Soria Girl

The sun had an odd way of hitting Wooderson. When it was a summer afternoon, the air kinda felt…I don’t know. It’s hard to describe it, but for some reason I always felt like I took a time machine trip back to the 70s or 80s and lived there. Maybe it was the way all the houses and stores looked, all weathered and worn. Or maybe it was the ever-present crowd of surf punks and tourists flocking to the beach. (That was something I always hated about living in Santa Monica.)

You know how when you watch a home movie from when you were, like, a little kid, and you see little snapshots of your neighborhood from years ago? And how there’s stuff in it that’s either not there anymore or there’s stuff that’s been added? It’s unreal, looking around yourself and seeing just how things have changed environment-wise. And when you walk back out as your present self and kinda compare stuff in your head to how they were, it’s interesting.

Me and Crash took a bike ride around Wooderson one day. It was partly out of boredom and partly because I hadn’t really paid much attention to anything before then. I had walked over to his house, knocked on the door and demanded that he go with me, basically. He shrugged and crammed something into his pocket before getting his bike out from the garage and following me around the subdivision.

After living in Claymore for a year, a neighborhood with hardly any trees just seemed weird. Back there, the streets were shadowed by a ton of trees and leaves, blocking out any sunlight and making it feel like it was always gonna rain. It was sort of depressing, but in a way, pretty interesting.

Here in Wooderson, nobody had trees in their front yard and the sun was always shining. Once in a while as we zoomed on our bikes we saw an occasional palm tree at the end of someone’s driveway, but that was it. It was hotter than hell out, too.

“Gorgeous weather,” I casually called over to Crash, who didn’t really look like he gave a crap.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. I barely heard him.

Pretty soon, some memories came back to me. The street names were becoming more and more familiar, faded green aluminum signs sparking a memory. Hang Drive. Runner Street. Brinx Avenue. Christie Drive. I laughed to myself quietly. Not because I thought it was funny, but because they were just so iconic that I didn’t believe I forgot about them.

It was bizarre, you know? I still wasn’t totally sure that it wasn’t all a dream still. Everything felt so foreign, as if I hadn’t been there in decades and I wasn’t meant to be there anymore.

The chain of my bike clicked in unison with Crash’s, adding a peaceful soundtrack to the ride. Nothing could possibly scream “summer” more than that moment – riding in the sun with the world as our oyster and with nothing better to do. We approached the back exit of the neighborhood where there was a small opening that none of the tourists had gotten a hold of.

I couldn’t really remember the last time I’d visited it. Even last year, I’d been too caught up in my own things to go back to it. My heart took a leap when I saw the water shining in the sunlight right by the backstreet, almost right in my backyard. It was beautiful.

I skidded to a stop on my bike and Crash followed, slowly trudging up next to me. My gaze was fixated to the horizon. The little pier extended out midway into the lagoon, old and rickety from years of being there. It was a wonder that it hadn’t finally collapsed, I thought. It was fenced off with an old wire boundary that was rusted and twisted in every possible shape; it was also slanted toward the water as if the wind had knocked it around.

Crash took something out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth, inhaling sharply. I stared for a moment, but then reminded myself that it was rude…but still…either something was up, or I was just being an idiot and didn’t remember anything.

He caught me staring and smiled after doing it. “I’m alright.”

“Oh,” I coughed. “Um…I wasn’t…staring. Uh, just…”

“S’okay, Sor. I don’t care.” He laughed a little and pointed to our right. “C’mon. Let’s go check out Atlantic’s.”

I gasped. “Holy crap, that place is still open?”

“Yeah.”

On the little one-way road that ran all the way down the side of our backyard sea, there were about five or six shops and restaurant-type things that always seemed to be open. Every day when I was little, my mom would take me back there and we’d go stop at one of the shops and talk to the clerks or people who worked there. A sudden rush of more memories came over me, preventing me from speaking.

We got off our bikes and started walking down the sidewalk. My gaze was fixed on the ocean as always, staring off into space at all the perfectly calm waters. But Crash hit my shoulder gently and led me into the most familiar of the shops – Atlantic. For as long as I could remember, it was a beach store, a clothing store, and even did airbrushing. All that in a tiny little townhouse building that was built in the 50s.

Crash and I left our rides outside and shuffled in, the bell of the door ringing when we entered. The smell of laundry detergent and paint bombarded my senses, and as I looked around for any sign of familiarity, it was clear to me that nothing here had changed.

I shared a smile with myself.

“Well, hell, who’s this?”

A voice snapped me out of my daze and I turned around sharply to meet eyes with nobody other than Martin, the old black guy who ran this place. He didn’t look a year over 50, but the things I already knew about him told me he was well into his sixties. There weren’t many people I’d forgotten about when I was in Claymore, but he…uh, he was one of them, honestly. It’s not like he was a close friend, but he was a part of my childhood.

He held his hand out and I gave him a high-five. Crash elbowed me.

“Soria, shoot! I thought you up and died or somethin’!” Martin laughed heartily. “Is that really you, girl?”

I nodded. My cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so much involuntarily. “Yeah, it’s me, man.”

He put his hands on his hips, his wrinkled eyes softening. “Where you been? I heard from some other kids you moved for a year, but you never told me where you went.”

Damn. Uh…

Well, goodbyes hurt, right? And a year ago when I moved to Claymore there were certain people who I didn’t really wanna confront about that…so I didn’t. And I guess old Martin thought I’d skipped town on him.

“I went to Florida,” I confessed. “Dad got stationed at Jacksonville so we moved to the suburbs there…”

I was afraid he’d get mad for not telling him about it, but instead he pulled me into a hug that only somebody you grew up with could give. He let go a few seconds afterward and mussed my hair, already messed up from the wind.

“Not too much of a change, right? I mean, it’s still hot down there. Only they got Mickey Mouse and oranges and all and we got beaches and earthquakes,” he chuckled.

I kinda looked over at Crash and he covered a smile with his hand.

“Wasn’t really that sunny, honestly. Where I lived it was all dark and gloomy.” I ran my foot over the rotting hardwood floor.

“Then I guess it’s better back here then!”

For some reason I wasn’t really putting my heart into the smile I gave him after that exclamation. It felt forced.

All around me were t-shirts and shorts and surfboards. To anybody outside of Wooderson, it would seem like just your everyday tourist trap, but this place had memories. I once got lost in this place. I’d seen virtually every t-shirt’s design before it even went on sale. When I was a little kid, Martin used to always let me sit on the counter and “checkout” the customers.

Martin walked around to the back of the counter and pulled out two sodas from under it, tossing them to me and Crash. “It ain’t real often none of you kids come back here anymore.”

Crash slurped his drink loudly.

“Sorry, Mr. Martin,” I sighed. I couldn’t even remember the last time I called him that.

He waved his hand. “It’s Martin. I wouldn’t call you Ms. Soria, would I? Now tell me how Florida is.”

Crash took it upon himself to answer for me, grinning widely. “She got a boyfriend now.”

“Shut up!” I groaned.

“Whoo, now is that right?” Martin chuckled.

I went quiet and pressed my lips into a thin line, burning a hole in the floor with my glare. “Uh…”

“Aw, you don’t gotta give me the details. All I wanna know is if he treats you right, girl,” he assured.

I was seriously tempted to flip him off. If I had a dime for every dude who said that to me, I’d be rich. But the anger passed.

“Yeah, he’s nice. But he lives in Florida still.”

“Oh snap,” Crash joked. “Long distance.”

It was a beautiful summer’s day and the icing on the cake was that I got to catch up with someone I’d grown up with and still was able to talk to. Martin hadn’t changed a bit, either – not his store, not him. That was the icing on the icing. I guess a little part of me still hated the idea of change.

That wasn’t going away, either.

Trust me on that.