BAD DAY ON THE BEACH

The last time I visited my brother, we had a falling out.  I was staying at his home, taking on that occasion the bedroom vacated by his daughter when she went to college.  As usual, he offered his home to me when I mentioned that I haven’t been on the Island for several years, and that I wanted to come and see everyone.  I try to get back there every couple or three years, and he always offers his place.  My sister offers her place too, and on occasion I have stayed with her.  She has a pool in her yard, and in summer, it’s always a pleasure to take a morning swim before getting on with the day.  But I particularly like staying with my brother.  It must be a guy thing. 

     Anyway, on this occasion, things got ugly.  The atmosphere changed dramatically one day after a visit to the beach.  My brother and his wife keep a cabana at the beach they go to.  A whole social world swirls around those places, with a kind of caste system built into them on account of the tiers created by the differing costs.  The most expensive cabanas are located in the area closest to the water, and as one moves back from the water, closer to the highway, the cost drops, and each tier of cabanas represents a particular society.  Of course, my brother’s cabana was nearest the water, the most expensive one, in fact, in that whole tier. 

     Inside the block of little shelters there is a small piazza-like space where people who take these cabanas congregate and socialize.  Food and drink are plentiful.  Also, there is plenty of skin, but for the most part, no one pays attention to it, since most everyone there is well along in their careers, and their skin is not so appealing.  But status is established in so many subtle ways that one has to be alert all the time to innuendo, to the glance, the raised eyebrow, the stare, and—worst of all—the “word.”  Good lord.  One has to buy one’s bathing suit and towels in the right places, bring only certain wines to the piazza to share, apply only approved lotions, wear the right clogs, and so on.  Going to the beach is a kind of self-display with nuances that would take an ordinary guy a college course to learn. 

     I fear I cost my brother and his wife a certain decline in caste, which my brother would not have bothered even noticing if left to himself.  It was his wife who blew her top over it, and crying profound crocodile tears over her loss of “face.”  How could she face those people after this? she pleaded with her husband.  They were forever forbidden from returning to that cabana.  They would have to find another beach to go to.  Lord.  Did she fuss.  The falling out with my brother came after I said out loud what I thought of his wife’s carrying on over such a trivial thing. 

     Well, I was just about thrown out of that house.  Fortunately, this happened only the day before I was to leave to come back home.  My sister came for me, and I spent the night with her and she took me to the airport the next day.  So.  I was left then with trying to find a way to patch things up with my brother.  But first I needed to contact him and talk with him without his wife knowing, so I thought I might do that through the email, but then I decided I had better not, since his wife often goes into his email, mostly because he asks her to check on something he is expecting, and while he’s at work, he just doesn’t have time.  I could use his work email, but I don’t have that address.  I could call his cell, but he uses that exclusively for work and he’d either not answer seeing it’s me, or he’d answer and tell me not to use that line.  At home, he and his wife use the same cell, so she’d know I had called.  The best thing to do was to tell my sister to tell him to call me, and just wait for him to get over our spat enough to call.  So, that’s what I did.  

     You’d never believe what happened.  I can hardly believe it.  How can people be so superficial as to cut off relations with family over something so stupid as what happened in that cabana?   I guess I’m going to have to explain.  Well, it began as a thoughtless observation on my part about this one guy’s girth.  He was a short balding man, going gray at the edges, and lording it like a monarch in that piazza.  His bathing suit never got wet because all he did that day I was there was sit in the shade, sip wine, and toss nibbles into his mouth.  He looked inflated at the midsection.  His legs were skinny, and so were his arms.  His upper chest and shoulders were also those of a thin person.  But his belly was so distended he really looked like someone stuck an air hose into his belly button.  His throne was a chair beside the bar where the wine and pop and other drinks were kept.  He wore a velvety red and white robe over his black bathing suit.  He acted like the gatekeeper to the wine and stuff.  So I said to no one in particular, barely above a whisper, “Who’s the little fat guy?”  I thought I was saying something harmlessly funny.  But the stares that came my way said, almost in italics, bad, bad, bad, and you should have known better.  Of course, I didn’t know anyone there, so how could I have known better?  But I made matters worse by staring back and inquiring, “What?  What??”  Geez, I think I saw at least three flies investigate those open mouths.  So, I laughed.  That was the shocker.  Laughing.  Oh, my GGGODD.  You’d thought I pulled some dame’s bikini bra off, or something. 

     Bad.  It was bad.  I laughed even harder.  It got worse.  My sister-in-law was so consternated, so ashamed, she had blushed down to her shoulders.  Poor creature, to take such a thing so seriously.  My brother caught my elbow and moved me out of the piazza toward their cabana, and told me when we got there to get dressed.  He took me home.  Left me there and went back.  Can you believe it?  But then things went from bad to worse.  It was bad enough that I belittled his wife by noting that the whole episode had been trivial.  But when my sister spoke with him about it and told him I had asked her to tell him to call me, he just about went ballistic, and for two reasons.  First, that I should have told our sister about it at all, and then because I didn’t just ask him myself to call me so we could talk about it. 

     Well, he told Tess to tell me to go kiss off!  I wasn’t to ask to stay with him anymore, Katy wouldn’t have me, nor would he.  So, that affair just about terminated relations with the family.  Tess said that from now on she would come to visit me and didn’t think it would be wise for me to come back to the Island, even if it were to just spend time with her, as Rob would resent it and begin hating her over it.  That’s how families fall apart, I guess, over stupid things that don’t matter at all. 

     I mean, if either of them, my brother and his wife, gave a moment’s thought to their so-called “face,” he or she would realize that if they just ignored it and carried on as usual, so would everyone else have done.  It became a matter of face because they made it so.  Stupid people.  I could say, “Well, I’m better off now.”  But I didn’t feel that way.  Actually, I like my brother.  It bothers me no end that this has happened.  What to do?  I had to devise some way to put this all behind us.  What I did was kind of stupid itself.  I mean, really stupid.  But in the end it did get us over it, though I think Katy will really never forgive me.  In time, I guess she’ll forget about it.  But so far that time hasn’t come.  What I did was, well, that’s the story. 

     First of all, it would help if I explained that I am single, never married, and well employed, advancing in years—I mean, I’m not young anymore, though I have a lot of life left.  I’m only forty-five.  Passed the age when one thinks of marriage.  Men like me become accustomed to single life and set in our ways.  We’ve dug deep grooves of habit from which even the bulldozer couldn’t push us.  Nothing wrong with it, it’s just a life, one way of getting through it.  I’m certainly not alone in my bachelorhood.  The women I know are great people—my sister, my sister-in-law, co-workers, friends from the neighborhood—it’s not like I live a monkish life.  But my being a bachelor helps mightily to explain why I did what I did.

     I thought about it on the plane.  I thought about nothing else during that five-hour trip, including the drive home from the airport.  As soon as I got home, I phoned the Town Hall of the town my brother lives in, since the beach belongs to the Township and it’s the Town that rents those cabanas.  I had no problem renting a cabana for the next summer.  It was, of course, the one my brother and Katy usually rent.  It was only July, and their lease on the cabana ran until Labor Day, at which time they would renew the lease for the next summer.  When they tried to do that, they would be told that that cabana was already leased for next summer.  I could see my sister-in-law’s face, how irked and ticked off she would be thinking that the usual people who gather there had found a way to keep them out, and I couldn’t help but to smile at the thought of her consternation, though she did mourn out loud that they could never go back to that crowd after what happened.  I didn’t believe a word of it.  They had been renting that cabana for years, and it really was the most expensive one on the beach.  I just couldn’t see her, them, my brother too, going off somewhere else. 

     No.  She wouldn’t tolerate losing face to that extent.  I knew what she would do.  She’d show up next summer just daring anyone to mention this year’s fiasco.  My sister-in-law was not going to let herself be pushed from the top of that pyramid.  No way.  My plan was at Christmas time, to more or less barge into their home and dangle the key to the cabana in front of her and drop it into her hand as a kind of peace offering.  She would recognize it immediately, because those keys were attached to a dark blue ribbon with a pink swirl in it, easily recognizable for what it was.  She would know what it was I dangled, and then we’d see if peace were to be restored. 

     In the meantime, I had emailed my brother at his home and told him I held no grudge and would welcome some response from him.  I figured he’d cool off after a while and sort of regret his throwing me out.  Well, I suspect my sister-in-law got to those emails first and deleted them, probably out of spite, and that’s why he never responded.  I kept this image in my mind of her jaw-dropped face beside the Christmas tree, the key to the cabana dangling in front of her.  I was already relishing that moment.  Hoowhee!  You wouldn’t believe what happened. 

     Well, Christmas came around, and I had taken two weeks vacation time so I could go back to the Island.  I didn’t tell my sister Tess I was coming, nor my brother, of course.  I had reserved a room in the Holiday Inn in my brother’s town and rented a car at the airport.  I got in on the twentieth, picked up the car, and drove out to the Inn.  I got myself settled in and went to the restaurant for a meal.  My plan was to dangle that key in front of my sister-in-law as soon as possible, the next day really, hoping we’d heal the breach and then have a good time together before I had to return.  The next day was Friday, and I didn’t expect them to be at home. 

     I got up early and headed out to the Town Hall to pick up the key to the cabana.  It took a long time, both because I was unfamiliar with the place and the procedures, and because there was so much bloody red tape.  I had settled the matter over the phone months ago by telling them I was renting the cabana for my sister as a Christmas present.  I had asked my sister to send me a utility bill from her home and that I had a surprise to tell them about at Christmas.  I knew she wouldn’t mind the ruse when I told her why I needed that bill.  But all this had to be dragged up again, ledgers had to be consulted, ID had to be examined, that utility bill had to be shown again.  It was so not customary to let keys out for those cabanas in winter time,  what was I doing?  A Christmas present, a Christmas present.  Of course, they liked that idea, chatted about it to each other, on and on. It took half the morning before I got that key. 

     There had been no snow so far, and the weather was unusually warm for December on the Island.  So, even though it was cloudy, I decided to take a drive out to Ocean Parkway and nose into the various beaches out there, kick off my shoes, and walk in the sand, even though it would be cool.  I saw gulls hunched in the sand, their feathers ruffled by the breezes, but no sandpipers or terns.  The ocean was its usual self, dark and foamy, noisy, and I did see shells, mostly broken, rolling in the surf, and the separated claws of crabs and fragments of crab shells, horseshoe crabs, too.  I like the beach, even in winter, but after a while I got too chilled to stay anymore, and there were hours to go before my brother and his wife would be home.  I needed something stronger than a cup of coffee, so I decided to drive back to town and look for a comfortable bar.

     I had a bite to eat along with a couple of Scotches.  Still hours to go, so I phoned Tess, and she was home.  When I told her I was in town, she wanted me to come right over, so I went there.  What the hey? Man! she wanted to know.  So I told her what I had planned.  She said she didn’t think it was a good idea, knowing Katy.  She was more likely than not going to throw me out of her house, and she might even throw that key after me.

     “But what if she doesn’t, hey?  What if she keeps the key?  Even if she’s angry?”

     “She might keep the key, but she will still throw you out.  I’ve been living all this time with her bile over what you did at the beach.  She’s not going to forget.”

     “Forget?  No, she ain’t going to do that.  But get over it, she might, that’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”

     “Rob will do whatever she does, you know how he is.  Don’t expect him to plead for you.”

     “No.  You’re right about him.  But still, it’s worth a try.”

     “To me, it’s a big deal that you care.  I’m proud of you for that, brother.  You’re a better man than him.”

     “Don’t say that.”

     “You haven’t been living with them in your face these last months.”

     Well, Tess was a good ole soul.  I could always count on her.  We spent the rest of the day chatting, and I had a good time, which made the whole affair, ultimately, worthwhile.

     Around seven that evening, Tess called Rob and Katy and said she wanted to come over and would bring some pastries, and would they put up a pot of coffee.  Katy was delighted.  So we head out to the local bakery, picked up some cannoli and Neapolitans, and parked at the curb in front of their house.  I left my rental at Tess’ house so there would be no advanced notice of what was going on.  I stepped to the side of the door so whoever opened it wouldn’t see me right off.  It was Rob who came to the door.  He held it open, and I could hear his jovial “hello” as he stepped back to let Tess in.  When I stepped into view and came in behind her, the smile on his face vanished.  But the look of surprise was so funny I had to laugh.  I said, “Hey do, Rob.  Merry Christmas!”

     His mouth just hung open, so uncharacteristic of him.  I’ve never seen him speechless before, and I laughed again, sticking out my hand.  Damn, that tendency to laugh really gets me in trouble.  He didn’t shake hands.  He clearly took offence at the laugh, and at the ruse, too.  He began to shout for Katy.

     “Katy! Katy! Look who Tess dragged in, Katy!”

     She came from the kitchen into the parlor and when she saw me, her mouth dropped open, too.  She became all stiff, and her hands clenched, and her face reddened so, I thought she was going to have a fit.  She really worked herself up into a rage.  It scared the hell out of me.  I took the key out of my jacket pocket and tossed it to her.  She made no attempt to catch it, and didn’t even look at it as it hit the floor. 

     “Get the hell out of my house,” she finally shouted, her voice as high pitched as she could make it.  “Get out” she screamed.

     I looked at Rob, who was just standing there looking at me.  He, too, never looked at the key on the carpet where it had fallen.  Neither of them had any idea what I was up to.  I was going to step over to the key, pick it up, and try again, but as I started to bend down, Katy let fly a kick at me, which I just managed to avert, and regaining my posture, stepped backward.  Rob then came at me and pushed me backward through the door, then pushed Tess out, still holding the box of pastries.  We could hear the lock click.  Tess looked at me and said, “That went well.”

     “She tried to kick me in the head.  Did you see that?” I said.

     “How could I miss it?” she said.

     Well, we went back to her house, put up coffee, and along with her husband and her son and his wife, finished off those cannoli and Neapolitans.  I had no stomach for the sweets at first, but when we began to tell the story, Tess’ husband found it so funny, he laughed till his sides hurt, and Mikey and Liz laughed along with him, so, in the end, we had a good time.

     Tess found out later that Katy picked up the key to throw it out the door after us, but she recognized it just in time and held onto it.  I didn’t hear a word from them all through the winter and the next summer, but Tess told me that they had gone many times to the beach and settled once again into their cabana society, and all was probably well.  It wasn’t until the next Christmas that I heard from them.  They sent me a Christmas card, and in it Katy wrote that she hoped I would plan on a visit sometime next fall.  I reckoned she didn’t want me to come during the summer months just to avoid having to deal with the beach.  So, I figured we would, by then, be pretty much back to normal.  Except that, when this story is published, someone is likely to read it who knows all about what happened at the beach, and it will start all over again.  Poor Katy.  Poor Rob.  Should I say it?  Nah!  Why make things worse?