2
I'm sitting at the beach this afternoon, though I'm not sure why, seeing as Julian didn't want to come, and I watch the surfers hitting the waves in the distance, one of which looks like Trent. Then this brings back that night in the hotel room, and I see that twelve or eleven year-old girl on the bed, Trent looking at me as he molests her. I remember the reason he gave me for why he did this, "Because I've got nothing to lose." That's when I look away from the surfers and lay back on the towel and look up at the sky. I don't know how I feel about being here anymore.
Back at Camden, they call me "The Boy from L.A." and it annoys me because when I tell them my name is Clay, they don't listen and it makes no difference. That may be one of the reasons I want so much to come back when I'm there. All I'm reminded of is this city, the air, the smell of the Pacific, the bars and clubs and coke. Whenever I leave, this place is all I look to, and yet there's not a seed of happiness here, and the people don't have any to give. Rip comes to mind, and I wonder if I will ever see him again. I remember someone writing "Rip called" on my door back at Camden, and some guy thinking it meant "R.I.P." and telling me I should be underground from all the coke I do, and I just ignored him. But maybe he's right. Maybe I should just disappear.
"Hey, Clay," I hear a voice say, and when I turn my head to face it, it just happens to be one of my sisters. I wonder if she stole any more grams from me. "What are you doing here?" She's with some guy who looks to be at least three years older than her, whatever her age is now. Sixteen? The guy looks about my age.
I lift up my wayfarers and mutter, "Hey."
"You're such a loser, Clay," my sister says, kicking sand in my face. The guy laughs.
"Why don't you take your friend with you and go snort something?" I retort, wiping the sand off of me.
"I don't want to right now. Mom's boyfriend is over now, anyway, so we can't go back to the house."
"Who's her boyfriend now?"
"Some guy named Jerry. I only met him once." She looks over at the guy. "Come on, Brett." Both of them walk past me and I lower my sunglasses and look back out at the waves, listening to the mix of the seagulls and crashing waves. I think I belong here. "The Boy from L.A."