Beach Folk

July 1, 2011

Caesar Creek in Waynesville is a good place to hang if you like hanging with what a politician would call folks. You could call its beach a beach, but it’s as much of a beach as Caesar Creek is a creek. Don’t call Caesar Creek a creek unless you want the folks on the beach to think you’re not folk. Caesar Creek is a lake with an unlimited horsepower designation and four launch ramps; call it a fun time if you’re going to call it anything.

A family friend whose name I won’t say because who wants to be written about? killed two people at Caesar Creek last July. He says it wasn’t his fault, and last week when we were tubing at Caesar Creek he made his case:

-If Dina hadn’t been dancing with that dude she met at driving school and touching his dick in front of God and all creation then I wouldn’t have been drinking so hard that night. And when I start drinking like that on Thursday I usually don’t stop until Sunday night, especially in the summer, and double especially when Dina’s been sleeping at her sister’s. And when I saw Dina and that dude go to the bathroom together I drank some more and later in the parking lot I saw him lay her out on the hood of his Jetta and tickle her pussy like I like to. I’m sure she loves that Jetta. She loves things that are fancy but not good. That’s why I call her Pottery Barn when I’m mad at her.

So Friday morning she texts: don’t be mad. And I text: I don’t get mad at whores. She doesn’t reply. Hours later like a chump I text: I’m sorry, you’re not a whore. She doesn’t reply to that either. I text: are we still getting married? She doesn’t reply. So a few hours later I text: don’t reply to this text if we are still getting married. She doesn’t reply. I guess we’re still getting married.

I drink all day Friday and that night we’re out again and, no joke, she’s with that dude from the driving school again. She’s bent over and he’s dry-fucking her on the dance floor with his fingers in her mouth in front of God and all creation. Even Tom, who never says shit about other people, says that’s fucked up.

-Why didn’t you leave?

-I stuck around till two in case she actually wanted to go home with her fiancée and was just sucking that dude from the driving school’s fingers in front of everyone to make me jealous. Saturday morning I’m on bloody marys and then a few beers, and Tom and I hop in my car and drive to Caesar Creek thinking a day of boating and beaching, if you can call it a beach, would calm my nerves. We find some real estate on the sand and get to drinking, and Tom’s going off about how I can’t marry her now because everyone has seen what a whore she is, dancing with that dude from the driving school like a black girl and sucking his finger. Tom’s always been more racist than we like but that’s just his way, and he had a point: at least seven people we know saw that, seven people who are going to our wedding.

-I thought the wedding was off for now?

-Still up in the air. We’re waiting for the lawyers to put stuff together. So, of course, Dina and the dude from the driving school spread out a bed sheet right next to us. Tom, even Tom, is like, this shit is cruel. A minute later she’s putting lotion on his back and he’s putting lotion on her back and her tits.

-She was topless?

-No, but you know how she has those fake tits like volleyballs that push up against her neck? If you don’t lotion up the top half they’ll burn real bad like they did at Put-in-Bay two years ago. But she could have done that part herself. So they sit down and she looks over at me and says, Oh hey, I didn’t know you were going to the beach today. Oh yes she knew. And I don’t say a word. I look at the dude from the driving school. He’s so much fatter than me and there’s a little boner tenting his Umbros just from lotioning her tits. Now, I’m an easy boner too, but that’s pathetic. At this point I’ve seen this guy put is fingers in my fiancee’s mouth, I’ve seen him hump my fiancee on his Jetta and tickle her pussy, and now I’ve seen his boner. I was fed up. Tom and I are going boating, I said. We picked up the cooler and the bottle of Bulleit and walked over to the dock and Dina says all sweet, I’ve always loved your boat. Can we come?

-How did you crash?

-I barely remember. By that time I was sick-drunk.

-Why were you driving then?

-BECAUSE IT’S MY BOAT. If I am on my boat then I am driving my boat. Even if I’m getting sick over the side, no one else is driving my boat, especially not that boner from driving school, God rest his soul. He was like, Dude, you are so drunk right now, let me drive. And even Tom, rest his soul, was saying boner should drive. But it’s my boat, and the more I think about it, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot this past year, it’s all Dina’s fault. I would have drank less if she hadn’t been on the boat, enough less to swerve around that boat without hitting the other boat.

-You might be right about that.

-I’m going to cheat on her every chance I get.



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