We lived on the beach. It was a five-minute walk from where we lived, just a matter of crossing the road. If it was warm, I’d get off the bus and hurriedly do my chores that had to be finished before my mom got home from work. Then quickly get into my bathing suit. We’d meet up with our towels and smokes and head for the sand. I’d just started smoking when I met Gina. She smoked, not surprisingly, and when I was with her, I didn’t think about what my mom would do if she found out. In a way, I guess I wanted to emulate her free spirit. It wasn’t years later that I realized the intense sadness she must have felt.
About midway into the school year, Gina’s sister asked her to come and live with them in Connecticut. I never understood why it took her so long to ask. She knew Gina’s circumstances and where she was living. Gina’s mom stayed drunk all the time, and I think they had a big failing out, and Gina left home. That’s when she came to live behind me. Her mom didn’t want her, at least that’s what Gina said.
So Gina left me. I was heartbroken. But at the same time, I was so happy that she was going to be with her sister. I thought that if she was with f***ly, she’d be OK. We wrote each other letters at least twice a week, but four months later she came back. I got several stories from Gina as to why it didn’t work-out. I have my own theories.
Time went on, the school year was coming to a close, and my 15th birthday was just around the corner. My mom and I moved to Taft. Gina stayed behind with yet another person somewher