The Bearfoot Boys

By Dalia Grigorescu

Lance sat his lanky self on a stool at the end of the outdoor bar and watched the Cadillac parked at the end of the deserted beach. A September breeze pushed off the lake and chilled the air. Perched on the car’s hood, Myrna flirted with one of those no-good Bearfoot boys. Same one she’d been talking to all summer. The boy leaned against the car and looked up at her like an obedient mutt begging for attention.

“Down, boy,” Lance muttered and took a swig of his beer.

The boy looked toward the bar.

What’s he staring at? There’s no way he could have heard me. Freak! Lance shifted and gazed at his drink. Cold beer on a hot day was heaven. But warm beer on a cold day like this, a mockery. It didn’t matter. Couldn’t make him any more miserable than seeing Myrna with that guy.

When he looked back up, Myrna was walking in his direction. The wind whipped her dress against her tanned, slender legs. She pushed her Wayfarers on top of her head to keep her long hair in place, but it still twirled around her face.

Lance checked the bar. He was the only customer. He got off the stool and straightened his back. They hadn’t talked since her graduation, and he couldn’t remember how long before that.

“Hey, Myrna. Want a drink?”

“No.” She smiled at everyone in town, but not at him. “Just… it looked like you were staring at me. At us.”

He stood a few feet from her, trying to pick the right thing to say. I miss you. You look great. Give me another chance. Jealousy won and he blurted out, “You’re with him now?”

“None of your business.”

That was as clear a “yes” as any he’d ever heard. It made him sick to think about it. “Stay away from him, Myrna. He’s no good.”

“He‘s no good?” She crossed her arms. “Look who’s talking!”

The accusation pained him. “Come on, Myrna, I’ve changed. You would know it, if you gave me the chance to talk to you sometimes.” He wiped his brow. “I drove by your house the other day, but you weren’t there. I just want to see how you are. Make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine. And I’d rather you don’t drive by my house. It’s weird.”

“I still care about you, that’s all. I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

“Andy won’t hurt me.”

The conversation wasn’t going Lance’s way. “What’s this?” He pointed at the medallion hanging on her necklace.

“An amulet.” Myrna planted her hands on her hips. “You need to leave us alone.”

“The Bearfoot boy got to you with his Indian mumbo jumbo, didn’t he?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand! Some guys pick up girls with a guitar, others with a puppy. The Bearfoots do it with that nonsense about amulets and animal spirits. They’re probably not even really Indian. I heard one of them talk about their ‘Hyper Nation’. Sounds made up to me!”

Myrna turned to leave, but Lance caught her arm. “Please hear me out.”

She jerked her arm free. Yet she stayed.

Lance lowered his voice. “Look—they show up in the summer, and they’re gone as soon as the cold weather comes around. The older brother ‘works winters at a ski resort.’” His voice trailed while his fingers drew quotation marks in the air. “The middle one ‘goes to university.’ The father ‘works on ships,’ but only in the winter, like ships don’t sail in the summer. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

She stared Lance in the eye. “I don’t. And I don’t know what you think you heard, but nobody said they belong to the ‘Hyper Nation.’ That’s ridiculous. Just leave us alone.”

She stalked back to her Bearfoot boy.

“He’s gonna leave you, Myrna! You’ll see!” Lance yelled after her. Then he sat on the barstool and added quietly, “But that’s all good, ‘cause then I’ll get you back.”

When Myrna reached the car, Andy was waiting with one eyebrow raised.

“I know. You told me so. It was pointless.” She took a deep breath and snuck into his arms. “You wouldn’t believe what he was saying.”

“Doesn’t matter. You gave it to him good. I’m proud of you.”

She leaned her head back and smiled. “How do you know?”

“I heard it. You made him sweat, too. I can smell it from here.”

Myrna chuckled. She gripped her bear-shaped medallion between her thumb and index finger. “So… when are you leaving?”

“Next week.”

“I’m gonna miss you. I wish I could go, too. See what you guys do there.”

“We’ll be back next summer. And we don’t really do anything. Just like I told you… It’s hibernation.”

Can you guess which song from the 1980's inspired this story? Share in the comments!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dalia Grigorescu lives in New Jersey and enjoys writing whatever comes to mind: fiction, poetry, memoir segments, short humorous pieces and everything in between. Inspiration tends to strike after the dog, husband and kids (usually in that order) have fallen asleep. She was born in Romania, so it is only fitting that her first Havok story had to do with vampires.

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