for gas.”
“We need to stop for you.” He looked behind him. “Your dad.”
I laughed softly. “Still out. Must have been some night.”
“He likes to party.”
“That he does,” I said. “I’m getting off here.”
Dad stumbled out of the car again and toward the restroom. When he came back, he was drinking a coffee.
“That has got to be awful,” I said.
“It’ll keep me awake,” Dad said. “Give me those keys, Annie.”
I hesitated.
“Go ahead and sleep in the back, Annie,” Tommy said. “I’ll keep your dad awake.”
“I’m okay,” I said, not telling him there was no way I was going to fall asleep in front of him. What if I snored like Dad?
“We’re only about four hours from the campsite. You rest.”
“All right,” I said, thinking I would just rest my head on the pillow, but wouldn’t be able to fall asleep.
- - - - -
I woke. It was still dark.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Oh, we just ran over something,” Dad said.
“What? A dead body? That was a big loud jolt, Dad.”
He waved his hand. “It wasn’t a dead body, Annie. I don’t think.”
“Where are we?” I asked.
“At the beach campsite. You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
Dad left the headlights on, which lit up a clear spot. The guys got the camping gear out. Tommy set a kerosene lamp on the ground and lit it.
I helped set up the two tents. One was small, and the other was very small. I was given the very small one. I set it up pretty far away from the guys. I wanted privacy.
“Not too close to the water, Annie,” said Dad.
“I’m not even close,” I told him.
He peered at it, then gave a small shrug.
I threw my bag and my sleeping bag in the tent. Home, sweet home. Now it was time for food. I’d seen some sandwiches in the cooler. With Dad, no telling what they were.
“What are you doing, Dad?” I asked, picking up a sandwich that turned out to be peanut butter and banana on white bread.
“Getting wood for the fire,” he said, holding a few pieces of driftwood. “Aren’t you cold?”
“Did you see the sign clearly stating no fires?” I asked, glancing at Tommy.
“Sure,” Dad said, shining a flashlight around. “Would you mind helping? I’m having a devil of a time finding any wood, which makes me think people haven’t been paying attention to that sign you’re talking about.”
Tommy gave my arm a squeeze and me a small smile. “I thought I saw some when we drove up, Jesse. I’ll go.” He waved his flashlight at me. “Want to come, Annie?”
“Sure,” I said, following him.
“A fire will be nice,” Dad called out. “You’ll see.”
Maybe so, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to yell it out. But then again, the beach was deserted. I could see a few lights in the distance.
Tommy and I found a scattering of wood. The wind whistled in my ears as I filled my arms. It was cold. It was also three o’clock in the morning. I wasn’t exactly sure why we weren’t asleep. But then again, I was with Dad. I glanced over at Tommy, who was trying to pull a big chunk of driftwood out of the sand. And, yes, Tommy was here.
The fire ended up not being too big. We were close to the outer reach of the waves. I heard the sea’s soft whispers as the surf gently slid over the sand. Dad was right. This was nice. I wasn’t sleepy. I felt excited sitting here with Dad … and Tommy.
Dad had a stick and was poking at the embers under the flames. “So, Annie, if you were a boy, what would your name be?”
“Well, Dad, you are my father,” I said, sipping my hot chocolate. Not the good kind made with milk, but it did have tiny marshmallows in it. “Seems like you would remember what boy names you and Mom had picked out.”
“No, no. Not that. This is about you, Annie. What do you see your boy name being?”
“But I’m not a boy.”
“You’re no good at this,” he said. “What about you, Tommy? What would your girl name be?”
“Probably still Tommy.”
“No, no,” said Dad.
I laughed.
“Both of you are crap at this game,” said Dad.
“Well, what would your name be?” I asked him.
“Margaret.”
“So why that name?” asked Tommy.
I didn’t say anything.
“It’s Annie’s mom’s name,” Dad said. “It was also her great-grandmother’s name. Did you know that, Annie?”
“I knew that,” I said quietly.
Dad took a swig of his beer. “What was it that Ginsberg said about love in his poem ‘Song,’ Annie?”
“I don’t know, Dad,” I replied, even though I did know.
Dad was weird, just plain weird. Why did he do this? Act like he loved Mom so much, that they were two halves of a whole? If he wouldn’t have run around on her, they’d probably still be married.
“The poets speak for us,” Dad rambled on. “Don’t they, Annie? Give us the words we don’t have.”
“Yep,” I said.
Tommy hit my foot with his foot. “You want some more hot chocolate? I can boil more water,” he said, gesturing to the Coleman stove.
“I’m all right,” I said, glad he was here.
“Okay,” said Dad, “if you were a city, what city would you be?” I could see him shrug in the firelight. “It could be a town.”
“What city would you be, Dad?”
“I’d be my hometown of Kemah, if I could keep it from changing, that is.”
“You can’t fight progress,” I said.
“Well, you can try,” he said. “So, Tommy, what city would you be?”
“Austin, I think. Austin’s cool, and it’s still in Texas. I missed Texas when I left.”
“Did you?” I asked. “I can see that actually. I think I’d miss it too. If I left.”
“So what city would you be, Annie?” asked Dad again.
“I don’t know.”
“You have to answer. Tommy answered.”
“Yeah, I’m trying to forgive that betrayal of his.”
Tommy laughed.
“He shouldn’t encourage you,” I told Dad.
“Come on, what city?” asked Tommy. “Make your dad happy. He did take you on this trip, didn’t he?”
“Now I do feel betrayed!”
“What would it be, Annie? In Texas?”
I thought about Houston, Dallas, San Antonio, Austin. None of them fit. “Not a big Texas city, no.”
“What about Luckenbach, Texas?” Tommy asked, singing the song about Luckenbach a little. He had a nice singing voice, deeper than I’d thought it’d be. “With Waylon and Willie and the boys?”
“No.”
“Dripping Springs?”
“No.”
“Dime Box?”
“No.”
“Okay, okay,” Dad interrupted. “Not in Texas. Where, then? In the U.S., Annie?”
“I don’t know, Dad. I’ve never been anywhere outside of Texas.”
“Really?” asked Tommy.
“You’re here,” said Dad, waving his arms. “On a white sand beach in Florida.”
“Well, then, maybe for tonight, I’ll be a beach in Florida. And tomorrow, I’ll be something else. And next year, something else. Why do I have to be one thing?”
Dad took another drink. “You don’t, Annie. No, you don’t.”
- - - - -
I lay in my tent, on my sandy sleeping bag, listening to the ocean.