Black Balloon

Chapter 20

Over the next few weeks, Carmen and I began spending more and more time together, leaving her mom to entertain the various social clubs she chaired. Nancy Lumnah was an active member of three book clubs, a women's investment group, and a shitload of other equally pointless things, most of which involved wearing a colorful hat and drinking coffee with other middle-aged upper-class ladies. I'd begun doing basic upkeep on the Lumnah's home while Dr. Bob was away through the week. I'd mow the lawn, clean the gutters, pick up sticks. Nancy paid me well for this and it endeared me to the good doctor for helping out while he was in Sacramento. On weekends, he'd take us out on his sailboat or we'd sit around the fire pit talking and drinking late into the night. The summer of 1956 was one of the best of my entire life, despite having none of the luxuries I had grown accustomed to in the 21st century. It turns out I never really needed them. The nights on Carmi were long and warm, filled with campfires, fireflies, and hours spent lying underneath the stars having those late-night chats that only seem to happen in the wee hours of the morning when both parties are a little tipsy. Hiding in those moments is a rare type of honesty and optimism that is otherwise elusive, the mental disposition we wish we could feel all the time but somehow evades us through our daily lives; vanishing the next morning like a dream which only moments ago had been so vivid.

Carmen's and my "relationship", if you could call it that, grew slowly but steadily without either of us ever saying the word "date", "go steady", "best gal", or whatever the appropriate terminology for the time period was. It continued innocently enough with me occasionally getting a peck on the cheek or earning the right to "hold hands". Our courtship made me feel a bit like Opie Griffith, but I didn't mind this at all. She'd pop into the store and visit me while I was working, initially to the chagrin of Sam Ruskin, but even he eventually grew to appreciate her visits. She didn't loiter, so much as act like a second set of hands, free labor; stocking shelves or 'facing' the candy after the kids had pillaged it.

On July 4th, Shiloh held its annual Independence Day parade downtown, followed by a big boat parade that sailed along the coastline past all the cabins. Townsfolk decorated their sailboats, trawlers, and catamarans with big flags and red, white, and blue bunting. One of my favorites was made-up like a pirate ship, constructed of painted plywood and cardboard. It even had little cannons that fired Roman candles. This day held extra significance because tomorrow would mark the 2-year point between me and my date with destiny. I tried to forget this fact and just enjoy myself but I couldn't. July 5th, 1958. Whitefish, Montana. 2 years and 1,000 miles standing between me and some unspeakable horror. Or perhaps some totally inconsequential event, but I doubted the latter was true. I had this feeling, the strongest gut feeling I've ever had, before or since, and it wouldn't leave me. It was a dark cloud constantly looming over my idyllic summer of puppy love.

After the boat parade, the Lumnah's threw a huge backyard BBQ, the end result of which was me full of bratwurst and barely able to climb out of an aluminum lawn chair. The party, which started at noon, was winding down by 8 o'clock, leaving me, Carmen, and the doctor sitting around the fire by ourselves. Nancy had long ago "gone to bed." Bob suggested we take a late-night boat trip and I reluctantly agreed. It's not that I didn't want to go, but I was just so tired from a marathon day of eating, drinking, and blowing things up. My thumbs were blistered from fuse sparks and lighter burns. America.

Bob, after changing into his traditional captain's garb which he insisted on wearing anytime he even stepped foot on the vessel, met us at the dock and we all piled aboard The Merrynaut, a 29-foot sloop constructed in the early thirties, purchased in New Bedford, and remodeled in 1948 by an old British fella named Erving or Ervin or something. Whatever his name was, he was now deceased. I knew all this because I had patiently listened to Dr. Bob tell this story no fewer than ten times to anyone unfortunate enough to get stuck listening. He was so goddamned proud of that stupid boat.