Marco. Baby faced cherub, blond hair, sweet blue eyes. He sat bored in math class, stared out the window at the Santa Carla sun, daydreamed about the boardwalk at night.
His mother didn't like him to go there, didn't like the "element" there, but since his father left Marco has pretty much done as he pleased. And it pleased him to be on the boardwalk at night.
Just a quick stop home to change into his long trench coat and black boots with the chains, to slip the earring into his left ear, to put the gel in his hair.
"Marco!" His mother. Instinctively he froze, then cringed from experience.
"Where in the hell do you think you're going?" She stood in the doorway to his room, blond like he was, hand on her hip.
"Nowhere," he said, petulant.
"You're not going to that boardwalk," He wanted to say, 'Fuck you!' but he said nothing. Stared at the floor.
"Okay," he said, his voice rising on the last syllable. Okay.
She left and he snuck out. He'd do as he pleased.
x..........x...........x
The setting sun bled over the sky, red streaks falling everywhere, in car windows, in punks' mirrored sunglasses, video shop windows.
The boardwalk assaulted his senses, and he drank in every assault, open to it all. He could smell fried dough, hot dogs, pizza, fresh squeezed lemonade, pot. He saw the people, freaks and ex hippies, washed up war heroes, speed freaks, biker chics, junkies. Blue spiked hair and gleaming bald heads, girls in sequined skirts, boys in cracked leather jackets.
He caught a glimpse of them, the stars, David with his white blond hair spiked to perfection over his intense stare, the moody dark haired one, silver earring flashing in the colored lights of the carosal, and the girl. She had severe cheekbones like an Indian, eyes so dark like liquid midnight, her wrists covered in bangle and trinket bracelets, a gauzy off the shoulder dress...
She lifted one finger and beckoned him. He went to her as if on a string.
"Hi," she said in a soft, breathy voice. He could feel his heart beating.
"Hi,"
"Come with us,"
He felt the first tingle of fear deep in his cells but ignored it in the severity of her cheekbones, the soft redness of her lips.
He went with them.