Still not apologizing for it
“What’s your favorite band?” Alexa asks. We’re sitting in the back seat of the minivan, waiting for Alexa’s mom to come back in from the general store. Sun streams in through the windows, and the car gets stuffier by the minute, heightening the dog smell that permeates all of the upholstery. Reviewing the history of my mannerisms, I know that at this time, what I probably do is bob my head down and to the side a little, considering. Maybe not though. Maybe 13 is a bold year for me, and I just don’t remember that. Maybe I look her straight in the eye, and don’t give a studied answer; a calculated answer, meant more as camouflage than as expression. In any case, I know that I fall on the truth, and lean in conspiratorially. “Hanson,” I divulge, and she nods her head in agreement.
This cements something in a slowly fading friendship for the rest of the summer. We have been friends since birth practically - our mothers met in one of those mom and baby gym classes when we were two and four weeks old, respectively. I had my first sleep-over at Alexa’s when I was 2, and her family (her mom especially) has always felt like a fluid extension of mine. Her parents divorced half our lifetimes ago, and by the time this summer rolls around, she has been living in the D.C. suburbs for five years. It’s too early for that to matter though, and, continuing a string of vacations I have trailed along on, I am out on the Vineyard for a month.
We play “Mmmbop” a lot, sitting on the deck, painting our nails in those horrible lurid colors that 13-year old girls always seem to favor. Think lime greens, a whole spectrum of blues, and lacquers with glitter. We also bike to the beach, to the library, to the Chilmark town park that has the tennis courts and all the other 13-year olds, but we are still a little bit skittish about these kids. Midway through the summer, there is an awful dinner party with a supercilious 15-year old named Rhianon. I don’t remember why or over what, but we get into a knock-down, drag-out fight and someone slaps someone else in the face. We have to see her again later in the week and don’t really know how to deal.
It’s a great time. So on the cusp of all the obvious things, but still pretty oblivious and free. When we are too lazy to take our bikes to the beach, we go out in front of the house and hitch rides. Alexa’s mom says it’s okay, because it’s the Vineyard. This one time, a woman picks us up in her Volvo and gets outraged over our bare feet. She tells us that if her infant daughter goes out with bare feet when she is our age, she will hang her by the toes. Like that’s the thing to get in a fuss over when two 13-year old girls hitchhike.