How I Spent My Summer Vacation

by C. Sprite

 

Chapter One

 

Along with everyone else in the school, including the teachers and administrators, I couldn't wait for June and the end of the school term. The final weeks seemed to stretch out interminably since we were required by some dumb state law or School Board regulation to come in to school for several half-days following the completion of exams at the end of May, even though nothing was being taught. So everyone just sat at their desks, looking bored and reading comic books or magazines, or passing notes around. A few spent their last school days trashing what little remained of their text books, then firing little wet paper pellets with rubber-bands, or spitting them through a soda straw. Inevitably, the last day arrived, and a jubilant, nay riotous, student body wasted no time in getting away from the school as quickly as humanly possible on that Wednesday afternoon.

I slept in on my first day of vacation; not too late, just an extra hour or so, but it felt wonderful. The rest of the day was spent playing video games, my passion as well as my preeminent occupier of spare-time . When I wasn't cracking the books during the school year, I could be found engaged in mortal combat, either on Earth, or in some far-away galaxy. I never had the latest games, having to wait until those had run their course in popularity and were traded in to a second hand shop where they'd be sold for a fraction of their original cost, but I got my money's worth out of them once they found their way into my possession. The school books always came first though. I really did want to go to college, and although I didn't yet have a clue what I wanted to study or what career I would pursue, I knew that top grades and the scholarship assistance they bring, would be the only way I could get there. Life hadn't been too kind to us, and as the only child of a single parent, I felt that it was my duty to provide a solid future for Mom and me. But having a reputation as being 'a brain', in a public school filled with dangerous sociological miscreants and misfits of both genders, wasn't always easy.

Truth be told, I personally felt like I had more in common with the punks or goths than the jocks or nerds, but by not fitting in solidly, or even marginally, with any group, I was doomed to lead a fairly solitary existence. You might never realize that, because I frequently hung around with some of the prettiest and most popular girls in school, at least at lunchtime and between classes. I had been close friends with many of them since first grade, and even kindergarten, and I think they continued to tolerate my presence in their high school social coterie because I was a great source for completed homework assignments. At lunch, my papers would be passed around the table and copied a dozen times over before the end of the period, and probably again by the boyfriends of the girls later on. I didn't really mind since it at least provided me with a social milieu of a sort, and I was always included in their conversations. I normally declined to speak when they discussed the various anatomical attributes of different guys, or certain female health maladies, but for their part they never hesitated to speak in front of me, regardless of the topic, while they quickly shut up if other guys came around. I think a lot of guys at school figured I was gay because of my apparent indifference to sports, and my acceptance as a peer by the girls. A couple of the guys had even tried to interest me in having sex with them; unsuccessfully tried, I might add. And where most high-school guys became tongue-tied when confronted by a beautiful girl, I was perfectly at ease, never lacking for something to say in topics of interest to the girls; and I could hold my own in almost any intelligent conversation as well.

After school was a different story, however, and my presence was usually quickly dismissed by the girls as they hurried to meet others for a trip to the Mall, or hurried to find current boyfriends for a ride home. I understood, and the evasions were always pleasantly stated; I was clearly neither considered one of the girls, nor one of the boys. But my close association with the girls kept anyone from picking on me; at least not anyone that had hopes of getting another date before his high-school graduation. The girls were extremely protective of a homework source that always had the work done, and had completed it accurately. On at least two well remembered occasions, a jock, hoping to score some extra points with the girls, had come to my aid when I was confronted by jerks who had little chance of getting a date anyway, so had nothing to lose.***

Arriving home from work a little after five on that first day of my summer vacation, Mom started preparing dinner and called for me to come peel a few potatoes. I finished my game and walked to the kitchen where the potatoes and peeler were waiting for me on the table. I stretched my hands, trying to work out the stiffness that had developed from gripping a controller all day as I played my games, and set to work. I never actually did any of the cooking, but I was often pressed into service to peel, slice, dice, or chop vegetables. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to help out. Mom works hard at her job and then comes home and has to start the dinner and do the housework. She married very young, after becoming pregnant with me, and she was still just sixteen when I was born. That was the same age as I was now. It was scary to think about the pressures and responsibilities that had been heaped upon her shoulders at such a tender age. At least my dad did the right thing and married her, even if the miserable bastard did run out on her after eleven years of marriage. He disappeared with his eighteen-year-old bimbo secretary after cleaning out the joint checking and saving accounts, leaving Mom to face the creditors in what seemed like a bottomless pit of maxed out credit cards, past-due mortgage payments, and overdue taxes. Things had been really rough at first, and we just narrowly missed being thrown out on our–– into the street, by both the tax people and the bank. With help from my Gram in Florida, and my Aunt Sharon, Mom scraped together enough to pay the seriously delinquent taxes and catch the mortgage up to date, saving us from homelessness. Mom found a job with a local defense contractor as a Quality Assurance Inspector, and begun divorce proceedings using desertion as the cause. The divorce had been granted, and there was an immediate separation of debts. Since all of the credit cards had been in Dad's name, most of the collection calls stopped immediately. Mom was awarded complete ownership of the house, formerly deeded in joint ownership. It was lucky for us that the house was owned jointly, or Dad probably would have sold it before he ran out.

In a separate action, Dad was ordered to pay child support, but the State's Support Collection Services folks hadn't had any luck in tracking him down yet. They got a lead indicating he'd left the country and was now living somewhere in Mexico, but if I never see the miserable bastard again it will be just fine with me. Although we still have to watch the budget closely, we're getting by on our own. Mom paid Gram and Aunt Sharon back the money she borrowed, has the mortgage and taxes current, and has the rest of the debts under control. Still, although Mom's the breadwinner, I kind of consider myself the man of the house.

"There's a problem at work, honey," Mom said, soon after we sat down to eat. "I can't get away for our camping trip right now. The plant landed the new government contract we've been hoping for and I learned that Army Procurement has moved up the required delivery date. My boss says that he'll give me an extra week's paid vacation leave if I postpone until September. I'm afraid that if I insist on going now, it could jeopardize my chances for promotion. The other people in my section are all postponing their vacations; I can't be the only one to take my vacation."

"Aw, Mom," I whined, "I've been looking forward to that trip for three months."

"I know, honey," Mom said in a sympathetic voice, "and I'm sorry. We just can't do it right now."

"O-kay," I said, sighing loudly.

"Hey," Mom said enthusiastically, "how about this? I spoke to your Aunt Sharon and Uncle Bob today. They said that you're welcome to come to their house. They have a large in-ground pool, and your three cousins will be around for the whole summer. You guys always had fun when we went on vacation together."

"We haven't done that since they moved out to Illinois, before Dad left. Besides, Suzanne is what, twenty-one now? She won't want to hang around with me. And Lurch must be about twenty by now." The name Lurch was a reference the giant butler employed by the Addams Family of cartoon, television, and movie fame.

"James Michael Ashley, don't you dare call your cousin 'Lurch,'" Mom said angrily. "Nicole is very sensitive about her height."

"Don't worry," I said grinning. "I never do it to her face anymore. Not since she picked me up over her head and threw in that cold Adirondack mountain lake."

Mom smiled. "It served you right for calling her that name. But don't even call her names in private because you might slip someday while in her company."

"But she always calls me 'Squirt,'" I said in my defense.

"Maybe if you stop calling her names, she'll stop as well. You're both a lot older now, and more mature. How about your cousin Lizbeth? She's just a year older, and you and she were always real close. You were inseparable whenever we went camping."

"That's only because there weren't any other kids around."

"Are you saying that you'd rather stay here all summer, playing video games alone?"

I thought for a moment, chewing on my lip. If my three cousins were guys, it would be different, but I had to admit that playing video games alone all day, every day, was going to get old pretty quick.

"Well?"

"I'm thinking-- I don't know. What if things don't work out?"

"Then come back home."

"How? How would I get out there, and back?"

"There're always student travel discount fares on the bus lines during the summer. We'll buy you a ticket with an open return date, and you can come back whenever you want to."

"Will they let me travel alone?"

"You're sixteen now." She stopped and smiled. "Except for your insane love for playing video games, you're an extremely mature sixteen. And you're as tall as I am."

"But Mom, you're only five-foot-four. I'd be the shortest guy in my class if it weren't for Larry Wolsaki; and he's a dwarf. Most of the girls are even taller than me."

Mom sighed as we began to rehash an old subject. "I've told you, Jimmy, that girls develop earlier than boys. They enter puberty earlier, and mature sooner. By age fourteen, they've usually reached their full height. Boys continue to grow until they're eighteen or nineteen. In the next year or two you'll probably shoot up like crazy, your voice will deepen, and you'll have to start shaving as your facial hair starts to grow."

"I hope so. A few guys at school already have to shave every day; while I haven't had a single whisker makes its appearance."

"I like your beautifully soft skin and cheeks just the way they are," she said, as she reached out to rub her hand gently on my left cheek. "Like a baby's bottom," she said jokingly.

"Mommmmmm!" I said exasperatingly.

"I wish my skin was still so soft and smooth. And you should enjoy not having to shave while you can. Before you know it, you'll be complaining loudly about having to shave every morning, just as your father always did. And even after you've just shaved, your face will never have the soft feel that it does right now. Eventually it'll have on the feel of sandpaper whenever you haven't shaved for a few hours. Tell you what, I'll give you a note to take with you saying that you have my full permission to travel to your Aunt's house. Nobody will bother you."

"Well, I guess that I'm going to Illinois then."

"Good. I'm sure you're going to have a wonderful summer."

'I wish that I was as sure', I thought to myself. My aunt and uncle were great, but my three cousins were, how can I say it nicely, a little flaky at times. And believe me, I'm being kind. I've managed to get into a little bit of trouble by myself over the years, but during the summers that we went on vacation together, I was in trouble from the first day until the last. Every day my mom would say, "I don't know what's gotten into you lately." What had gotten into me was my three cousins. One of them always had some brilliant idea for what we could do next. Often it involved pulling some childish prank, and I was made the front man, being the youngest and most 'angelic looking,' according to Suzanne. In my attempts to ingratiate myself, and thus remain a quasi-member of the small band of sisters, I did whatever they told me.

 

Mom drove me to the bus terminal the following Tuesday morning, and waited with me until it was time to board the bus for the first part of my trip. I would travel to Albany, New York on a local, change to an express for the trip to Buffalo, change again to an express bus to Chicago, and then change once more to a local for the final hour's ride. The trip would take a day and a half. I'd prefer to go by plane and get there in two hours, but money was short while time was plentiful.

As I prepared to board, Mom hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. Wiping her lipstick off my check and running her hand over my hair, she said, "Jimmy, I wish that you'd gotten your hair cut before this trip. I know that I gave you permission to let it grow long, but I never dreamed that you'd let it get this bad. Your aunt and uncle will think that I'm sending a daughter instead of a son."

"Aw, Mom, this is the style now." That was my standard argument whenever she nagged me about my hair.

"I don't live in a vacuum, James. I know that most boys don't wear their hair that long. Usually, it's not much longer than shoulder length. Only a few boys wear it longer. It's not like you're in a band or anything."

"As long as I keep it neat and clean, the school allows it."

Mom scowled. "I don't want to fight with you right before you leave on your trip. Just do me one favor. Think about cutting it to shoulder length. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom. I'll think about it. I love you."

She smiled. "I love you too, honey, and I'm going to miss you. Have a good time in Illinois."

Mom remained by the car until the bus pulled out. We waved to each other until the bus turned onto the street and I couldn't see her anymore.

The first leg of the trip took forever considering the short distance that we covered. We must have stopped twenty times to pickup and discharge passengers. I tried to just relax and enjoy the scenery, but everything started to look the same after a few hours so I tried to sleep instead. Not being tired, combined with the lurching, jerking, and swaying of the bus, prevented me dozing off. We finally reached Albany in the very late afternoon, but I would have to wait for several hours until my connecting bus was boarding.

As it approached the time for the second bus to depart from Albany, I hurried to the restroom for a last minute empty of my bladder before boarding. I hated trying to stand and pee on a bus that was rocking and swaying on the highway, and there was no way that I was going to sit on the disgusting seat that I knew I'd find. If the odor in most bus bathrooms was any indication, some seriously ill people traveled on the bus system. When I returned, I saw that the queue had already formed. It seemed that everyone in the terminal was leaving on the same bus. I joined the incredibly long line, dismayed that some people had boarded already. It was a pretty sure bet that I wouldn't be able to get a window seat.

It turned out that I was the last to board the bus. No one joined the line after me, and the bus was packed. I walked down the aisle looking for a seat but every seat was occupied. If I couldn't find a seat I would have to wait for the next bus.

As I neared the very back of the bus I spied a seat by the window in the next to last row. The very large man sitting in the aisle seat stood up and moved out of the way so that I could get in. He towered over me like the giant in 'Jack and the Beanstalk' but I sat down with a sense of relief that I wouldn't have to wait eight hours for the next bus.

When the bus pulled out of the terminal's yard, the man next to me said, "I saved dis seat just fa you."

I didn't know what to say so I answered with "Thank you."

"My name's Marty. I saw you in the terminal and taught you might be going to Buffalo."

I didn't respond other than to nod.

"You're very pretty."

I was starting to get a little nervous now, but still didn't say anything.

"You're a lot prettier than my last girlfriend."

I looked at the man and said abruptly, "I'm a boy".

Undaunted, he said, "So was my last girlfriend. He still has two years to serve though, so we had to break up. Maybe he'll come visit me when he gets out."

"That's nice," I tried to say without emotion. The man was playing with a bottle of prescription drugs that bore a label showing they had been issued from the 'Prison Pharmacy'. If there had been another seat I would have moved immediately. I even considered going into the bathroom, but I couldn't stand in there for four hours.

"If you're boy, how come your hair is so long?"

"It just is."

"Are you in a band?"

"No, I just like long hair."

"I never saw a boy with hair as long as yours, unless he was in a band."

"I guess they don't let you keep it long in prison."

"Yeah, they do. But not that many guys let it grow much below their shoulders. Your hair is twice as long as anyone on the inside."

"My high-school doesn't care how long your hair is as long as it's kept clean and neat." I was getting more and more nervous by the minute. It was growing dark outside and the light on the bus was dim. Most of the travelers around us were men, and it seemed that they were listening to the conversation and smiling. I began to imagine that they had all just been released from prison.

"Why don't you let your hair down so I can see it."

I always wore my hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail, held by a couple of elastics near the base of my neck. "I prefer it like it is," I answered.

Reaching up and grabbing my ponytail, he said, "Oh, come on. Let me see it loose." He tried to pull out the elastics that held it in place and it felt like he was ripping my hair out.

"Ouch. Stop. You're hurting me." I gave in. "I'll do it."

He let go and I reached up and removed the elasticized bands. As soon as my hair was free, he began separating it and arranging it. He pushed me forward in my seat so that he could stretch my hair down my back. I was afraid to resist or pull away.

The hair that tumbled down my front almost reached the middle of my ribcage and it must have reached just as far in the back. I hadn't had it cut since I was in elementary school, when the parents of some kid who had rebelled against the rule requiring males to keep their hair short, had sued my school district. Since girls were allowed to wear it down to the ground if they wished, the court agreed that it was sex discrimination and the district changed the rule to say that hair must only be kept clean and neat. After that, almost every guy in school started growing his hair long. Most stopped after they found out how much work it takes to maintain long hair and went back to short hair, but some of us got into a sort of competition to see who could grow it longer. The competition was long over, but my hair was by far the longest in the school now among the guys, and only about a dozen girls had longer hair. During the past year I had begun thinking about cutting it, but then it became sort of an act of defiance when my mom started to regularly suggest that I get it cut. Every time she mentioned it, I set my jaw and determined to let it keep growing.

"You have beautiful hair," Marty said as he played with it. "It's soft and shiny; just like a young girl's."

"It's just hair. That's the way that it grows."

He dropped his arm to my shoulders and pulled me gently back in the seat, leaving his arm around me and pulling me closer.

"I have a nice apartment waiting for me in Buffalo. Want to come stay with me?"

"I-- I have people waiting for me in Chicago," I said nervously. "I have to catch another bus."

"Stay overnight and catch the next bus in the morning."

"I can't. They're expecting me at a certain time."

"Well, we have a few hours yet before we get to Buffalo. You think about it." He didn't say much more after that. He just stroked my hair and held me with his arm.

 

I was relieved when we finally pulled into the Buffalo bus terminal. Marty had fallen asleep about halfway there and snored noisily until we reached the exit for Buffalo on the NYS Thruway. I had tried to disentangle myself twice but each time he had just pulled me closer again. I finally gave up and let him hold me as he slept.

As the bus came to a stop at the bus station ramp, and the lights came on inside the bus, Marty said, "This is our stop. We can take a city bus to my place."

"I can't go with you," I said firmly. "I have to catch the bus to Chicago in an hour."

"Oh, come on. I'll bring you back in the morning. You'll be more comfortable sleeping in a bed than on a bus."

"I can't. I have to catch the bus that I'm scheduled for."

Marty stood up. The people around us had already moved forward in the bus as it quickly emptied. Marty bent over to me and said quietly, but emphatically, "The decision's already been made, honey. You're comin' to my place. Now get up and walk off the bus in front of me."

I stood up nervously. I was shaking visibly as he stood back so that I could get into the aisle. His upper arms were as large as my thighs and he reached up and grabbed my hair where it fell between my shoulder blades. If I walked too fast, he pulled me back with my hair. If I didn't move fast enough, he pushed me with the fist that was wrapped around my hair.

The bus driver had been the first one off the bus, and wasn't in sight, so there wasn't anybody that I could turn to for help. We moved into the terminal, with him still gripping my hair in his left fist, and he steered me towards the street exit where the city buses could be found. I was scared to death, but there were people milling around the terminal. I knew that I couldn't let him get me outside where the streets might be deserted. I was about to start screaming my head off when two policemen entered the terminal through the doors that we were approaching. I could feel Marty tense and hesitate slightly.

I took the opportunity to shout, as loudly as I could, "No, I will not go to your apartment. Now leave me alone." I twisted to the left side so that the police would be able to see that he was holding my hair in his fist, but I tripped and fell as I reached the limit of travel allowed by my hair. He was still gripping it tightly as I wound up lying on the floor.

"What's going on here?" one of the approaching policemen said.

"Nothing, officer," Marty said. "We was just leavin'. My friend tripped."

"It didn't sound like your friend wants to go with you, mister," the other officer said.

"I don't," I said loudly. "He was trying to take me to his apartment against my will. I have to catch another bus. I'm on my way to my Aunt's house near Chicago."

The first officer, who hadn't really ever taken his eyes off Marty, said, "Let go of the girl's hair and show me some identification."

I felt the pressure on my scalp relax as my hair fell, and the second officer extended his hand to help me up. As I stood, Marty handed the officer a folded mass of paper. The officer opened it up and read it before grimacing and holding it up for the other officer to see.

"Well, Marty, you're not wasting any time are you? Just released this morning, and already booking your return trip," the first officer said.

"I didn't do nuthin'. I just offered my friend a place to stay overnight."

"When the other person doesn't want to go, it's called kidnapping," the second officer said. "You've been a con long enough to know that."

"I wasn't kidnappin' nobody."

"I saw the grip that you had on her hair," the first officer said. "Are you going to tell me that you were just trying to keep her from falling?"

"Uh, yeah, that's right."

The second officer had moved around Marty now and handcuffed his hands, then patted him down looking for weapons or whatever. He examined the pills that he found in Marty's pocket.

"You'll have to come to the station and fill out the complaint forms, Miss," the first officer said to me.

"I can't. I have to catch a bus that leaves in an hour."

"Are you saying that you don't want to press charges?"

"I can't. I have to get to Chicago."

"We can't hold him if you won't sign a complaint and he'll only try this with some other young girl. Next time he might succeed. It's your duty to get this scum locked up again."

"If I sign a complaint then I have to stick around for months, or longer, for hearings and trials and stuff, right? Like on television?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"And since he didn't even get me out of the terminal, some smart lawyer will probably get him off. I don't live in Buffalo, and thanks to you, nothing really happened. I can't stay around for a useless trial."

"Very well," the officer said, sighing. "Come outside to the squad car so I can write up a report on the incident. We'll take Marty in and hold him overnight so that you won't have any more trouble with him before your bus leaves."

I followed the two officers as they took Marty outside and placed him in the back of their car. He watched me with venom in his eyes as I gave a summarized account of the events since I had boarded the bus. I showed my bus ticket to the officer filling out the form when he asked for it, and when he asked to see my ID I showed him my student card. I also had to give him my home address and my Aunt's address.

"Okay, Miss James, that's all," the police officer said as he handed me a copy of the report. I wish I could convince you to file a formal complaint but I understand your reasons. You'll be a long way from here by the time that Marty gets released in the morning. Have a safe trip and try to avoid talking with strange men."

"Thank you, officer. Thank you both." I turned and walked back into the terminal, realizing that I was still shaking. I was also aware that the police officers had referred to me as a female several times and I hadn't corrected them, but I guess that I was so scared that it hadn't really registered at the time, and it wasn't really important. With my long hair and still high-pitched voice, strangers often responded to me that way. Knowing that my body would soon take on more masculine characteristics, I had stopped getting angry, or even trying to correct them, and simply tolerated the misidentifications. If people were too ignorant to correctly identify my gender, it was their problem. I stayed in the fluorescent-lit entrance of the bus terminal, watching through a window in the thick aluminum door, until the cop car pulled away. I wanted to make sure that they simply didn't release Marty as soon as I was out of sight.

I stayed in the fluorescent-lit entrance of the bus terminal, watching through a window in the thick aluminum door, until the cop car pulled away.

Walking to the monitors that showed arrivals and departures information, I confirmed that my bus was on time. Then I took a seat and concentrated on getting my nerves settled down, telling myself repeatedly that it was over. I wanted to put my hair into a ponytail again but I had lost the elastics that I used. They must have fallen to the floor of the bus when Marty dragged me into the aisle. I couldn't remember much about that time now except how uncontrollably scared I was.

Although the bus was listed as being on time, it was actually more than an hour late in arriving. They finally called for boarding around midnight and I hurried to get in line. I didn't really need to rush, as there were only about twelve people getting on the bus, but being at the front gave me my choice of seats. I took a seat on the right side, just two back from the front. I wanted to be close enough for the driver to hear everything if anyone tried anything on this trip.

When the bus pulled out of the station area I began to feel safer, and once we reached the highway I felt pretty confident that I had seen the last of Marty. I settled back into my seat and slowly drifted off to sleep.

(continued)

  

  

  

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