Quarters

    The sound of the quarter clanged against the metal slot as it made its way through the skeeball machine. In an expanse of nothing, it plummeted onto a beautiful pile of shiny George Washingtons, a silver mountain exaggerated by Taylor’s ten-year old imagination.  With the release of ten thousand springs and latches, seven equally heavy, wooden balls the size of big oranges rolled into the open chamber, emitting a succession of knocks that would bait the perked ears of any young boy.  Coby, a twelve-year old with dirty blonde hair, slid his slender fingers around the sixth ball, rubbing it with his warm golden hands.  The ocean waves hushed and hissed, graciously floating under the brash dings and electronic horns of the boardwalk arcade.  Coby dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out an old worn quarter.  He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, flipped it into the air, caught it and returned it to his pocket.
    “For someone who lives at the beach, you really stink at skeeball.”  Taylor giggled after Coby rolled the first ball up into the rings.  He liked his seasonal friend more than body surfing and building sandcastles.  He couldn’t explain why after three years, he still found comfort in his companion’s smile.  The wooden globe spun and hovered around the fifty-point ring finally sputtering off into the bottom rung.  No points. No tickets. 
  “Shut up! You live at the beach, too.”  Coby’s voice sang out, high pitched and tinny but deeper than his friend’s.  He punched Taylor in the arm and laughed.  Taylor looked the other way hiding his grimace from his friend but he didn’t mind the pain. Spending time with Coby made it worthwhile. 
    “Yeah, but only during summer.  At least I don’t wake up with sand in my underwear every morning.”  Taylor said. 
Coby lived with his older brother Jason under the boardwalk in between the Dairy Queen and the pretzel stand. Struggling to provide for his brother, Jason made a modest income on paychecks and tips as a waiter at a local beachfront restaurant.  Their dad left when Coby was ten due to the temptations of the Atlantic City blackjack tables.  Two years later they still had no home and Jason still waited every night for his dad to return. Coby didn’t wait anymore. 
    “Let’s get out of here.”  Coby exhaled, ignoring Taylor’s comment as he began to walk out of the arcade. 
    “Wait!  I have to get my tickets and I wanted to get something before we leave.” 
    “Okay, but hurry up.” 
    Coby casually leaned his skinny frame against the farthest most column which laced the entrance of the arcade as if he were just a part of the scene, an advertisement for Jersey Shore nightlife.  He watched Taylor rip the long strand of red tickets connected vertically end on end from the game and stumble over to the big glass display case that housed the baskets of little plastic prizes.  Lost in a trance as he gazed out into the forbidding waters, he thought about his father.  With familiarity, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the quarter again.  He rubbed it, flipped it and returned it.
    “Coby!”  The beach wanderer jumped, startled by Taylor. “Look what I got.”  He held in his hand two green plastic soldier figurines molded to little platforms, frozen in their heroic poses.
    “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that again, Squirt!”  Coby wanted to hit him, but restrained himself.  Taylor was small for his age and frail.  Their bodies were nearly identical except that Taylor was six inches shorter. Coby inhaled deeply, regaining his composure, and took in the different smells that lingered in the evening air.  A mixture of buttered popcorn, the tainted newness of tourism paraphernalia, and the ancient, dry wood of the boardwalk intermingled and battled with the salty breath of the crashing waves, creating a pungent odor that tickled Coby’s nose.  For the first time that night, he realized that there was something different about Taylor this summer, but he didn’t know what.  He noticed Taylor’s Boston Red Sox hat.  It was the same one he had worn a million times on the beach and in the sandy streets of Margate, but now the traces of sandy brown hair that had always peeked out from under the hat, the ones that had stood straight up in the bustling wind, were gone.
         “You get a haircut, kid?”  Coby asked.
         “Don’t call me kid.” 
      “What’s the deal then?  Did you fall into a giant pile of scissors and your dad saved your life just before you were cut into tiny pieces?”
    “No!”
    “Come on, what are you hiding under there?”  The lost antagonist teased as he began to dance around his younger companion.
    “Stop it Coby.” Taylor pleaded.
    “Stop what?”
    To the beach wanderer, the interaction became more of a game and Taylor’s begging could not control him as they danced and parried on the planks of the boardwalk under the starry nightscape.  Coby’s immaturity finally got the best of him and he tried to reach out and rip off Taylor’s hat. He missed pathetically while the ten-year old fell to the ground in an attempt to avoid the outstretched hand.  The little Red Sox fan futilely tried to keep the hat from falling off his head, but it was whisked away, revealing the peachy whiteness of his bald head underneath. 
         Neither of the two soldiers spoke.  Coby didn’t understand and Taylor didn’t know how to explain.  Nobody else seemed to notice.  Taylor scurried for his security as the summer wind tried to blow it away and Coby reached into his pocket for the quarter.
         The silence hung between them while the rest of the world spoke.  Their eyes were locked, petrified and lost, confused and hurt.
         “I’m sick,” Taylor finally whispered from the floor of the boardwalk looking up helplessly at his friend.  Coby’s throat tightened and strained. He didn’t understand exactly what ‘I’m sick’ meant and he didn’t want to ask, incapable of resisting the feeling of being a child on the verge of crying.  The beach wanderer wanted to be as strong as his brave companion, so he willed the ocean in his eyes to recede to wherever tears come from.
         “Can you still run?”  All the fear of the sick child melted into a look of utter confusion.
         “What?” Taylor asked.
         “Can you still run?”  Coby accented every word without any intention of condescension as the slightest smirk washed across his beautiful, tanned face.
         “Yes.”  Taylor smiled too, but didn’t know why he was smiling.  Perhaps it was the way Coby looked at him.
         “I’ll give you a head start.  I’m gonna flip my quarter in the air and when I catch it I’m gonna start.  The Ferris Wheel is only a thirty second run from here.” The two of them looked at each other for a moment without saying anything.  “Well what are you waiting for?”  With that the Red Sox fan bolted, sprinting with his toothpick legs, looking as if he would break any second.  Coby reached into his pocket and pulled out the quarter.  He rubbed it and flipped it.  The twelve-year old marveled at the way the coin seemed to hang in the air forever and after one too many lifetimes, it began to descend landing in his hand with a pat.  Coby ran.  The wind rushed through his hair as he laughed with joy, daring the ocean to laugh back. 
         The Ferris wheel towered above them majestically in a melee of multi colored lights, trickling with azure, scarlet, and rusty metal.  The blues and reds twinkled and shimmered like falling stars against the brown corrosion of the night.  Taylor handed the attendant two quarters as the young companions eased their way into the squeaky car.  Danger loomed with each crank of the gears, but the thrill of being above the world suppressed their anxieties.  The air grew cold and crisp as their ascension deposited them at the highest point of the massive circle.  At the very top, the machine stopped with a clank that was barely audible at their height.  One hundred feet in the air, Taylor leaned over the side lost in contemplation, while Coby surveyed the vast horizon of scattered lights.  He gazed deep looking for a pattern in the lights and trying to find lonely wanderers like himself in the streets of Margate, lonely wanderers like his father.
         “What if I jumped?”  Taylor didn’t want an answer.  He just wanted to imagine the possibility.
         “You can’t.” Coby said. 
         “Why not?” 
         “Because you’re gonna get better.”  Coby knew the combination of truth and fear that hid under the boardwalk of his words.  He didn’t want to lose his friend.  Taylor removed himself from the edge and sat back down in his seat without taking his eyes off of the beach wanderer.  Slow like the night, the little Red Sox fan leaned forward and kissed his companion on the lips.  In the kiss, an exchange of riptides commenced, and Coby’s emotions collided in torrential uncertainty.  His feelings became intertwined and confused as he tried to rip his fair lips away.  He was frozen.  The moment solidified and fermented only to be immediately shattered by the jolting of the ride as the Ferris Wheel resumed.  The separation and the infinite distance between them ignited everything in Coby’s body.  His teeth clenched, his right hand curled into the tightest fist and his arm flew into a motion that mirrored the carousel below as he hit the sick boy directly on his jaw.  The blow sent Taylor up against the back of his seat nearly sending him over the side of the car.  He sat huddled in the corner, his lip quivering as he wept silently. 
Neither of the boys muttered a sound as the wheel kept spinning, descending to the new world beneath them.  As soon as the attendant opened the gate of the car Coby fell out in a desperate attempt to run away.  His chaotic strides took him in the direction of the deserted beach.  Taylor followed behind him straining to keep up, his Boston Red Sox hat flying off his head into the bleak misguided night.  The cold sand gave way beneath their feet as the two soldiers raced through the darkness.  Finally Taylor’s miniscule ten-year old legs gave out on him and he fell to his knees.
         “Coby!”  He yelped.  The twelve-year old stopped but remained facing the empty beach.  “I’m…I didn’t…”
    The beach wanderer slowly turned around, his red, wind burnt cheeks were streaked with the tears he couldn’t will away. He reached deep down into his pocket and pulled out the quarter.  He rubbed it.  He always loved the way it felt between his fingers.  He loved the way the temperature of the metal quickly assimilated to the heat of his skin.  As the nail of his thumb struck the coin, it clanged silently and flew like a gull across the wind swept sand finally landing in between him and Taylor.  A distance of no more than ten yards separated the two soldiers but the unstable ground immobilized them and set them on opposite ends of a continent.  The quarter cut through the ground, half buried in the sand hiding George Washington’s face.
      “I’m sorry.”  Taylor’s whisper traveled as the two young boys watched each other in the darkness.  The ten-year-old gazed out into the depths of the ocean waiting for the sound of the crashing waves to break the silence. Coby began to turn away with his head down, but paused.  With no resentment in his voice and a question in his eyes he whispered back.
    “So am I.”