Tides & Trysts (eBook)

Philip Kirby (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2022 | 1. Auflage
400 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-3539-6 (ISBN)

Infos

'Tides & Trysts' is a contemporary coming-of-age story about a fourteen year old boy and his buddies as they adventure through the rites of passage of high school, college, and beyond. Deeply relatable and wonderfully written, this novel is a light-hearted romp taking him through his school years in San Clemente, California, his summer visits to his grandfather's home in Daytona Beach, Florida, and his college years at Fresno State.

Philip Kirby was raised in northern California and now resides in the small town of Ormond by the Sea, Florida. His experiences are reflected in the story by his love for swimming, fishing, and all things to do with the ocean. There isn't a more perfect place on Earth than the beach to view life cycles - from the tiniest fish in the clean, clear water of the Atlantic at the very shore line, to the graceful dolphins cruising by just beyond the breaking waves. A gold star for Creationism would be for the Loggerhead turtles that deposit their eggs on the very beach where they hatched years previously when the water temperature becomes warm and pleasurable in the summer months. Here's to the finest fishing machine ever designed, the Pelican.

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"e;Tides & Trysts"e; is a contemporary coming-of-age story about a fourteen year old boy and his buddies as they adventure through the rites of passage of high school, college, and beyond. Deeply relatable and wonderfully written, this novel is a light-hearted romp taking him through his school years in San Clemente, California, his summer visits to his grandfather's home in Daytona Beach, Florida, and his college years at Fresno State. Throughout this novel, the protagonist and his friends realize that growing up means growing pains are inevitable. The learning curve that enlightens boys from puberty through manhood with its rites of passage, its dreams, fantasies, and rude awakenings impacts Aquinas Flynn in a realistic and sometimes humorous tale taking him from coast to coast, youth through college, and life beyond. Timeless and personal, this endearing novel is a must-read for readers of all ages and backgrounds.

Textauszug

Chapter 16

Dumped

I received a text from Mom this morning: “Julie returned your Varsity sweater this morning—sorry, Hon. Love, Mom.”

Wow! My first “Dear John.” It might not qualify because it came from my mother and not my girlfriend so I’ll put an asterisk by it in my brain chest.

I picked up the term “Dear John” from watching old World War Two movies where some poor guy off at war and being shot at by the Germans and wishing he was home with his girlfriend gets a letter from her stating she’s met the most wonderful man. ( Some 4-F puke who wouldn’t make a wart on a GI’s ass). My situation isn’t even close and not completely unexpected since our communications have dwindled lately and last week she asked me if I knew Smokey Adams. No, I don’t know Smokey, I say to myself, but I know of him. Smokey, black hair combed back and a great pout with a cigarette dangling from said pout, is our 21st Century Fonzie. He claims that Misty Adams of the Disney Chanel is his sister and whether she is or not it works; he’s a scoring machine.

I did the math one time and it looks like Gramps got his from my grandmother during his second tour in Viet Nam. According to Mom, her stepfather has been in the picture since she was an infant. There are “Dear Jane” letters, too, but I wonder who was sent the first “Dear John”. How about Camelot with all that passion and the cornerstone of any great society, infidelity; King Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot. I’m sure they had messengers riding from the castle to the battlefield and back.

Dear Art:

I’ve enclosed the wedding ring you gave me because I feel it’s the right thing to do. Lancelot and I hooked up right after you left. We could not find where you hid the key to my chastity belt so Lance had to pick the lock. OMG, what a pain in the butt that was.

Stay off the skyline—

Guinnie

Did King Arthur respond?

Guinevere:

Give my best to Lancelot, oh, wait, you already are. I ran into a guy on my way to the Crusades by the name of Attila the something... Attila the Hung I think, anyway I gave him your address and where the keys are hidden just in case he needs them.

Semper Fi, Bitch

Guinevere might have been the one to coin the saying, “A bird in the bush is worth two in the army.” Infidelity is perceived as all fun and games; the excitement of not getting caught, the thrill of the chase, the joy of the conquest. There’s an ingredient missing that the adulterers will never have however and that’s trust; never to be trusted or considered trusting or trustworthy. Adultery is the ultimate betrayal.

I don’t know if I’m supposed to feel bad for getting dumped or not but it doesn’t seem to bother me, a bruised ego maybe but would Julie’s feelings be hurt if she knew mine weren’t? What would any red-blooded wee lad like myself do in a situation like this? Go surfing!

The sky is gray, the water a darker shade of gray and a breeze from the west is knocking down the waves. We’re in the middle of a drought so the overcast sky is smoke from the constant brush fires on the mainland. I went to a bigger board thinking it might improve the handling. I’m still growing so at 5’ 11” 170 I went with an Isle E-core 6’6” shortboard. When the sky’s overcast and the ocean glassy, visibility is enhanced without all the glare from the sun. That’s why seeing all the baitfish jumping—Holy Crap! What was that? Something huge and black and fast just went hauling ass right in front of the board. Too fast to tell if it was a shark or dolphin but my feet are on the board in a hurry and my hands in my lap, my heart trying to thump its way out and my stomach is doing the hoochie-coo. That’s why the fish were jumping, dummy. This would be an excellent time to head for shore, slowly, very slowly as I take off paddling like a madman.

Today is the Fourth of July and Gramps and Dickie are off to the races. NASCAR—National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing—is huge here in Daytona Beach. In the early 50’s Bill France, a true legend in NASCAR and Daytona especially, took stock car racing from the boondocks of moonshine runners in souped-up cars to a major sport. In 1959 he built a 2.5 mile, high banked turn, tri-oval track—Daytona International Raceway home to the Daytona 500 and today’s race, the Coke Zero 400.

Dickie, a legend in his own right, beach bum makes good, has a luxury box at the track so a tradition after the race is for him to bring any of the car owners that want to come back to Gramps’ house for drinks, dinner and to watch the fireworks that are shot from the Daytona pier. This affair is very different from the Sunday NFL parties in that the owners’ wives come dressed for the occasion elegantly yet age and event appropriate for the more formal gathering. A caterer supplies the food, booze and two bartenders. Lupe is there as head honcho with a sharp eye to the details. The Colonel and I putz around the perimeter munching BBQ. It hasn’t cooled off much yet so the Compass Rose Room is getting all the action with the air conditioning going full throttle. Standing on the lawn peering in through the Bahama shutters is like watching a wide-screen TV. Bubba the Love Sponge, a local radio personality and the driver of today’s pace car just came bouncing through the doors. He’s a perfect Bubba; big, round, smiling, pat you on the back kind of guy. You can’t have too many Bubbas in and around NASCAR. Next comes Dickie with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Petite, with a clinging yellow spaghetti strap cocktail dress, her long dark hair pulled back and clasped at the nape of her neck, framing large gray eyes and straight white teeth peeking through small red lips, a silky smooth tan, she moved with grace, head tilted up slightly arching her neck and a self-assuredness that seemed mature for her young looks. I plan to stare at her the rest of the night but first I’m going to make sure I’m not noticeable from the inside looking out. Casually moving to the bar I rehearse “Pacifico, please” in my mind over and over.

“Placifico, pease”, and if he heard me or not that was some grin he had going.

Two of the owners next to me are leaning with one elbow resting on the bar so I mimic and glance out the shutters while taking a sip. It should be dark in less than an hour, perfect for Peeping Tom or Q as in this case.

I’m unused to alcohol and know to take it easy. Beak snuck a beer once from home and we split it. I thought it tasted bitter, big shot Beak said I need to acquire a taste for it. At Beth’s wedding I got buzzed on wine and threw up in the men’s room toilet. Taking tiny sips I move to my spy spot.

Bored with being a snoop and an empty bottle in my hand I decide to go down and watch the fireworks. As I turned to go the lady in yellow was coming toward me. Very elegantly.

“Hi, what time do the fireworks start?” she asks.

“Should start soon now that it’s dark. The pier is just a few blocks south and the best spot to watch from is down on the beach.” I didn’t know I had the ability to string that many words together talking to a beauty like this.

“If that’s where you’re headed, do you mind if I join you?” She kicked off her shoes and held out her hand. “I’m Genevieve.”

“Aquinas.”

“Dickie calls you Q, can I?”

“Sure, I’d like that, if you did.” We’re sitting Indian fashion dragging our fingers through the sand. “Are you a Caribette?”

“I was, the token brunette. I still work for Sol Caribe as an advance person. Tomorrow I’m off to the West Coast and Monday I’ll meet with vendors for the display booths we’ll need; tents, Sol Caribe suntan products, drinks, snacks, that sort of thing.”

“How long will you be gone?” She’s cool, I like talking to her, I don’t think she’s that much older than me, and now she’s leaving tomorrow.

“I have an apartment in San Diego so I won’t be back, but the tour starts in Santa Cruz next weekend and finishes up in San Diego at the end of September after hitting a different beach town each weekend.”

“Was it a promotion, you leaving the Caribettes?”

She didn’t answer right away, we had both been watching the fireworks when they would launch so I thought she didn’t hear me over the blast but when I turned she was looking at me, tears caught in the corners of her eyes. She turned back, drew her knees under her chin and hugged her legs.

“I was working a booth on the Santa Monica beach, bending over arraigning product and when I looked up a man was there. Young, handsome and I swear my heart skipped a beat. He said he wanted to take me to dinner that night and what time did I get off. Caribettes are not supposed to date, flirt or come on to the customers and I never did, some did but not all. I gave him the name of my hotel and that I would meet him in the lobby at a certain time. Love at first sight, I guess.

“He was in the Army, had just graduated from West Point and came to Southern California with a buddy to meet movie stars. At dinner that night he said he was done looking. His furlough was up Sunday and he had to report to West Point for orders but if he could get away, we would meet the following weekend in Long Beach, the next stop on the tour. By Laguna Beach and the Hotel Laguna one night, we were in love.

“David M. Worthington Jr., 2nd Lieutenant, United States Army, was from an established New England...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 5.4.2022
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 1-6678-3539-4 / 1667835394
• ISBN-13: 978-1-6678-3539-6 / 9781667835396