Fredric Shernoff: Atlantic Island

Theo had never expected life to be so unsatisfying. It wasn’t as if he felt entitled to anything in particular; no brass ring being held extra low for him to grab or crown to be placed on his head. It was that he always assumed he would know his purpose when the time was right.

As a cool Philadelphia spring gave way to the heat of summer, the students of the junior class at Mifflin High School filled the halls with talk of SAT scores, campus visits and summer plans to pad the ever-important college application. Theo walked among these conversations not quite eavesdropping, more like observing with a goal of understanding.

It wasn’t that Theo’s grades weren’t up to snuff. Although he had floundered in middle school, he had redeemed himself over the past few years and now held a strong B average. He knew that he would be applying to colleges after what would most certainly be an embarrassing series of school tours with Mom and Dad along for the ride. The problem was that Theo didn’t care about anything in particular.

He had briefly considered the notion that he may be what the school counselor called “clinically depressed.” Theo didn’t agree. He had seen depression personified among the outcasts in school trying to “express themselves.” That wasn’t him. Black wasn’t his color.

No, depression wasn’t the diagnosis here. If he had to label himself, Theo would go with “disappointed.” He had spent his seventeen years believing that he was following a pre-determined course. True, he didn’t know where that road was leading him, but he was resigned to follow. Now, when it seemed everyone else was taking charge of his or her destiny, Theo had turned to his trusty muse and found that his travel guide had abandoned him.

Theo’s friends shared his habit of dabbling in school activities without being too involved in any one thing. They also shared his confusion and uncertainty about the future. What they seemed to lack, Theo reckoned, was his frustration. They appeared content to say, “screw it, life makes no sense and we’ll figure it out when and if we can.” Theo’s difficulty was that he expected to know the answers. He thought the goals would be self-evident and he would just have to strive for them. No such luck.

When summer break finally arrived, Theo did what any teenager without any particular plans would do. He met up with his friends for pizza. Bill, a baseball player who dabbled in the world of the “cool” crowd but spent most of his time out of it, sat down at the table with his two slices of cheese steak pizza. It was Wednesday afternoon late in June and the shop was busy serving the liberated high schoolers. Theo and Bill sat at a table for four. Soon Mark and Ryan would join them. Mark always drove Ryan, and Mark was always late.

“Don’t you think we should go to the shore?” Bill asked.

“Why the shore?”

“Well, for one, it’s ridiculously hot out here. For another, the girls are ridiculously hot down there. It’s a no-brainer.”

Theo thought about it. “Well, we could stay at the motel near where my grandparents have their condo.”

“Why can’t we just stay at the condo?” Bill asked. “It’s cheaper.”

“Dude,” said Theo, ” it’s my grandparent’s place. I don’t want their friends checking up on us and reporting back.”

“Fair enough. The motel it is then.”

The door jingled as it was opened. Mark and Ryan made their way to the table.

“What’s up boys?” Mark said.

“We’re going to the shore.” Bill said. “We’re going to stay in a motel, and there will be girls, and Ryan will remember what it’s like to be touched by a woman.”

“Hey,” Ryan laughed, “I had a girlfriend more recently than the rest of you losers.”

Theo grinned. “He does have a point, Bill. Why don’t you guys sit down? We were just laying out the details.”

The four boys spent the next hour consuming too much pizza and vast amounts of soda while plotting their conquest of the New Jersey shore. They agreed to stay in Ventnor, just south of Atlantic City but on the same island. One night would absolutely have to include a trip to Ocean City on the next island down because, as Mark put it, “that’s where the action is.”

Ryan, who was never without his smartphone, clicked away as he researched what it would cost for this little adventure. He had not actually had a girlfriend recently or at all. His friends didn’t know this because Ms. Linda Fine attended Jenkintown High. Although Linda, like everyone else, had a Facebook page, the other guys couldn’t see her profile because the whirlwind romance had imploded quickly and friends don’t “friend” their boy’s ex. In reality, Ryan and Linda had met at a programming competition and he had been too nervous to ask her out (though not too nervous to send that one-click request for friendship).

That weekend, the guys all piled into Mark’s Honda Accord and hit the road. As they approached the rest stop on the Atlantic City Expressway, Bill asked if he could visit the men’s room. All four were in agreement that this was a great idea, so Mark pulled into the rest stop parking lot.

The facility, recently remodeled, was the only place to take a break along the Expressway without bailing at one of the exits. Families and groups of teens and young adults streamed in and out of the doors, filled the tables in the rest stop’s main cafeteria and waited in long lines for the artery-clogging goodness that one finds along the country’s highways and byways.

Theo went to the bathroom with the other guys and spent a little extra time at the sink examining his reflection in the mirror. This was the last chance to make some appearance adjustments before arriving at the shore. He listened to the conversations around him. A trucker at a urinal argued with his buddy about whether the President should do more to protect the “danged homeland” instead of worrying about “all them Arabs in Iraq and them places.” He pronounced “Arabs” like “Ayrabs.”

“I’m telling you Lennie, one of them brown skinned sons of guns is gonna blow this whole country straight to hell and that damned President will be sitting twiddling his thumbs.”

Lennie grumbled his agreement and Racist Trucker adjusted his zipper and made his way to the door. He did this, Theo noticed, without bothering to stop by the sink. Lennie, who had to be six foot six and three hundred pounds, also showed his disdain for personal hygiene on his way out of the men’s room. Theo had a passing thought about Racist Trucker and Lennie swapping germs with a big high five, maybe after Lennie made a great point about those “brown skinned sons of guns” running wild in the homeland. He chuckled as he turned back to the mirror.

Theo dried his hands after putting the finishing touches on his short hair. The music playing from the restroom speakers ended and a news report came on. “Scientists warn that a comet the size of Manhattan has a one in ten thousand chance of hitting the Earth.”

Good Lord , Theo thought, do they ever come up with anything positive to report?

“Let’s go buddy, the chicks are a-waiting.” Mark came up behind Theo and shocked him out of his thoughts.

“Alright, I’m ready, just want to grab some coffee before we go.”

Back on the road, Theo stared out the window thinking about the trucker and the announcement on the radio news. Mark fiddled with his iPhone and soon the sounds of Maroon 5 blasted from the Accord’s speakers.