The next morning, we got up fairly
early, found a place to eat breakfast, and then Father told us we could go off
on our own for a while. “Just,” he said,
“make sure you stick together, all right?
I don’t want to see just one
of you anywhere … agreed?”
We did.
“And we’ll meet for lunch right
here about 11:45?”
We agreed.
So off we raced to walk up and down
the streets of Put-in-Bay, window-shopping, really shopping, relaxing in the
sun. Near the waterfront was the small DeRivera
Park, where we sat at a bench and relaxed, looking at all the pleasure boats
docked, others coming and going. In the
distance we could see Middle Bass Island, not even a mile away, and, closer,
the tall Perry Monument.[i] But the best part? Enjoying the great pleasure of being with my best
friend.
But Harriet, it seems—the Harriet
that I had known, anyway—had apparently been undergoing some sort of
personality transplant in the last few weeks.
Her obsession with the high school boy aboard the Islander had not diminished at all—but it had spread, like a powerful virus, throughout her imagination and
now, as we walked along the streets, virtually her entire conversation contained
comments about the boys we saw.
And worse. Several times she grabbed my arm and insisted
that we follow one—or more—of them to
wherever they were going. But I always
wrenched free, tried to invite Common Sense into our conversation. But Harriet had broken up with Common
Sense. She was now completely under the
spell of … Sex.
Let me remind you. We had just finished the sixth grade. We were eleven years old (would not turn
twelve until later in the summer).
Although Harriet—I’ll confess—was starting to look … older than her age,
she was still, at least in my eyes, a girl.
A child. I, on the other hand,
still looked like the same skinny, dark-haired girl I’d been for several
years. No one would look at me and
mistake me for a high school student.
Possibly, they could with Harriet—but only “possibly.”
But we see the world only through
our own eyes—we see ourselves only
through those same eyes—and Harriet, that summer day on Put-in-Bay, was
obviously seeing herself as, oh, a sophomore or junior in high school. And she was acting as if her eyeballs were
somehow able to leap from her head into the eye sockets of every high school
and college boy we saw in the streets.
And, of course, just looking and commenting were not enough for Harriet. So a few times she actually went up to a
group of them (while I tried to find places to hide) and, very boldly,
introduced herself and tried to become a part of the group.
I am relieved to report that no one
really took her seriously, though there was one creepy sort of guy who followed
us for a little bit, but we ditched
him in a souvenir shop and ran laughing out into the street, where we could see
him through the window. He was walking
around the store, trying to look casual, but also very obviously looking for Harriet.
And so the morning flew.
We met Father for lunch—as per
agreement—and then while he went back to his room for a nap, Harriet and I went
back into the streets for Round Two of our visiting the shops. The streets after lunch we even more swollen
with tourists. Other ferries had
arrived, people had come over in their own boats, and there was almost a
festival atmosphere in the streets.
People enjoying sun and freedom and health and leisure.
And then Harriet did something that
changed everything.
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