The tree house had been built sometime after Hurricane Andrew. Sam knew about it because his dad had taken him diving off the spot many times. From there it was about a forty-minute swim out to where the nurse sharks nested.
Ruddy pointed up to the second floor of the tree house. "That's where I'm going to fuck Wendy Johansen. I've fucked my share, but when I just think of those big milky tits, I swear I get a pretty rough semi," he said.
Sam tried not to look embarrassed. He was only in Miami for the summers. Since last summer, Ruddy had been going on and on about sex and fucking. Since Ruddy was a year older than Sam and he was maturing faster, it seemed only natural that he would be more at ease with this sort of talk. Sam looked up, though, and saw the spot. He had to admit, it was a nice place to have sex with a girl.
It was strange, a fifteen-year-old and a sixteen-year-old talking about fucking in a treehouse. But this wasn't any ordinary treehouse. It was a treehouse someone had built on Miami harbor in the back of a park complex. A place that could only be reached after a twenty-minute walk through the weeds. Someplace secluded that, to their knowledge, only a few people had ever discovered.
"She's something else, huh?" was the only thing Sam could think to say.
"Heaven man. If you went to my school, you'd know. They develop nicely."
"Not at mine. Shit. I hate New Mexico. Don't know why my family ever moved out there. The girls there have serious problems with upper-lip hair."
Sam loved the quiet of the ocean. In everyday life, his thoughts were often scattered, but in the deep silence of the ocean with only his mask and snorkel that silence became something other-worldly. Images and thoughts came clearly.
Sam and Ruddy were in the water and began rinsing out their masks and snorkels. Sam was surprised that Ruddy even bothered coming. They had been friends for a long time, but every summer he came to visit, it seemed like Ruddy wanted less and less to do with him. Ruddy grew older, cooler, more handsome. Sam seemed just about the same as when he left several odd years ago after his first year of middle school. Sam had grown awkward and inward, and Ruddy grew popular and outgoing. At least that's how it seemed to Sam.
Ruddy looked at Sam. "I'll follow you, okay?" he said.
They swam through the shallows, the dirty murky parts where it was hard to see. There was about ten minutes before they hit the clear ocean. Until then, they had to lurk through dirty, brackish water.
Ruddy came out of the water. "Hold up," he said. "I took in a mouthful of that shitty water."
Sam waited for him.
"Just let me know when you're ready."
When they hit the open water Sam began to dream. In his mind, he thought of a science fiction epic. A tribe of lost boys living in houses on stilts out in the bay, away from the zombies, because the zombies couldn't swim.
He imagined himself and Ruddy with spears, spearfishing for survival. Then one day they see a zombie in the water.
The zombies had learned how to swim. One was approaching them. Then another, and another.
"Ruddy," he said. "The zombies! Since when did they learn how to swim?"
"Sam, what are we supposed to do?"
They couldn't make it back to their stilt house without going through them.
"Aim for their brains!"
They swam for the zombies, their spears at the ready. When the first one came, they both plunged their spear into its head.
He heard something. It was Ruddy. He was calling for Sam. Sam swam to him.
"Where'd you go?" Ruddy asked.
"I was just over there. About fifteen yards away."
"I couldn't see you. I think there's water leaking into my mask."
Sam took it from Ruddy and examined it. "How are your fins doing?"
"Good. Here. Let's switch masks."
Sam tried out Ruddy's mask.
"I was calling your name for a good ten minutes but you didn't seem to hear."
"Sorry about that. I must've been focused on a turtle or something."
"A sea turtle?"
It was harder to get a seal on his mask, but the leakage wasn't very bad.
"So, this Wendy girl, is she a senior?"
"Junior. Single. Totally gettable. That's where we'll fuck. Right in that tree house. You fucked many women?"
"Feel bad for you, bra. Just so you know, at my school, you'd get your ass beat for even owning up to something like that."
"Ready to keep going?"
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Pure Writerly Moments (The Best of Goodreads Blog Posts, 2008 - 2018)Short Story
Some moments just have to be written. Sometimes, a simple story, essay, or journal entry becomes more. What are these moments? They are pure. They are essential. They are writerly. This is a collection of short blog posts on Goodreads...