Christopher Prato - Little Boy or, Enola Gay

“A.J.!” She said it like she should be pissed. I don’t think so , I thought. “What kind of girl drives around in a car, a stranger’s car, owned by a wop named Guido? Jesus Christ! I thought you never came to this beach before.”

“I never said that. And besides, who really cares? I didn’t even hang out with him at all. Only like once or twice.”

I knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway, just to make myself feel a little better. “Did you ever kiss him?”

She paused. “Once,” she said.

“You kissed this guy! You kissed a guy named Guido? What are you fucking crazy?” My voice raced across the mellow beach. Heads popped up from the sand and stared. “Where did you do it?” I was in shock.

“In the water,” she said.

“What do you mean—you just started making out with this guinea, right there in the water?”

“No, I mean he kissed me. And then I told him to stop, because I really didn’t like him.”

“Did you think he was cute?”

“A little,” she said. “But I really didn’t like him, and that’s why it only happened that one time. Even his sister yelled at him for doing it.”

“Who was his sister, this hero of yours?” I asked.

“It was this girl, Rosie. You don’t know her, but I’ve mentioned her before. She’s the girl who made fun of me at school.”

“Why don’t you come to the beach with her anymore?” I asked.

“Because I’m not friends with her anymore. And because I have you now.” With that, Maria’s eyes became a bit glossy, and I sensed she was about to cry. “Let’s go in the water,” I commanded. “Right now.” And we did.

We didn’t go in the water like any other couple at the beach that day. We didn’t stand along the water’s edge, allowing the ripples to tickle our toes for a few moments, gradually immersing our bodies in the cool ocean. We didn’t gaze at the beautiful summertime horizon, arm in arm, ankle-seep, cuddling in the midday heat. Instead, I grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her, sloshing through the ocean with one arm, lugging Maria with the other. She didn’t know what the hell I was doing. And, to be honest, neither did I. I just knew I had to get out there, away from all the shit, away from the conversation we were having.

Soon we were wading in at least five feet of water. I was just tall enough to keep my head above the surface. Maria’s little body would’ve been well submerged had I not scooped her up into my arms, like an infant swaddled in rags. One arm was underneath her bare white thighs, the other wrapped around her bare back. The slippery seawater made it hard to clutch her body, but I did it. Quickly, I turned around and stared up at the white sun shining above. Squinting my eyes, I proceeded to look straight into the sunshine. Maria didn’t say a word.

“You see that sun,” I asked, “and that big wide blue sky around it? Some day, Maria, someday I’m going to fly up there with you. And we’re going to soar above this beach together away from everything. Away from all the people. Away from your father. Away from Rosie. Far way. I promise. And we’re just going to look down at everyone, laughing, knowing that we’ve discovered a peace in the sky that no other human has ever experienced. Because that sky is a sanctuary, Maria. A real church.”

I thought about Guido, the guy that Maria had kissed in the very same water in which we were standing. I knew what he looked like, with his big, black mane of hair, his gold chains, driving his goddamn Mustang GT. I envisioned Maria laughing in the back seat of that goddamn car, before she ever even knew I existed. Before she ever thought she’d say “I love you” to anyone.

And as the sunshine slapped my face, as I clutched Maria within my arms and hands, tears rolled down my cheeks—tears even saltier than the water. And I didn’t know then—and I still don’t know now—whether or not those were tears of love or fear. But they were tears just the same.

Sometimes the future can erase the past.

Or at least that’s what I thought back in high school. And the key to erasing my own past was Maria. I wanted to forget all about the crap that had taken place in my life. I thought: Maybe all of my tomorrows could replace all of my yesterdays . A silly thought, I guess. But I really didn’t like my life all that much. No, that’s not true. It wasn’t like I was always depressed or anything. I wasn’t. I suppose I just didn’t like a lot of what had taken place in my life. Maybe I was looking for redemption. Somehow, I thought, I could redeem myself by changing my ways.

That’s why I started the L’Enfant Reformation in August, while I was Upstate the second time with Mike and Kyle. That weekend, around the campfire late the first night, I dared Kyle to walk around the woods near the trailer with a bucket on his head. And he did it. It doesn’t seem like much of a dare; but it was pretty bold considering the fact that he could have walked into the fire or gotten lost in the dark.

After he went, it was my turn. Kyle had a devilish look on his face as he thought and thought about the best way to win our competition. Rick encouraged him to dare me to kiss the fat girl we saw in the Rec Center who’d thought I was cute. Kyle knew, however, that I would do that easily just to win the dare, so he didn’t bother with it. Then Mike’s father came out and offered us some coffee. We declined, because most of us didn’t like coffee, but Kyle figured it would be a good idea to dare me to eat a spoonful of coffee grinds. I did it, too. And that’s why I was sick the rest of the weekend, with stomach pains and diarrhea. Still, though, it was a fun weekend.

But it’s memories like that weekend that I sort of wanted to forget. I don’t know, it’s almost like I felt guilty about having fun, like it was the wrong kind of fun. I felt bad about enjoying life. I even felt that way all the way up until being with Megan in Central Park. Even at that moment I felt like there was a dire need for me to compensate for what was lost, whatever it was. It was strange, really. It’s frightening to live in fear of the past, because your past is all you have. You are your past .

And that’s why I wanted to forget my past, and make up for it with the future. That’s why I thought it was crucial for Maria and I to stay together forever. She was the key to setting my past free. She would extinguish all the fires I had set.

Likewise, it was my job to help Maria erase her past. She never explicitly stated that she wanted me to do it, but I sensed it. I knew that she feared trusting people because her father and friends had let her down so often. She needed someone to get that shit out of her mind, and I wanted to help her do it. That was the genesis of the L’Enfant Reformation. I did it for Maria.

Just think about how perfect it could have been: both Maria and I were unhappy with our past lives and relationships, and each could help the other smother the rage the other felt. With my plan, I thought that nothing could stop us from being together forever, each always supporting the other when the past reared its ugly head. It was a flawless plan. It was a plan for true love.

On our last date of the summer of ’92, Maria and I began our date by making out. This was unusual, because we usually talked for hours before making any physical contact. Her parents were upstairs preparing a barbecue. Lucky for us, they seldom bothered to come down to Maria’s room in the basement and check on us. Her father was usually too drunk to care; her mother simply trusted her.

As we started to kiss, I mentioned that I really wished I could see her naked. Although it wasn’t my decision to make, I sincerely felt that the right time had come. Before she had a chance to say yes or no, I asked her if anyone else had ever seen them—like her girlfriend or something. She said that only one person had seen her naked, and that was her old friend, Rosie. It happened at the beach when she was changing in the bathroom at Rockaway Beach. Apparently, Rosie was her best friend until she got to high school, when she met Lynn. She was a real scumbag, too. That wasn’t just my opinion of her. “Scumbag” is Maria’s word, not my own.