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Lucy cocks her hip. “Do you want to run into Pearl because you’re going to rope her into your latest scheme?”
Scheme. Sounds a lot like Lucy’s general attitude toward my ventures.
“Nah. I just want to see her.” It’s not exactly the truth. More like… truth-adjacent. But I do find Pearl appealing, in a girl next door kind of a way.
Okay, that’s not exactly correct either. Pearl is an absolute knockout. Anyone with eyes can see that she’s easily the most beautiful girl in the room. Literally wherever she goes, she fucking lights up the people around her.
So I choose to lean into that now.
Lucy studies me for a moment and then sighs, shaking her head. She pulls out her phone. “I know where she’ll be tomorrow night, the first Thursday of the month. But you have to promise to show up with an open mind.”
“What does that mean? Am I going to be weirded out? She’s not a member of a cult, is she? Because I have been there, done that for a date. And the Regentologists do not want me back in their temple. I’ve been banned for life.”
Lucy’s lips turn up at the corners as she sends me the info. “It’s definitely not church. Bring a snack and a blanket.”
That gives me pause. “What? Why would I need those things?”
“Trust me.” Lucy grins and jerks her head towards the huge plate glass door. “Now can I please go outside with everyone else?”
“Of course.” I catch her hand and pull her into a hug. “Thanks sis.”
“Remember, you promised an open mind…” She squeezes me and then pulls me toward the door.
Her smirk makes my stomach flip flop. But I’m set on this idea now, and I’m not going to let anything get in my way.
Four
Pearl
Driving down the rutted dirt road between the highway in South Shore and the Vintages trailer resort is like entering a liminal space for me. It’s leaving behind work and the hustle bustle of the day and stepping into the quietude of home. Thick stripes of red-orange Georgia clay mixes with a sandier soil. A light thicket of pine trees rise up, dark against the blue sky.
You can’t see the ocean from here. But I know that if I drove just another two minutes, the clay would give over to sand and the land would slope downward to meet the endless sea.
But since I’m just heading home, I take the final hairpin turn on the winding road driving away from the beach. My mind goes blank. My senses numb, but not unpleasantly so. It’s a bit like stepping through a magical portal without any knowledge of what awaits me on the other side.
In the distance, the Altamaha River snakes away from my car and carries its silt-loaded, brackish backwater toward the ocean. I slow down as I pass the huge sign that reads ‘The Vintages,’ and enter the trailer resort. The sign depicts a gleaming Airstream trailer next to a kidney shaped pool and a few pine trees. My great aunt Delta had the logo made in the 80s, and keeps the sign nice and clean with weekly polishing.
The actual campground is just beyond, and is nowhere near as nice. There’s a flock of worn plastic flamingos scattered through the expansive clearing. A dozen battered Airstream trailers sit in a broad semicircle around the proffered kidney-shaped pool. The pool is kept spic-and-span, like everything that my family owns, but it is missing a few tiles from the decorative border that lines it, and has clearly seen better days.
I swing wide, avoiding the campground, and bump down the very narrow path to the right. I pass three more Airstream trailers, each surrounded by pine trees, until I pull into the very last driveaway at the end of the lane. The clearing is just big enough for my battered but otherwise well-maintained Airstream, and a couple of pink plastic lounge chairs. And of course, my own lawn ornaments. A pair of classic-looking blue alien spaceships, each emitting a plastic picture of a green swath of light.
I got a kick out of them when I found them at a yard sale. My aunt Delta does not find their whimsy endearing. But she doesn’t find much that pleases her. She’s a Scrooge.
I get out of my car and pat the lawn ornaments as I pass by them, then run up the last few steps to my front door. It was an incredibly long day waitressing at Gem’s Diner. I look forward to shedding my uniform – a blue dress and a matching apron – and watching All About Aliens.
I fling open the door, only to find my little brother sitting in my breakfast nook. His long-ass legs are stretched to rest on the corner by my stove and he watches my tiny TV set.
“Hey, Pearl,” he says. His eyes never leave the TV. “Watch this part. Coyote’s about to get scammed, big time.” I hear the cartoonish sounds of BONK and a scream. Malik laughs and shakes his head. “Dude is always in trouble. And he tries to fix it literally the dumbest way possible. It’s great.”
The analysis of the cartoon makes me smile. “Sounds like every cartoon I know.”
This is very much a Malik thing to notice. He’s been watching the same cartoons since we were kids. On any given day, Malik can be found here in this exact position, watching cartoons and eating Cheetos.
It’s comforting to me and I hope that it never changes.
Malik lowers his legs and lets me by so I can get to my bedroom. “Sometimes, I just like to imagine if I actually knew someone who’d use an anvil as a weapon. Like… what is an anvil anyway? And how could a tiny ass little bird always be making them fall out of the sky?”
I snort. “I think anvils were used in blacksmithing. Like to make horseshoes and stuff.”
