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Coppertone 2
Coppertone 3
Coppertone 4
Coppertone 5
Coppertone 6
Coppertone 7
Coppertone 8
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| Coppertone 3 |
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| I had pretty much settled on my wardrobe on the night of July 5th. I wore a black bikini top that functioned admirably as a bra- bestowing a nice lift to my modest rack, a loose red gingham check shirt (formerly Daddy's) tied in the front for maximal skin exposure, and my "tanning shorts" cut from a bleached pair of jeans- so minimal that I had to cut and re-sew the pockets as they had hung below the hemline. I forget what they call this look- ah, yes: jail bait. Daisy Mae goes on a picnic! To complete the look, I braided my hair which complemented nicely its variegated honey and cornsilk-hues- no pageant hairstyle would survive a ride in a convertible; I was cute and windproof. I knocked on Chad's door. Lightly. "Chad", I whispered, "tell Mummy that I went to the beach with Tina." It was a Sunday morning and my parents were sleeping in. "Where you really going?" "On a date with Ted." I couldn't resist this delicious pronouncement. Chad responded with one word: "Awesome." He gave me a groggy thumbs up and rolled over. I love Chad. I grabbed my pre-packed (and hidden) tote bag on the way out. I was going on a date with my boyfriend. My sneakers got wet as I walked across the deep dewy grass to Ted's house. I found myself sighing repeatedly. I was nervous. I felt my reactive heart flutter against the thin fabric of my shirt. Coppertone was out- resplendent in the sun. Her hood was open and Ted was bent over it. Before I could check myself, I blurted, "What's the matter? We won't be able to go?" I'd been burned by Jesus in the past and this would be just like Him. "Cherrie Amour! No, just getting a good look at the fan belt in sunlight. Looks fine. I was worried about it... Goodness, aren't you pretty today?" Ted was going for a James Dean thing, I guess. Red jacket, T-shirt, jeans. He knew his movies. Too studly for words. I felt my cheeks redden. I bit my lower lip and looked at my feet. "Thank you." "Well, Batgirl, what do you say we pile in and hit the road?" He opened the passenger door and assisted me into the low seat. His hands warm, mine characteristically clammy. "I'll put your stuff in the trunk." He recommended I wear a jacket until it warmed up. "She's drafty." So I put one on. The skin show could wait. He settled into the seat. The car rumbled to life. Loud and throaty exhaust. Pungent blue smoke at start. No seat belts. "They didn't have 'em back then. Sorry." I shrugged. I was no sissy. The car rolled out on the street. The mirror juddered with the pulse of the engine. Ted turned to me and said, "Hold on." I was snapped back into the seat as Coppertone squated on her haunches and her tires chirped against the asphalt. He turned to me after he got up to speed. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna drive like a maniac. Just wanted to show you that she isn't just some shiny old lawn ornament. She can fly." I answered with a wide smile. My Corvette grin. I had the nicest day of my life. Rather than a linear recounting of our journey, which is not how I remember it anyway, I'll present you with a series of more-or-less chronologically stacked snapshots which, I hope, conveys some of the magic of that wondrous and unrepeatable day. At a dingy animal park over the state line, a disgruntled "trained monkey" who resided on a platform mounted on a pole, had learned to enliven his dreary existence by periodically dispersing the gawking hominids with a salvo of tiny glass bottles which his giant captors would place in his bucket after paying a quarter. Of course, one can drink only so much fruit juice... So he would build up an arsenal and when the mood struck him he would let fly a bombardment. He had developed an incredibly accurate throwing arm- he had little else to do. He nailed a whiny fat boy in the nuts and caused him to bellow in agony. I damn near peed my shorts, I got laughing so hard. The victim's plaid pants struck me as particularly funny... More disturbing, but equally memorable, was the casually masturbating bear, propped up in a corner of his enclosure (hit too close to home). Bears are quite capable of giving you a dirty look, I learned. Ted withheld comment. Thank God... Downright scary was the enraged and very large chimp who shook the chain link of his enclosure with such violence that escape seemed only a matter of timing his leap through the gap correctly. I looked at Ted. "I don't know about you, Sister, but I'm getting to hell outta here," he said. We walked briskly, then jogged, then ran for our lives up the wooded path all the way back to Coppertone. I was a little bit faster than Ted. I bent over with my hands on my knees gasping for air. It afforded Ted a pretty good view of Hooterville Valley. "You okay?" he asked. I nodded as I fanned my flushed face. "Holy ape chow, Batgirl, I thought we were goners!" That did it. "Ted, I need... I need to find... I need to find a restroom." I had actually squirted with his last comment. "You sure you're okay?" he asked. "Yup." "God's country," Ted said. "Swamp land. Dead flat ribbons of fresh black asphalt. Twenty miles worth. No smokies in these parts. Nosiree." Ted was chewing on the temples of his sunglasses. I felt the car increase its speed. I couldn't see the speedometer from where I sat, due to reflection. The deafening wind buffeted in the cockpit. My ropes of hair came to life and pummeled my face. I raised my hand into the wind stream. It was pushed back with alarming force. The car continued to accelerate. Ted continued to feast on his earpieces. This reassured me. I held my hair braids down and looked over at Ted. He pointed at the speedometer. He halted me from looking with a gesture. He flashed one finger, repeated that, then flashed all five. We were going 115 miles per hour. Coppertone sucked up the bright yellow lines like Pac-Man gone wild. Wow! I mouthed silently. He crinkled his eyes- a devilish smile. We closed in on and passed a wobble-wheeled pick-up truck. We were traveling perhaps eighty miles an hour faster than he was. "What'n hell wuz zat, Martha?" Ted lifted off the gas and the car decelerated quickly against the wall of air. Seventy suddenly felt like a stately jog. "That was neat! Thank you," I shouted to Ted. "Well, thank you, too." We crossed another state line. Ted became disconcertingly sober. For the first time I had a feeling he wasn't absorbing my desultory observations. I tried to joke him out of it. I was afraid he might be getting into a mood- like Daddy does when he sees I'm happy. Or maybe he just noticed how boring I really was... We pulled into a supermarket lot. "You wait here and keep an eye on Coppertone. I'll be right back... and don't go dumping me for another guy," he winked. "Never," I said. I was glad I got to say that. Ted emerged from the market a short time later. Coppertone had drawn admirers and I was feeling self-conscious. He had two beautiful roses with him. One red, one yellow. He handed me the yellow one. "This is for you, milady." He placed the red one in his lap. This set off a flurry of speculations in my mind- none of them comforting. "I hope you don't mind where we're going next- but it's very important to me. Somebody I care about. I can't talk about it- but you'll see what I mean." It was a modest granite marker set in the ground on the family plot. There were megaphones and musical notes engraved on her stone. Ted reverently placed the rose beneath the marker. He kissed his fingertips and rubbed them over her name and kissed his fingertips again. I thought of Chad. Ted seemed to be praying. Or something. I sort of drifted back to the car with a slow backward shuffle. Just as I began to lean against Coppertone's fender, Ted said, "Cheryl, come here a minute." He took my hand. "Heidi, this is my friend Cheryl." I went with my instinct. "Hello, Heidi." He squeezed my hand. Ted was understandably quiet after we got in the car. And I made no attempt to joke him out of it. After we drove a few miles, he spoke. "The megaphones were my idea. She was a cheerleader. All the way through college. She had a coaching position when she died. I knew she'd like that on her gravestone. It's who she was." He looked over at me after a silence. "Don't worry. I'm okay," he smiled. "I'm so glad we didn't cremate her," he sniffed. I touched his knee with my index finger. I didn't look up. Not surprisingly, the trip took a change in tone after that. We were more serious, but not somber. I found myself telling him some stuff about Daddy that I never thought I would tell anybody. It's not what you think, but it's bad enough. I'd never thought of myself as being very bright when it comes to stuff like life, but I was surprised at how analytical and articulate I was concerning my family dynamics. I just never had a good listener before. Even I was very interested in what I had to say. It occurred to me that afternoon that I was capable of giving myself advice and would be well advised to take it. We ate at a Chinese food place that offered a panoramic view of a tire dump. I was very shy about eating in front of Ted, but the vigor with which he attacked his food helped put me at ease. The food was delicious: egg drop soup, sweet and sour pork, Szechwan chicken, piping hot and overflowing the plates. Our waiter spoke English only slightly better than we spoke Chinese. He was a riot. But he knew how to say "Corvette", and we figured out that someday he'd "rike" to have a "Cataract". It was hard not to laugh. Ted left a ten-dollar tip for a thirteen-dollar meal. At a lonely rest stop, Ted asked me if I'd ever driven a car. Nope. "Good. Let Coppertone be your first." The steering wheel felt as big as a hula-hoop. I had to point my chin up to see much. "Can we, like, get in trouble for this?" "First we'd have to find a cop. Don't worry about it, Babes." Coppertone was, thank God, an automatic. I sprayed gravel then skidded to a stop. "You're doing fine," Ted reassured me. "Just a little lighter touch, is all." I got her out on to the pavement. I got used to the steering (I was overcorrecting which resulted in a meandering trajectory). I drove her about five miles. I got her up to about thirty-seven. Ted pantomimed confidence in me by pretending to doze behind his sunglasses. I was relieved when a scenic turnoff afforded a place to stop. I earned a handshake from Ted. He wiped his hand on his shirt when he thought I wasn't looking. I'd been nervous. But it was fun. "Cheryl, look, she's turning sixty thousand." I leaned over. I felt my breast press against his arm. He didn't seem even a little distracted- which hurt my feelings slightly. In fact, he hooted like an idiot when the last zero aligned. Men. I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder. Luckily my shyness took command. But I milked every possible moment I could in observance of the mundane spectacle. It just felt so nice... It was like being held, sort of. We arrived back home at six-thirty. Coppertone had carried us 419.7 miles in about ten hours. As I prepared my parting words- hoping like hell that they'd inspire a kiss- Ted said, "Where do you think you're going with that bag, young lady?" "Home?" "Fine. Then I'll just have to eat the Domino's by myself," he replied in a mock snit. I laughed. "Can I use your phone? I have to lie to my parents." He liked that one. Ted sipped on a Heineken. He had bought a six-pack of Mountain Dew, which he produced from his foodless fridge. "Jeez, that's my favorite." "And that's why I bought it, Silly. Me no like-um sugar water" Ted asked me if I minded the Beach Boys. I lied and said no. He had a very fancy stereo in the living room. And a little TV with rabbit ears on a plastic milk crate in the corner. Redwood lawn chairs for furniture. It was pitiful. Mr. Frat Boy. I'm sure the place would have been a mess had he owned enough stuff. I began unbraiding my hair. This always focuses and relaxes me. Why cats purr as they wash, I guess. Over pizza he talked about how he hoped to do something meaningful as a doctor. Beyond making money. I asked if it was hard for him to get into med school. "Not really- I had a lot more trouble getting out. It didn't come- you know- naturally to me... But my father wouldn't accept my dropping out. So now I feel like I owe the world something. I didn't have to struggle with finances like most of the people I went to school with. Somehow this seemed to give everyone the right to comment on my character. Or lack of it." This pulled me deep into my own thoughts. "People suck," I declared after a moment of reflection. He nodded in solemn agreement. "Yeah." "Something I am talented at, though, is drawing caricatures of people. My art instructor was amazed at how I tended to concentrate on a person's more attractive aspects. He said they were 'remarkably flattering, yet instantly recognizable'. I never forgot that." He sipped his beer and studied me. I felt suddenly bashful. "You remind me a lot of Carol Lynley." "Really?" I said. I'd rather he'd said Marilyn, but still, that was pretty good. I kind of agreed, too. I'd never noticed. "My mom says you look like Phil Donahue." Ted furrowed his brow, shook his head, held out his beer and set it down on the floor. "That's it. I'm on the wagon." I had to laugh. "I guess I got the wrong geezer. Something Donahue, anyway. Todd maybe. I'm sure he's dead, whoever he is." Ted shook his head in feigned concern. "You know, it's Chad I pity." "Well," I said, inclining my head as I combed out a snarl, "you should." Ted was enjoying my current mood. So was I. I looked around for something else on which to inflict my fresh wit. I picked up the album cover. "Speaking of geezers, aren't these guys getting, like, kind of long in the tooth to be calling themselves boys. Honestly!" "Hey, you can insult me till the cows come home. But nobody- nobody- insults the Boys..." he admonished with Bill Murray finger-wagging sincerity as he hopped back off the wagon. I arranged my hair in a high-mounted ponytail and bangs- my favorite casual hairstyle. Like Olivia in "Grease". To tell you the truth, the old Beach Bums were sounding pretty good. I'd never heard them on anything better than the Pontiac's radio. I had to stop myself from bopping around on a few of the tunes. I stood up and stretched. "I Get Around" started. I knew how that one went. I did a "breaking wave" swim stroke through the intro- for laughs, really. I had Ted's attention. I let my hips join in. Wrists drop to hips- fingers out. Threw in some hair twirling- a specialty of mine. Hop around go-go style- Ted was from that era. Wish I had my white high-top boots. Wow! I was ON. Should I bend at the waist? Dance, don't think. I bent over and threw him a tit shimmy (return to Hooterville!). I've got him now. Hands behind head, Marilyn-style...peek through the triangle... Wish I had her hips... Hard to be a siren with braces. Oh, to hell with choreography- just show off! So I did. The music should go in your ears and flow out your fingers and toes. And that's exactly what it was doing. My pent-up drive had transformed into talent, I guess. The only other person I ever danced like this for was Wyomia, a girl in my ballet class I was friends with. She said I must be the "palest black chick on the planet". That's quite a complement, coming from her. Ted was hooting like I'd just turned sixty thousand... I was getting quite winded when, fortunately, the song took an abrupt fade to close. Ted clapped and tried to whistle with his fingers (it's the thought that counts). I did a ballet-style curtsey and fell back into the chair. Ted finished his clapping with a standing ovation. He sat back down. He was wiping his eyes with a pizza-stained napkin. "I'm okay... it's just, you know... Heidi... " he paused and looked away, blinking. "She was always looking for girls like you. She always said the wrong girls go out for cheering. Sit around scratching their arms and shaking a pom-pom when they get bored. Social club type deal...Wow! I'm impressed!" I was struggling not to sound like a steam engine, winded as I was. "Are you okay, Babes?" he asked. I nodded. "You know, Cheryl, I've noticed that you..." The phone rang in the kitchen. "Excuse me. Can't imagine who in hell that might be..." Ted was on the phone for about five minutes. He returned shaking his head. I've got to go see the school superintendent tomorrow at nine-thirty. Wouldn't tell me what it was about. All very hush-hush. Guy seems like a prize twit already. 'A situation has occurred that I need to address...' he says. Gimme a clue, will ya. Jeezum... Probably found out I peed in the showers at my high school. Coming back to haunt me. Friggin' detention and I'm damn near thirty." Punchy as I was from the long day, that stared me on a giggle-fit. "Now I can't remember what I was going to say to you..." He stared for a moment, shrugged. "Anyhow, you are one awesome dancer, young lady." He paused reflectively, then added, "You quiet girls have a lot going on inside... You should go out for cheerleading. I'm serious." It was something I had considered, I told him, but I never really felt pretty enough. "YOU? Not pretty enough?" I smiled. "Thanks... but there's a difference between feeling and being." I repeated that to myself and decided that was a good one. He nodded. "Yeah. Know what you mean... Well, your father's just passing on crap that was done to him, I imagine." "I know. It's worse for Chad." I was suddenly sleepy and I decided to head home before our conversation lagged. Quitting when you're ahead, they call it. Ted walked me out. The air was twilight violet. The windows of my distant home a cheerful yellow-orange. I watched Ted put Coppertone's top up. A white bonnet tinted mauve by the crepuscular light. She was so pretty. The crickets chirped. The Russians call this time of day "soomerki", I read somewhere. It fits. He told me he'd be out on the West Coast for about ten days. Leaving Wednesday. "Nothing I'm looking forward to," he added cryptically. My heart wanted to tell him I'd miss him, but my brain vetoed the notion. Too truthful, too early. "Have fun." "I won't." "Well, I gotta go..." I said. I crossed my hands below my waist and narrowed my shoulders to look huggable. It worked. "Come here." He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me tight. He placed his hand behind my head and tucked it under his chin and kissed my hair. It wasn't the spit-swapper you're supposed to fantasize about, but it was wonderful. If heaven feels like that, I'd gladly die tomorrow. Even today, sixteen years later, when I'm half asleep, I can conjure the exact sensations of that moment. I heard him whisper something to himself. The only thing I could make out was the word "Heidi". That was fine with me. I understood. We passed thank yous back and forth for a while, then I left. I showered and went straight to bed after delivering a perky, terse, and rehearsed cover story to my parents. I'd had a great time with my fictional friend Tina. She got a wicked sunburn. Boy, am I full! Well, I'm sleepy (yawn). Goodnight. And that was the happiest day of my life. http://maxpages.com/coppertone/coppertone_4 |
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