SOMEDAY: OUR LOVES OF SUMMER

THE CHILD
2001

I

~ Kurt ~

Mid July and a dazzling sunset accompanying the wind off the Pacific Ocean. Fresh and cool and astringent, smelling only faintly of the allegedly briny rot and beach debris, though the latter non-existent in sight, but a flawless stretch ranked by many tourists as the best beach in the United States, that of Coronado Beach. Coronado, the 'crowned one', an affluent resort city nestled across San Diego Bay from downtown San Diego, and its beach beating out those of Malibu, Santa Monica and even Venice Beach. It was one befitting a golden Californian coast, befitting a beachfront luxury hotel, with its crown jewel, the Hotel Del Coronado, long considered one of the world's top resorts, laying atop its shores like a sprawling beauty.

The signature red terra cotta tiled roof, classical columns and painted wood, paint so fumy fresh and white it lightened the head to a weight of the sea air itself, possessed utmost grandeur of Queen Anne Style architecture, carved into every room, carved into its body and kept unharmed from renovations throughout its one hundred and twenty year existence. Even the chandelier lit lobby, where an onset of new arrivals had booked in late afternoon, their names listed with an "enjoy your stay" parting them from the desk to their rooms, there to catch the remaining remnants of the dying sun the shade of vermillion, bittersweet orange and Barbie pink, all hot and sizzling as the water took on its reflection on the lapping waves, blood waves.

The rich color was spread upon thick puckered lips, those of Elizabeth Hummel's, yet only on the outer rim so as to finalize her work, a fully dimensioned mouth, having used two other similarly shaded lipsticks to create the perfect pout, now coming together down upon a tissue to rid her of the excess. Yet it did not flutter upon the vanity, but in little hands that brought it up to a little nose, smelling the scent of his mother's lipstick, Chanel, the femininity, the sophistication it brought to those now smiling lips as Elizabeth looked to her side and gazed upon her little son, his dreamy liquidy blue eyes lightening as if high off baby powder. And there she laughed as she wrapped her hand around his waist to bring him into her close and giggling.

The woman was a beauty, shape of an hourglass at the waist, the face sculpted in that of a heart with fair skin that gave off waves of heat like a pavement in summer sun and her eyes! Teenage flirty and happy-go-lucky, now dilated full on blue in excitement as her son sank his fingers into her waves of strawberry blonde hair let down from their silk ribbon pigtails and free to fall across her shoulders, strands even reaching down into her cleavage, an ample bosom that smoldered almost cheeky sexuality with breasts so creamy and soft, oh her son could remember how soft they were to the sensitive nerves at his fingertips, to his very lips now smiling as his mother's soft hands glided over the vanity like a pianist over a keyboard.

The perfume bottle was popped open, Elizabeth's perfume, Teint de Neige by Lorenzo Villoresi, the rosy hue of a powdered face, the fragrance of face powder. It was an aroma delicately permeated by the richness of the natural extracts of flowers, allegedly recalling the light, images and atmosphere of the belle-époque where now before a vanity mirror both mother and son could celebrate their fair complexions amongst these bronzed Californians at dinner that evening, a final touch that left the boy giggling as a lone droplet of perfume unleashed from his mother's fingertip wove a ticklish trail from behind his ear and down his neck, the scent of clean diapers Elizabeth used to spritz rose oil onto when he was a full faced baby. Mommy.

Kurt himself was at a tender age, with his birthday memories of balloons and shimmering hand-lettered banners – HAPPY 8th BIRTHDAY KURT! – Still remembered back in May, two months ago. The way his eyes had blinked bright blue when snuffing out the eight wax candles atop his angel-food birthday cake that moistened his tongue even now. Whipped vanilla icing, the syrupy frosting, the way the cake had been damp and sticky in the center with such big pieces cut they had spilled over the plates, but such a good tasting cake. Never had he tasted such a cake, and the wish he'd made from right at the start. He could remember it and how he'd hoped it would come true as he'd nursed his sickish stomach after such piggy-piggy eating.

Angel in the face Kurt was. Rub a sugar scrub into the skin and it wouldn't sweeten, for it was as sweet as was possible with dimpled cheeks and eyes some believed disproportionate to his facial frame, they appeared too big and bluish. A walking talking Kewpie doll with hair the shade of chestnut brown and lips so tasty looking red it was as if a screaming strawberry had been brutally cut open and made to bleed all over them at birth, a blessing Elizabeth told him, inheriting the feature from her, but made fun of back in his Kindergarten, the rumored belief that he was behind the red Crayola shortage, how he either smeared them all over his 'big fat red tomato juice lips' or in fact ate them for pudding at lunch, along with the red Silly Putty.

Such immature accusations disheartened his mother but erupted laughter from his father, Burt Hummel, a burly man firmly built like a wood cutting lumberjack with a backward baseball cap and flannel wearing fashion sense that would often stain heavily from oil changes if overalls were forgotten. For Burt was a mechanic, Hummel Tires and Lube, his own business headquartered back in their home town of Lima, Ohio. He had been in the profession for some time now with his strong hands well known as the healer of many a dying an engine, though heavily noted by some for striking no single resemblance to his son both physically and emotionally, his small little son pressed to his mother's side, her own little clone doll of a son.

However, as if the now evening sea air had entered their family suite, in it was borne, it seemed, the wind of Burt Hummel, holding open the door with a "Kurt, come! Let's eat!" And a hand offered out to him to run over and take all the way down to dinner, enjoying the feeling of that little hand caught in his big calloused palm, one near to losing that hand it was so small, but never did either one let go, even as father and son hurried down flights of grand staircases as down a mountainside, breathless and gripping hands, past perplexed concierges and Elizabeth's amused cries to "Burt! Slow down!" Oh to Kurt, the safety of his laughing father, fine smelling of wood, tobacco and leather, that new car smell that was always on him. Daddy.

The Sheerwater was an expansive outdoor terrace, the Hotel Del Coronado's refined, yet casual oceanfront restaurant with a "Fish by the Sea" menu that took advantage of the restaurant's beachfront location and featured classic bistro-style cuisine with a focus on fresh and sustainable seafood, ladled on everyone's plates as Kurt and his parents were seated at their table, their faces flushed with cheeks rosy as ever as menus were distributed, orders made and dishes of Filet Mignon, Chicken and Crab Parperdelle and Pizza were laid before them all, conversation thick amongst tinkling glasses, laughter all around muffled by sheer white napkins with the air warm from the outdoor fireplaces and yet salty too, the salt from the sea, enough to taste.

Kurt would listen on to his parents as he ate, hearing them talk of the six hour flight and the amusing announcements the airline stewardesses had given them over the intercom. Hearing his parents speak of rapid journey to the hotel from the airport and of their next day's planned activities to visit the local town. And in his speech, Burt would pause so as to watch as Elizabeth leaned over, her napkin in hand to remove sauce, since dried, from the corner of Kurt's lips, his wincing features of disgruntlement as if he'd much rather have licked it off instead for that was the extent of young child's understanding of wastefulness, stretching a smile across her glowing face. Yet Kurt had been so hungry. They all had. It had been a long day.

"So what do you think, son? Looking forward to tomorrow?" Asked Burt smiling as with the bill paid and thanks made to the waiter, the Hummel's returned along paved white paths to the now lit hotel, their skin no longer kissed by the soft breeze but warmer as Kurt once again found his hand encased in that of his father's, a man of adventure, of wanderlust, no doubt a warrior if he'd been born in another era and looking down at him as he nodded, smiling an assured "mmhmm" in response.

"It'll be good to know if they run anything for children here in the hotel," voiced Elizabeth to Burt as her hand came to land comfortingly on Kurt's back, swiveling that chestnut head, raising those eyes so blue met blue, a cheeky smile in place. "Don't worry Kurt, it's not as if I'm planning on dumping you in a ball playpen whilst your father and I pull a Bonnie and Clyde to go hijack a couple of Segways through town, because we are upstanding citizens and we would so never do that… right, daddy?"

"Right, because Bonnie and Clyde really would have chosen Segways to run from the law on," scoffed Burt. "Seriously, have you seen those things, they only go twelve miles an hour. Our little guy will have hoisted our sorry asses behind bars before you'd figure out how to ride one in heels," Burt's laugh, a chortling rumble as he squeezed Kurt's hand. "Honestly Lizzie, what kind of example are you setting our son. I'm going to have to audition for another Bonnie, you're just not making the cut."

"Oh but Clyde I thought you loved me, I thought we'd be in this thing together forever and ever!" Cried out Elizabeth as Burt shook his head in amused mockery. "Fine, Kurt and I will create our own criminal duo and we'll pull bigger heists than you ever could with those butterfingers of yours and he'll pay me to! The 401 (k) plan you promised me but never did because you were too busy investing in the idea of copyrighting your own species of chicken with genetically engineered mustaches."

"First of all, they were robot chickens and second of all, maybe I would have realized what totally stupid idea that was before they all went Frankenstein on me if I hadn't found out about your affair!" Accused Burt with a finger brandished. "That's right, Liz! I know about you and the er… the erm… the cook!" Elizabeth gasped, a dramatic gasp. "That's right! The cook! I know what you've been doing and soon your craving for chequered trousers and toque's will be all over town in a matter of hours!"

"Oh God, oh Clyde I didn't want it to end like this," sighed Elizabeth dramatically, a hand shooting straight to her forehead. "And in the sense that I totally didn't take your body's measurements in the middle of the night for a custom made oven to bake you into a giant pie for us to eat, because you now, I'm Mrs. Lovett like that, making pies out of men is kind of my life now," joked Elizabeth, flicking her long wavy hair behind her with wistful hands, the sheer pride of a dramatic actor in her air.

It was not adult humor the way Kurt understood it, it was so much more playful, of possibly his caliber of playful so light and fluffy it hovered over him, Burt now asking, "How would I taste?"

Elizabeth pondered the question with a finger to her chin. "Bald," she laughed, petting her husband's shaved head, and there again that pulsing laughter that had both of them hugging him as they walked, "Oh Kurt," on their grinning lips, "Our little baby, we love you so much," their 'baby' smiling back.

"I actually think they have a camp here for kids where they do all sorts of stuff. We could check that out sometime tomorrow before we go," as with a release from his chuckles, his voice breathy but clear, Burt gazed upon his son, yet his son wished for his parents to keep playing, to kid around as they were with him caught in-between as their 'baby' and to not worry about him, for watching them was all he wanted, but with Burt's words, he looked up. "What do you think Kurt, you up for that?"

"I want to stay with you and mommy. You're so much more fun."

"Well of course we're fun Kurt, but there's no harm in checking it out, right?"

"There's loads of harm, that's why they try out mommy's lipstick on bunny rabbits."

"Yes, and if I see them trying to test out anything on you, you're outta there, okay son."

"S-sure, daddy," replied Kurt in the midst of nerves, the thought of other children, his heart beating fast like the overworking wings of a Hummingbird, wearing them out as Elizabeth suggested in an excited voice it was almost sung, "Oh, but let's just go see where it is now. It'll save us from searching tomorrow." And like that their route was changed, paused at the lobby desk for directions and off on their new course again, the small buckles in Kurt's sandals tinkling with each little frightened step.

Kidtopia Camp and Crafts were the hotel's facility for children aged four to twelve, featuring amongst the underwater murals and separate beach-themed rooms, a funhouse mirror and high-tech entertainment stations, all brightly colored with music painting the airwaves just as gaily, and all for play time, to play, though to Kurt, all excitement at the sight of those his age inside 'playing' served only to squeeze it all out, as if the last drop of moisture had been wrung with force from a washcloth. His toes were curling, feet turned inward and he could sense his palms sweat in that of his father's as he was turned to see Elizabeth crouching down to him, reassurance in her eyes, reassurance in her words as she took on her truest self, his mother.

Both father and mother were well aware of their child's status on the playground. Though Kurt could be sweetly charming when he wished to be, and not so timid and shy as to immediately duck for cover as if like a frightened animal, he was an enigma of a boy, with many of his peers failing to place him. A boy like no other with coordinated clothes never grass stained from the football fields, that rubber smooth skin never dirtied with mud but now sallow looking as he peered in through the glass in the door, into this play pen. That sickish-scared sensation in his curdling belly he felt at the top of a flight of stairs or looking out a high window or the idea of running too close to the edge of the surf of this very beach when a tall wave broke…

It would be said of me that I was unhappy. That my face, my very being encased in costume clothes and Ken doll hair, that my childhood was a lonely one and odd to see parents as best friends as mommy didn't have me when she was in her teens. I wasn't an 'accident', but strange all the same and I knew the concern when I saw it, mommy now saying before this kid's kingdom or whatever this child pen that had kids bouncing off the walls was called, "If you don't like it, you don't have to stay, but I swear Kurt that you can light up any room you walk in as brightly as you sometimes. You just don't know it." Oh, but I did know it, I just didn't like it, but mommy did, and daddy did too, my best friends who loved me. No, I was not unhappy.

Fifteen minutes remained before Kidtopia facilities closed, or so the supervisor let Kurt's parents know, slightly comforting, but nevertheless he entered as if entering a gladiatorial pit, there to be slain with whatever these children wished to slay him with. Or of course dismiss him as a mere ornamental feature in human form. For he was "bonnie" enough to be ornamental. Cute, and not at all bad-looking thought the supervisor. As smooth featured as a wealthy lady's silk purse. He wouldn't last a second. Kurt was made of porcelain when plastic toys all around were ripped apart in the nibbling jaws of these children, put through hell and only to be disposed days later, but of course these exaggerated images were laughable and silly. Silly him.

The population in the room was unimpressive for a hotel the size of the Del, but there was still a little over a quaint amount with a crowd of kids younger than he sitting around a table finishing up their crafts, golden paper crowns atop their heads and tongues poking out of their mouths as small beads amidst mountains of glitter were set upon paper ladled with too much glue. Whilst over in the corner, a small crowd had gathered around the Dance Dance Revolution arcade, most of them girls dressed in tee shirts so long they were near to masking their cropped denim pants, the fashion of Californian youth, yet atop the dance platform were the flickering sights of a head, a male head, a boy's, bobbing up and down in time with the music.

Kurt's glassy blue eyes were the ideal jewels of observation as he came to sit atop a nearby stool, shifting awkwardly. He'd been invited by the supervisor to join in the activities with that plastered cheesy smile on her cheeks that must have ached her facial muscles after a full day of pulling it across her skin, but no, he said he was "fine" sat atop his little perch at the side, and sensing not to persist, she'd left him be. She'd already guessed that if you were to say hello to him or make a friendly remark in his direction like she'd done, breezing him in, eager to talk and laugh and exchange pleasantries as they'd entered, he'd lift his eyes quick and startled-blue and shrink back in the same reflex, for she'd seen it before in many other children.

Yet she couldn't get over it, as if she'd been kicked in the groin upon sight of those eyes, that this boy was so sweet looking, and of course too young to realize it. Probably didn't even care. He lowered those gems and turned away, mumble something polite and that was that, as if to say "don't look at me, please!" Well, if you insist. There were other children in the room, and boys, and they weren't shy, especially that one on the dance arcade, hitting all the right arrows with enough force in his legs to crack the glass from beneath him Such power, but grooving himself to the beat with such rhythm in his aura it won him the game as with the arcade's thunderous voice over, the dance had been killed with cheers of "whoop!" all around. Applause!

Childish chaos was near to breaking out around the arcade. A pair of girls were fighting in shoves for the next turn, yet as if everything was cool amidst it all, the boy, the dancing king atop his platform appeared unfazed, pleased even, as if the girls were fighting over him. Girls all around him enough to smother, following him as with a head nod to the music that had once again started up, the boy was moving once again with lips slightly pouted, almost boogieing out into the center of the room with masculine swagger and so much swagger it was almost ridiculous looking, yet it drew the girls in droves, had them all following suit and circling the boy in a dancing ring of feminine laughter, shimmering long hair and open baby toothed smiles.

To Kurt, boys were to be made aware of, to approach with caution, or to not approach at all for with boys you never knew how they would react. You never knew what cruel, coarse words might spring to their lips, and how their hands, quick as a boxer's, might leap out as much to call attention as to hurt, like an exclamation point at the end of a sentence, at the end of laughter directed at the face, accompanying a pinch so hard the red mark would show for hours like a pernicious little kiss on Kurt's waxy-pale skin. A boy's kiss. All boys he angrily liked to think. Even this show monkey with happy feet, thrusting hips and arrogant sexuality inappropriate for a boy his age, maybe eight, nine, perhaps even ten judging by the looks of him.

"This is for you!" Into Kurt's hand was suddenly thrust a paper crown by the shiny face of a little girl peering up at him with fingers soiled with crayon stains, the makers of a crown messily colored gold alongside blue circles all filled in, imitating sapphires, he assumed, "to go with your eyes, because you have blue eyes, see?" And Kurt did see and he thanked her for it, watching her scamper back to re-join the others at the table. Yet there she looked at him from a distance thinking her gaze discreet, but it wasn't. A gaze heavy on his hands as they fiddled with the crown, white crayon cleverly used in touches upon each sapphire to imitate caught light, or the life in Kurt's eyes, such sparkle like glass she'd noticed, continued to even now.

This little girl of four with near albino white hair and glitter lodged underneath her finger nails observed Kurt like someone befitting every single paper crown made on their table. He was fascinating to behold, how he was, his very being, and all these kids with melanin heated to the top of their skin as if the sun had caramelized them like crème brulees, he was as fair as her own hair, and those eyes, how they now widened as with a voice amongst the dancing crowd came the order, "Come on baby, shake that cute li'l butt!" That dancing boy with all the older girls smelling of cheap pop stars and magazine nail polish. The type of boy that was common in the youth of California, silly looking to the girl as she now turned back to see… to see…

I don't think he'd meant to stay long. We were finishing up anyway by the time he'd entered, but such a shy entrance. Similar to my own shyness, but cute in a way, a sense of terrified coquetry, but he was gone now. He'd taken the crown I made him with no goodbye. Blue eyes was gone and the strange part of it was, I wasn't the only one to notice, but of course not. For the other boy, that dancing one had paused staring an approving smirk at the door and like that, I knew whose 'cute li'l butt' he'd been talking about. Oh, how his fair skin must have blushed indignant in his white top, shorts indeed tight about the buttocks in his cute Lottie sandals. Poor blue eyes, scared from that jocular affection he'd never in this life encountered, until now.

.

Glee

.

Coronado, lying on its peninsula and only connected to the mainland by the ten mile isthmus, named by the locals as the Silver Strand was host to many parks, theatres, restaurants and beaches, all tourist friendly and entertaining to new eyes, even to eyes of the young as with one look at the sea and the sense of enthrallment would overwhelm you, it's ceaseless rippling fluid movement. Oh how it would lap over you, and the wind in your hair as you'd ride the Segways, the raucous laughter one could hear from the playhouse, musical concerts of band quartets set in the park gazebo enough to ring the ears, the picnics of ice cream sandwiches, roasting bikini sunbathers, palm trees, candy parasols and always so hot, hot, hot!

Kurt's own skin was the scent of sunblock that only had it appearing all the fairer, leaving behind a whitish shiny sheen like residue of a cream too thick to be absorbed. His mother had lathered it all over him this morning, right after his shower, down the arms, across the nape of his neck, ears, face, legs, any stretch of flesh exposed to an unforgiving sun had been covered, to feel "blonde all over" as Elizabeth had put it had appeared, at first glance in the bathroom mirror, accurate. For pale was beautiful, pale was classic, as classic to his mother as her lipstick, and for Kurt she wanted this look, was pleased to see it on him throughout such a heated day with the sun kissing him without leaving so much as a mark, those red marks that burned.

Again, Burt was to laugh, the worrisome nature of his wife fretting over their son as he'd stood in the middle of the bathroom fully naked, the expression on his face, one of frustration proving such a comical act, such comedy overpowering those performed in the playhouses. Elizabeth in her stylish straw hat almost haloing her face, white maxi dress, white ensemble throughout, and keeping to the shade as much as possible only allowing a little sun to grace her fair skin, her face with wavy strawberry blonde all around, she was adamant on keeping herself and the Californian sun as mere acquaintances, but to Kurt, the heat was welcomed, and to Kurt, the heat made him dizzy and the pleasurable kind, dizziness that made him laugh!

As it was, late afternoon and the sun's intensity had softened with father, mother and son returning to the hotel on lazy legs, a stroll so slow there was no swing of energy from Burt's camera as it dangled riskily from his wrist, a camera picture full of photos of his wife posed with her dress at the stroking hand of the breeze, and of course of his son, his little boy of adorable disposition in his clothes of pastel pales and baby Grafea rucksack, both of them often embraced before Burt, "Keep it there guys. Pose for the camera." Click! "Perfect." Elizabeth's arms wrapped around their boy, cheeks pressed together with blue eyed smiles wide in front of many a sunlit background, the beauty that was Coronado and showcasing a good day well spent.

And Kurt would sing to himself as along the paths to the hotel they journeyed, lagging a short way behind on floating feet with an ice cream in hand, wondering, just wondering why each little bird had a someone to sing to, sweet things to, "a gay little love melody." Humming the tune, he had a joyous energy that seemed to suffuse him. He loved music. It's effect on people. The way it was able to lift their hearts. To make them happy about life. About love. Romance, oh, it was a mystery to him. Like beauty, it had no obvious use, or any real clear necessity, yet he could not do without the idea of it. Yes, he wondered, he so wondered if his heart kept singing would his song go winging to someone who'd find him, "and bring back a love song to me."

To the sounds of a spray, he would now stop abruptly, though the music would go on, accompanying this spraying of water that grew the instinct to enter immediately, to cool off, for this ice cream could only do so much, the way it itself was giving up as it melted with droplets trickling down the cone before they were lapped up by that warm tongue, this tongue that licked and lapped and licked, pink remnants on his lips licked away before his mother could come hurtling his way with a napkin to rub at his face. No. This ice cream was all his to consume but by God was the sound of that water spraying itching his clammy hot skin to make contact now, to throw himself under its mercy and to drench himself, just the word 'drench' so irresistible.

It was the Orange Avenue fountain. Of course! Circular in shape with baby bushes going right round and in its center, the spray, reaching high into the air with the slight breeze wafting a mist onto Kurt's skin as he neared, coming to a stop and for several minutes he stood eying it, the water he felt like dunking his naked feet into, slipping himself into it like a seal pup and playing with the water all but splashing about amidst his churning body, but he knew he'd get told off if he tried. It would be so cold, would recall images of the ice baths his father would immerse himself in when he'd been a college athlete and now occasionally his mother, her baths always perfumed with drops of her Italian fragrance as ice cubes would float all around.

Suddenly, with the sight of the fountain's tiled floor, an almost azure shade of blue, the most brilliant, an idea had Kurt rummaging his hands through the pockets of his shorts, feeling around for a coin, any coin that with his back to the fountain, he'd throw with his right hand over his left shoulder, or so his mother had taught him, and though this rather understated little fountain was no Fountain Trevi or Baroque boasting masterpiece from Rome, it was still a fountain capable of granting wishes, a new romance if two coins were thrown in and marriage if into the water three coins entered, again a little fact his mother had let him in on with her lips next to his ear as he'd giggled away into making his wish for a pair of heels at the time.

Disappointment was met upon no discovery, no coin, and with a cry of his name upon his mother's lips, he turned his head to see his parents further down the pathway waving him over, yet with rushed hands signaling to the fountain, he propped his rucksack onto the its edge and rummaged. A map of Coronado with a note of his parent's cell as well as the number of the hotel in case he got lost, a keychain, a melted chocolate bar, certainly soft and sticky, but no- "yes!" Upon his smiling lips as down in the crevice of the rucksack, stuck in the corner and out was retrieved a coin rolling into his palm, a fifty cent piece, 'LIBERTY' embossed on the outer rim, a profile of John F. Kennedy in the center with 'In God We Trust' worded at the bottom.

How shiny it was, how silver it looked, as if it weren't made of alloy metal, but actual silver and how pretty it would look on the floor of the fountain, not that it was a wishing fountain. It was fairly ordinary. No coins littered its tiled floor, and like signs at zoos to 'not feed the animals' or visiting historical estates to 'not walk on the grass', Kurt suspected coin tossing wasn't allowed here either, but it was in his hand and it was a hand suspended over the water willing to drop and let gravity do its work. Yet on the verge of commencing the ritual, to ensure his wish would come true only through the steps, a voice sounded and like that, the coin was lost, falling through the air into the water too fast to retrieve, his wish wasted, his wish gone.

The lips pouted on his little pained face, Kurt quickly leaned over the fountain, clumsily, with almost depressed eagerness and peered inside, careful not to push in his baby Grafea rucksack as he did. The water was only shallow with his coin right there, blurred and distorted amidst the ripples and for a second he considered retrieving it, so close it was, but bad luck befell those who took coins out, or so it was believed. He wasn't going to do it, and he had no more coins on him. All but a pathetic sigh, the slumping of the shoulders weighed him down until with the sound of that voice in the air behind him and Kurt was quick to whip around, eyes alert, his body stiffening just perceptibly upon the sight, but stiffened all the same, still, and motionless.

There he stood, nearer to me than he had last night but not too close as he knew very well how I looked, how my body had poised itself ready to pelt, and there he was, hands in his cargo short pockets, his feat softly rocking on their soles with that arrogant smirk feigning innocence I couldn't stand, for he had made the sound I was sure of it, had distracted me into losing my coin, losing my wish. And standing there with the nerve to appear so confident! It couldn't be real. Had me thankful my buttocks were no longer facing him, but my legs were, my sandled little toes turning inward, my hand, oh how I wish he would stop looking upon my skin, my near white skin so fair and unprotected and burning under those magnetic hazel eyes of his.

Kurt had not spoken of what had occurred in Kidtopia to his parents, sparsely decorating what he thought of the place with many words and only highlighting the experience with the makeshift paper crown the young girl had given him. His parents had not pursued the subject either, for they knew Kurt had been afraid of those inside. Those strong-willed easily definable in the large room, the ones you had to win over fast in school. You didn't get a second chance if you didn't. Without brothers or sisters you were alone. All you had was yourself and as Kurt had tried on his brand new crown in the bathroom mirror, his mother behind him adjusting it on his head, he'd not let her know of the boy with such confidence it had scared him inside.

Now and here, his parents had not wandered far, with his father admiring a gleaming 1950s red Cadillac Elderado, its high tail fins and matching deck lid beauty panels the perfect vehicle for Elizabeth to pose herself next to in perfect pinup posture, seating herself on its hood in her blowing maxi dress and hat, snapped by Burt's camera as a few meters away their son stood trapped in similar fashion with the refreshing mist of the fountain's spray at the nape of his neck and a strange boy in front eying him, Kurt eying him right back, for it was the only thing he could think of to keep those hazel eyes from descending, to discover any weaknesses in his structure, anything to tease with words or anything to pinch hard, the burning kiss of a boy.

True to form, almost a cliché, this boy was good looking. Good looking enough to attract girls and good looking enough to know it himself with eyes hazel rich on a face handsomely boyish, his skin a very fetching tan shade and his body bigger than Kurt's in a way he couldn't quite describe, similar he supposed to how the athletic boys at school were built with their already broadening shoulders and thickening hands. Vicious hands meant to hurt and twist the heads and limbs off countless Barbie dolls, Pepto Bismol making for a pink bloodbath but the girls' screams very much real in their bleeding ears, and not seeing this boy's hands, both hidden in his pockets as if at any moment they would whip out like pistols, it unnerved Kurt greatly.

"Sup," said the Boy, casually.

"Hello," said Kurt, reluctance rife within his bones as with counting seconds, he watched in silence as the Boy flitted his eyes from him to the fountain and back again.

"You want a little help getting your coin back?"

Kurt shook his head. "No, I don't want it back."

"Why not?"

"Because it's bad luck if you take a coin out of a wishing fountain."

"It's not a wishing fountain," said the Boy, snorting, "It's just a fountain. I think you're safe."

"I'm not going to risk it. It's just a- hey!" Said Kurt, gasping as the Boy jogged up to the fountain's edge beside him, took his hand and plunged it into the water, his tan fingers rummaging for the coin. "What are you doing?! Just leave it in there, I said I don't want-"

"Here you go," The Boy breathed, holding in dripping wet fingers Kurt's fifty cent coin, and like Kurt had predicted they'd be, they were thick fingers, with nails trimmed and callouses at the tip. One could tell a lot from someone just from the build of their hands, or so Elizabeth had told him once, and This Boy, just the way he'd shoved his own into the water as if like a hungry animal swiping its depths for fleeing fish, that hand was a great tool in the making.

"Keep it. You earned it."

"I don't want it," the Boy said disdainfully. "It's not my coin."

"It is now," said Kurt. "Spend it on whatever you want. Money can buy you happiness."

"No, it can't."

"Well, then I think you're using money wrong."

"Its fifty cents. Like I'm really gonna buy big with fifty cents," the Boy scoffed, his eyes squinted, seeing this boy's fair face, the way he came to stand with a hand hanging almost limply from the most delicate looking wrist you'd ever seen on a child, such a flimsy looking thing that could not be manhandled into accepting the coin for fear of snapping it clean off. No good forcing it open either, to dig the coin into its palm enough to cut, to bleed, a palm as soft as flan. This boy was to be handled with care.

"Buy a gumball or a doughnut, I don't know," said Kurt. "It's all yours. Have fun."

"No wait, take it."

"No thank you."

"Take it," insisted the Boy again, harder this time, his fingers now pinching the coin so hard Kurt could see the ends of them whitening he now stood, now approached.

"Leave me alone."

"I'll throw it back in."

"The water's right there Big Spender."

'Plop!' And the coin was lying upon the tiled floor once again, though further away in position to the point where Kurt could hardly make it out amongst the haze, the ripples. The throw itself had had force behind it, uncoiled from the shoulder and straight through the arm, unleashed from someone who certainly knew how to throw, that someone sitting beside Kurt as both of them now found themselves looking into the water in such sullen silence it could not be mistaken for much else.

"Not that this wasn't a spectacular waste of time, but I have to go-"

"Wait," the Boy sighed, his hands diving deep into his pockets and rummaging frenziedly, both now resembling small animals as they writhed impatiently to bring forth a gold dollar coin, its surface dull and shineless. "Here, take this one, make a wish or whatever. I feel bad for making you drop your coin… because that was totally me. Sorry."

"Why did you do it?"

"You were just standing there not doing anything, I thought you'd fallen asleep."

"I was about to throw it in."

"No you weren't, you turned away."

"That's how you're supposed to throw coins in. Look," he said, demonstrating as he plucked the coin right out of the Boy's fingers and held it clearly before him, the air of a teacher with too higher nose about him. "You turn your back to the fountain, your wish already in mind and then with your right hand you throw the coin over your left shoulder. How do you not know this?"

"Well because I've always thrown mine in like a normal person. As long as my coin is in the water, I'm happy. I can go eat pizza or steal a Jaguar statuette from the bonnet of some rich dude's car, but your way is good too. Fancy. European."

"You steal car bonnet statuettes?"

"I also don't wear seatbelts 'cause I'm a badass thrill seeker and I wanna die." It was a response to which Kurt could not respond to, his face contorted into a frown which could only ever be seen as cute, as if he'd bitten into something icky sticky. "You throwing your coin in already? I wanna see this fancy little throw of yours."

"I'm going to, just… could you stand in front of me?"

"Why?"

"I don't want you behind me."

"Are you afraid I'll catch the coin, 'cause I won't do anything. See, hands in pockets," his hands in the air, surrendering, "not going anywhere. See? Good hands." Good hands? Yeah right.

"No I just don't want you to see my…"

"See your what?"

"I don't want you looking at my bottom alright?! So could you please just stand over there!"

"Your 'bottom'? You mean your butt?" Oh, how humiliating. Butt. So crude, a word he'd heard older kids use when hanging around in mall parking lots, gas stations and schools. 'Look at the butt on that blonde!' The word 'boobies' he'd heard thrown around as well, but 'butt'. He could only now brush past it with discomfort settled like led in bone marrow.

"Yes, now just-"

"But if I stand over there, I won't be able to see it, your cute l'il… 'bottom'."

"Argh! Forget it! You can have your stupid coin back, it's stinks anyway of palm sweat-"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, geez," said The Boy, chortling. "Make your dumb wish already, my eyes are on you and are… definitely… not going down… to your-"

"Seriously?! Are you for real?!"

"Okay, okay, my eyes are up." All through the wish they were up. Could have descended the fair boy had his eyes closed with the coin to his chest. So tempting, but upon catching those red lips in motion, like a prayer mumbling away, the Boy could not hide his now chuckling amusement.

"What?" Said Kurt, irritably.

"Nothing."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Just your wish is all with its Dear Diary theme it's got going on."

"You don't even know what it was."

"Sure I do," said the Boy. "You wished you wanted this holiday with your parents to go well, that it'll go on to be one of the best holidays you'll have with them and that one you will remember it for a very long time. Oh, and that you see as little of the 'annoying boy who's way too tanned to be white' as possible." Said with such accuracy, Kurt not comprehend, mouth agape, his wish dying as the Boy frowned, "I'm not too tanned am I? There's got to be a little vanilla on me somewhere."

"You read lips?"

"Dude, come on, have you seen the lips on you? Whoa momma, easy on the man lipstick."

"I don't wear lipstick, and no I don't eat red Crayola crayons, and yes, I can take my head out of a cherry pie every once in a while!"

"You like cherries?"

"No!"

"How about potatoes?"

Kurt's brow drawn glare of confusion, his exhaustion from the heat as well as this entire encounter could not muster another forced word, pulling his face into asking 'what the hell?' For it was clear he would not be able to ask such a question with that word in it, not even if he replaced it with 'heck'. To the Boy, it was touching to behold. So cute!

"What?" He said. "Potatoes are right on, man. Cut them up and fry 'em and you've really got something."

"Well that's it," Kurt sighed, "you know my wish, it can't come true."

"It's no big deal, you haven't thrown the coin in. You can always make another one. A better one."

"I don't want a 'better' one," said Kurt. "I want the one I wanted in the beginning."

"Why, it was so hella lame. You gotta wish big, like I don't know, have a giant robot Triceratops suddenly crawl out of the sea onto the beach wearing bulletproof ammo on its back shooting missile targeted rocket launchers at the robot Tyrannosaurus Rex before it reaches the hotel from its journey of destruction through the town that once was Coronado. Pretty cool wish, huh. You go."

"I… Fine, I wish a giant spaceship suddenly appeared from a darkened cloud, lasered the hotel out of the ground and lifted it right into space by chains where everyone would wear air bubbles, whilst you'd be stuck down here with your robot dinosaurs getting trampled to death as they'd spiral out of control. How does that sound?"

"Awesome. Just don't tell me next time, otherwise it won't come true. I don't think you've quite grasped that part yet."

Kurt huffed. "And I don't think you've grasped that only wishes within reason have a chance of making it, not those that you've probably doodled on your test papers."

"Who says they do? Not all wishes come true, princess. Not even some of your Barney wishes, and though it probably doesn't help to make them in a fake wishing fountain, at least mine had kiss ass dinosaur robots in it, what does yours have? Happy time with the folks and 'help! Get this ass staring kid away from me.' I could follow you around this hotel and make sure you see me every day until you leave, it wouldn't be hard. Could be fun."

"And that would be your idea of a vacation? Stalking some random boy?"

"I've beaten every round of Dance Dance Revolution since I got here. I've gone surfing, I've gone water skiing, I even rented and crashed one of their bikes into a cactus which I'm pretty sure I killed."

"But why?"

"I don't know… you're cute."

Kurt blinked. "... You're just a creep in the making aren't you."

"And you're just one hopscotch jump away from a Disney princess wishing upon a star for a singing bug or a parsnip carriage," saidthe Boy, smirkeding "Something's gotta give sometime."

Exactly what the Boy meant by this, Kurt didn't know, but it put him on edge, now lessened somewhat as with the breeze brought with it his mother's voice, shouting out to him, "Kurt!" His name let known clearly as he looked round to see her once again waving him over. "Kurt, come on! We'll be late for dinner! You can always come back tomorrow!" And Kurt with an obedient nod responded, yet with the sudden recollection of the Boy's dollar coin in hand, he returned it, his palm open.

"You can have it back."

"You didn't make another wish."

Kurt was about to protest, and hastily, yet genuine emotion lay inscribed upon those tanned features, that non chalant stance stricken with anxiousness. The Boy wanted Kurt to make a wish with his coin. Giving it back would only be the most effective insult he could throw at this boy, and Kurt did not wish to hurt as he now replied quietly, "… you're right, I didn't."

With coin to chest, his own breathing beating little chest, Kurt took a step back and with eyes closed, a new wish was made, and a silent wish it was this time, with no illustration upon his slightly upturned lips that quivered excitedly under the hazel gaze it felt so heavily. The waters behind him would know, since lit from within, tinting the hazing mist a mellow apricot glow with the sunset itself dying, the sky darkening. The late hour was fast approaching, yet he wished on until with irises bursting forth with the flicker of cathedral candles, like the genuine sapphires of his golden paper crown brought alive, he threw the coin with his right hand across his left shoulder into the fountain, a soundless entrance as it entered the rippling waters.

I watched him scamper off like a little mouse with those buckled sandals that sang like xylophone keys and those tight shorts framing a butt so petite, his teddy bear back pack hung so low it bounced off it with every step, all the while running without looking back, just like that, without even looking back at me. And I stood there watching him go as I had done in that Kid- crapia dungeon, back to the safety of his parents. God, I just wanted to grab the little thing and hold him close, see him squirm until he'd wear himself out. 'Cause this guy had nothing to fear. I was just kidding around. I wasn't gonna hurt him. Honest. I'm cool. I'm totally cool. People get hypothermia from looking at me 'cause I'm that cool. We could get along, 'cause… I see it.

~ PLEASE REVIEW ~

(But if you wish to criticize, may it be constructive. I'm not going to learn from my mistakes and improve if you vent.)

Author's Note: Hey, everyone! I'm back on the fan fiction scene with my new Puckurt story I hope you will all love. The idea for it came to me as I was finishing up on my previous work WMHS: The Tyrant of my Heart where upon I spent several months planning it before I began writing last fall. It's still not complete as of yet, which is a first for me as I've always finished my stories before uploading, but then again I've always ended up re-writing them so I will be taking my time with this one. The story is my first of the Romance/Friendship genre, my second Alternate Universe (AU) after New York City: Strut Your Way to Love and is rated Mature (M) for strong language, strong sexual themes, reference to alcohol and drugs, mature and crude humor, gambling and violence. Note that the majority of the spoken humor has been taken from Tumblr text posts and adapted for the story along with an abundant use of surfer slang and Californian lingo.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the characters from Glee as I don't own the show. I'm not earning money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

~ STAY TUNED FOR MORE BY FOLLOWING/FAVORITING ~