June Bug

The summer I turned eighteen I was nervous as a kitten waiting for June to arrive. It was the start of a new decade, the 70's sliding exhausted into the 80's and back then the world felt a lot less complicated than it does today.

June's family had been coming to the island every summer since before I was born, before June was born. They stayed in the big house below ours, the house where the tall windows opened onto the beach. Our own, far more modest home, was set back inland.

Despite the difference in our backgrounds I thought of June as my best friend. Over the last three summers that feeling had changed into something deeper than friendship. I knew June felt it too. We both acted different the last two years. I guess it started when we began holding hands again.

Up until we were eleven we used to go everywhere hand in hand, the way kids do. The way I used to go around with Billy Kennedy in kindergarten. The year we turned twelve, without mentioning it we stopped holding hands and became more reserved. We started noticing the changes in ourselves. That year June had started wearing tops, and it was the next year she filled the top of her bikini, just a little.

We were still best pals for three more years, still hung around just about all the time together, though as I grew older and stronger my Dad wanted me to work on his boat more so I had less time to spend with June.

The year we turned sixteen - my birthday was in May, June's was, of course, on the first of the month she took her name from - best friend didn't quite cut it any more.

I will always remember, as long as I live, the evening I fumbled and took her hand as we walked back across the beach. The sun had set, the wind stilled but the waves still curled in loud and strong against the sand. We had been into town, eaten a burger and drank milk shake and June had paid and I had said it was OK I didn't want charity and June said it wasn't charity and for God's sake Ben don't be so goddamn touchy. That was also the year June started experimenting with swearing. Pretty mild that year. When she came back at seventeen she cussed like a marine. I guess she had been practicing while she was away.

June's family were rich. Not well off, not comfortable, filthy fucking rich (as June would no doubt have described it).

We weren't poor, but we didn't have money to throw away. My Dad ran a small fishing boat, brought in lobster and clams, made enough over the two months of summer to keep us going until the next year. Winters he worked odd jobs, caretaking the closed up houses. Mom cleaned and opened the houses up once every couple of weeks over winter when the weather was mild to keep them aired.

I was the eldest, my brother Adam three years younger. We all got on pretty well, most of the time.

June knew I couldn't afford burgers and shakes as often as we had them, knew I felt bad about it and tried to make me not feel bad. Sometimes, most times, it worked.

This time it hadn't felt the same and I was a little resentful and pissed at her.

She walked in the foam where the waves left bits of weed and shells, the bigger waves washing around her bare feet. She wore bikini bottoms and a tee shirt over her top. Her legs were slim and tanned from the sun. Her hair was long and full, light brown with blonde streaks that were never there when she arrived and got wider until she left.

I was walking higher up the beach, kicking at the sand with my toes. I wore old swim trunks and a tank top with a tear across the chest and thought I looked pretty cool. That year I reached five-ten and had just started to shave. Only once a week, but it was still shaving.

I glanced across and June was kneeling down looking at something in the foam.

"What you got, June Bug?" I called out.

"Don't call me fucking June Bug, Ben. I fucking told you not to call me that." Next year her swearing would get a lot better and sound more natural. That year she still sounded like she was reading it from a book.

"Sorry, June," I said, being careful not to call her Junie either. She was right. I kept forgetting. Sixteen can be a sensitive age.

"Only a clam shell," she said, leaning back on her heels and then standing. "Just another fuckin' clam shell." She laughed.

I veered down until I was walking next to her. Now and then our shoulders bumped, but it didn't feel awkward.

We came round the point and a half mile further along the beach June's place appeared.

I was nervous, knowing what I wanted to do, and scared she'd get mad. That year June had been getting mad a lot, it seemed, and I was worried it was something I had done, or maybe something I hadn't done.

We closed the distance to her place by half before I got my courage up.

As if accidentally I bumped against her shoulder again, then brushed the back of her hand. She didn't pull away, so I fumbled and found her fingers and held her hand. Still she didn't pull away, and after a couple of paces I felt her fingers close around mine.

Neither of us said a word until we were almost at her place.

"Same tomorrow?" June said, stopping and turning towards me. Her hand was still in mine, but it was starting to feel a bit weird now because I didn't know where to go with it. She swung her arm, our linked hands brushing first her thigh then mine.

"Dad wants me to help on the boat in the morning. But afternoon's OK."

"About two?"

"Sure."

I waited for her to turn away but she stayed there. Eventually I worked out she was waiting for something.

She hummed softly to herself, some pop song that was in the charts that year.

She gazed over my shoulder, now and then looking back at my face.

In the end I worked out what she was waiting for.

I leaned down and kissed her on the lips. Real fast and real quick.

When I pulled back I saw she had closed her eyes. Her lips were still puckered.

Then she opened her eyes and smiled. "You gotta do better than that tomorrow, Ben, or I might not let you kiss me again all summer."

I shrugged as though it was no mind to me. But the next day we kissed again, and as the summer went on we practiced kissing quite a lot.

That year it was kissing, nothing else. But when August came around and they were getting ready to leave June and I walked along the beach and up into the dunes and spent an hour kissing.

"I guess your my boyfriend now, Ben," she said as we lay watching the clouds scud across the blue sky.

"I like the sound of that."

"Me too. And am I your girlfriend?" she asked.

"I'd like that," I said.

"Fuckin' A, Ben. Fuckin' A." She rolled onto me and kissed me hard and a week later she had gone back to Boston and most of the other summer visitors with her and the year wound down. It got windy and cold. Dad pulled the boat out of the water until next year. I helped him care for the summer houses, nailing loose shutters, replaced shingles, painting, sanding, slapping creosote onto fences and outside furniture.

The next year when we turned seventeen I was nervous, wondering if June still thought she was my girlfriend. But I needn't have worried. The first night we walked along the beach she took my hand. Up in the dunes she kissed me, opening her mouth to me for the first time.

"You're one hell of a fucking kisser, Ben," she said. She had been practicing her swearing, because it sounded real natural that year.

"Takes two," I replied.

"But I think we could make it better," she said, cuddling up against me. "I want us to practice a lot, this year."

"I got nothing against that," I said.

And we did kiss a lot that year. And messed around a bit. There was a tension between us we both felt. The S word was hanging there between us, but June wasn't ready and I don't think I was either and I didn't want to rush into anything. So we just left it hanging there. The tension was tough, and as the summer wore on it grew worse.

We necked a lot. At some time I touched June's boob through her top and she didn't slap me off so before long I spent a lot of time doing that too. I didn't try going any further, and June didn't say anything to encourage or discourage me. We were innocent, I guess. And I was scared.

Then a couple of days before they were due to leave we went swimming. The weather had turned early and the sky was gray. Heavy breakers rolled in against the sand and we spent hours laughing as they knocked us over. We body surfed, swam out hard, diving through the breaking waves.

We fooled around a bit in the water because no one could see us and June wriggled against me like an eel and must have felt my erection but she didn't say anything. Two days later she was gone.

Later that year I almost got myself laid but turned down the chance. Maggie Gibson was the girl. High school party was the place. We ended up dancing together most of the night and then found ourselves outside, down on the playing field.

Around us we could just make out other couples. There were giggles and the sounds that lips make when they kiss.

We lay down and Maggie rolled me onto my back, put my hands onto her tits and made it clear I could go as far as I wanted.

I played along for a while, but June kept popping into my head at all the wrong moments. June that last time we went swimming, walking up the beach in a tiny black bikini, looking back over her shoulder and grinning at me, grinning in a way that promised something. Next year, that grin said, next year, you and me.

In the end Maggie Gibson gave up on me and I walked home alone.

I did well in class. I found most subject easy, particularly the ones others found tough. Math was the easiest and I often got bored because we kept going over and over the stuff no one else understood, and I couldn't see why because it was so fucking simple!

I aced my ACT test but college was never an option. My family didn't have the money, and it never occurred to me I could do it for myself. My future was mapped out. I would join Dad on the boat. I would slowly morph into him. Eventually he'd get too old and stop work and I'd take over. We were an old island family, not many of us left, but the visitors needed us to look after their summer homes, needed us to supply the fresh lobster and clams.

The the year I turned eighteen, as May rolled to an end I felt myself grow nervous, waiting for her to turn up.

Their car arrived - a new one, they arrived in a new car every year, but I knew it was them because it was always the same model of Mercedes and had a vanity plate.

Dad, Mom and I walked together down to the house to help them unload.

Dad shook Jim Bedford's hand, kissed Mary on the cheek. Mom kissed them both and I shook hands.

I looked around, but there was no June.

We helped carry their stuff inside. The Bedfords might have plenty of money but they were not stuck up and carried their share of the stuff they brought.

Dad and Jim talked about work. Dad said the engine on his boat needed a service. Jim said the markets were jittery, but he had done real good that year by selling short.

I wanted to ask where June was but held back.

Finally the baggage was all brought in, bags unpacked, windows opened and warm air let in to clear the winter damp.

Mary Bedford started coffee going and her husband opened two beers, then hesitated and looked at me, back at Dad.

"Would Ben like a beer, Frank?" he asked.

Dad smiled. "I'm sure Ben would love a beer."

You could have parked a semi in the hole my mouth made. Dad was right, I would love a beer, but I didn't think he knew I drank beer.

Jim Bedford snapped the top of another bottle of Bud and passed it to me.

"Skol," he said and we clicked the tops together, like men do.

"Is June coming down later?" I asked, trying to make my voice casual as we walked out onto the porch and sat on wooden chairs.

"Ah well," Jim Bedford said, in the kind of voice that made you feel like you had pried into something personal.

I looked out over the ocean and swigged my beer, hoping I wasn't blushing.

Jim Bedford sighed, worn down by my silence. "I guess she won't mind me telling you, Ben. You two have been pretty good friends for a long time, haven't you?"

I nodded.

"June was down for Harvard, but didn't make the grades. She did good in everything else, but not Math, and Harvard won't take her unless she comes up to scratch. She's staying over at home. We're looking for a tutor to coach her. She's got a test in four weeks. She has to pass or she's not going to college."

"There are other colleges," my Dad said.

Jim Bedford gave him a look. "As far as my family are concerned, Frank, there is only one college. I went Harvard. That's where I met Mary. My Dad and Grandfather went there."

"Ah, I see," Dad said, but I knew he didn't.

"I wouldn't mind helping out," I said.

Jim Bedford turned to me. "Sorry, Ben?" As though he hadn't heard me.

"Ben got the highest Math score in the state," Dad said, letting some of his pride show in his voice, pride I hadn't even known he felt.

"Congratulations," Jim Bedford said. "But Junie needs a real tutor. There's someone going round today. June's going to call us later on and tell us how they get on."

"Well," I said, sipping beer to cover my embarrassment. "The offer's always there."

"And thanks, Ben. I'm sure June would really appreciate it. But this is her future. You can see how important that is to us."

"Sure," I said. But I knew I could get June through the test. I knew June, knew her real well, but I hadn't know she found Math hard. We hardly talked about school, but I knew I could have helped her.

The next morning I biked into town for bread and pastries and took them over to their house. Mary Bedford opened the door when I knocked.

"Come on in, Ben. Put those in the kitchen, would you?"

I laid the bread and pastries on the counter and Mary Bedford handed me a mug of coffee.

"How did June get on with that tutor yesterday, Mrs Bedford?" I asked, trying to make my interest sound casual.

"Oh," she waved her hand. "She sent him off with a flea in his ear. She said she didn't understand a word he said. We've got someone else going over today."

"Good," I said.

"Jim told her about your offer, and she was very grateful, Ben." Her voice had softened, as though she was breaking bad news to me.

"It's always open, you know that," I said.

"I know, dear. But Jim's determined to get her the best." She pulled a face. "Not that you're not the best, Ben, it's just..."

I laughed. "It's OK, Mrs Bedford, I know what you mean."

She sighed. "I struggled with Math too. But in my day not so much was made of it. I don't think I'd get into college these days."

"Everybody needs Math now," I said, then realized I had probably said the wrong thing. "Everybody my age, anyway," I added, and knew I was making it worse.

Mary Bedford laughed. "It's OK, Ben, I know what you mean."

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said as I rinsed my mug at the sink.

I spent the day with Dad, pulling lobster out of traps and catching their claws with elastic bands. We came into port late in the afternoon and took our catch around the usual restaurants and hotels. The payment was always cash, but I knew Dad was careful to declare every cent on his tax return.

That night I lay awake in bed listening to the surf and thinking about June. I was desperate to see her, missed her more than I ever thought possible, but I also knew her getting into Harvard was important. She had never talked about what she was going to do after High School, never mentioned college, but whether that was because she knew it was not part of my plans, or because we never talked about anything outside the summer I don't know.

When I rapped on the screen door the next morning no one came to answer, so I pulled it open and took the delivery through to the kitchen.

Making my way out I heard Mary Bedford's voice, looked right along the hallway and saw her on the phone, her back turned.

"Don't let your father hear you use language like that, June, or you'll be staying in Boston all summer."

I smiled. Foul mouthed June.

"No. I didn't tell him that." I was hearing only one side of the conversation, but it didn't sound like June was in a good mood.

Mary Bedford tucked the phone between her neck and shoulder and sighed deeply. She turned and saw me, gave a little wave.

She listened for a long while and I held my hand up and started to leave.

She waved her hand to stop me.

"Hold on, June, he's here now."

She called me down. "June wants a word, Ben."

I took the phone and said, "Hi, June. How're you doing?"

"My father's a fucking moron," she said.

"Yeah, nice to hear your voice too."

"Shut the fuck up, Ben. Tell me, did you really say you could teach me Math, or were you just blowing hot air out your ass as usual?"

"Tutor not up to scratch?"

"One was so old I kept expecting him to drop dead any second. The other one couldn't keep his eyes off my tits the whole time he was here. Gross."

"Can't blame him for that," I said.

She giggled and my stomach gave a little flip.

"So did you mean it or not, dickwad?" she said.

I smiled. "I meant it. But you'd have to do what I told you. You'd have to work hard."

"I'll work," she said. "But when have I ever done what you told me, Ben?" She sounded as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"The offers still there, June. But I don't think your Dad's very keen on the idea."

"Mom's gonna work on him," she said. I looked at Mrs Bedford, standing patiently in the hallway, her arms folded.

"Well, let's see. It would be nice to see you, June," I said.

"I want to see you too, Ben. I've thought about you a lot this year."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Me too," I said.

"What, you've thought about yourself a lot as well? Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"You know what I mean, June."

"Really?"

"Sure you do."

I glanced at Mrs Bedford, feeling uneasy flirting with her daughter while she stood there.

"I'm gonna put your Mom back on, June. Hope to see you real soon."

"You too, Ben. You too."

I handed the phone back and walked out onto the porch. It was a perfect early summer day, small white clouds, a light breeze and the surf pulsing softly onshore.

I walked down to the track and checked the tires on my bike. The back one was a little flat so I pumped some air into it.

The porch door slapped back and I turned to see Mary Bedford.

"I'm going to talk to Jim, Ben. I think you might be the only person that can do this thing for June."

Her face was serious, and in that look she showed every ounce of love she felt for her daughter.

"I'll do whatever I can, you know that," I said.

She stared at me, her gaze searching. Then she smiled.

Later, after Dad and I had emptied our pots and unloaded them I changed into swim trunks and ran along the beach a mile south and then swam the mile back, working my body hard, trying not to think about June.

As I walked out of the surf I saw June's Dad standing on his porch watching me. I tried to stroll casually up the beach.

"Can I have a word, Ben?" he called as I was about to pass the house.

"Sure. I'll get changed and come back down."

"Come up now," he said.

"I'm all wet," I said.

He picked a big towel off the bench beside him and tossed it to me. "Use this."

I wrapped it around my shoulders and climbed the bleached wooden steps. He uncapped a beer and handed it to me.

"I was pretty dismissive the other day when you offered to help June, and I'm sorry," he said.

I shrugged. Jim Bedford was a rich and powerful man, and I felt uneasy at him offering an apology to me.

"I've been talking to Mary," he stopped, gave a crooked smile, "Or rather, Mary's been talking to me. And I've spoken to June." He took a deep breath, and I could see just how hard this was on him. "If you meant it, I'd like you to tutor June in Math."