He looked like Buddy Holly.
He really did.
He was blonde but he looked like Buddy Holly in every other way.
He was slender and wore black-framed Buddy Holly glasses, and after I decided he looked like Buddy Holly I felt sick when I saw him because I ached for him to grab a microphone and sing “That’ll Be The Day” to me.
Boy oh boy did I ache to hear that song spill out of him.
I ached for blonde Buddy Holly.
I needed him to at least say “That’ll be the day,” but I couldn’t just ask him to say it. He had to say it natural-like. He had to want to say it.
We walked on the boardwalk and stepped out onto the beach and sat down in the sand. He wore blue-striped beach clothes and those dark-rimmed glasses that were so black they almost made me think his blonde hair was black.
“Wouldn’t it be just wild if we saw a mermaid leap out of the waves right now?” I asked.
He looked at me queerly.
“That…” he said
My heart leapt like the mermaid leaping out of the waves.
“Would be wild.”
I looked behind us at the waves and saw the airborne mermaid belly-flop on the water. Her flop made a loud painful-sounding slapping sound.
But I felt empowered. I’d gotten a “that” out of him and that was enough to make me fly.
Boy oh by did it make me fly.
I took a breath and smelled the ocean air and closed my eyes. I was a mermaid flying through the air, my black hair wet and yet somehow perfect. Buddy Holly & The Crickets sang and danced right there on the surface of the water.
They sang and they danced for me.
I looked back at his glasses. They were black but they were also a mirror. They reflected everything perfectly. He looked at me and his glasses moved and reflected the sun at me. His glasses sparkled and the sparkles almost blinded me.
How do you get someone to do something you want them to do without asking them to do it?
The question guided me.
“It’s back,” he said.
Not what I wanted to hear.
“My dad’s cancer.”
Also not what I wanted to hear.
“Oh, hon,” I said.
He looked down at the sand and the sun glitter flashes from his glasses blinded me again.
“It’s ok,” he sighed. “You know he’s a son-of-a-bitch.”
He said this without looking up. Behind his glittering glasses he looked mad.
“You make me glad,” he said in a soft voice. “Not like him.”
I looked for words but couldn’t find them. I looked out at Buddy Holly & The Crickets there on the water, but they were quiet, too, and they were looking down at their feet.
I let the sound of the crashing waves and the cries of the gulls fill the silence.
“Is something the matter with you?” He said suddenly.
“What?”
He still didn’t look up.
“There’s been something bothering you today,” he said.
“There’s nothing.”
He said nothing and he cocked his head to the side, and as he did his frames glittered with a million flashes. There were spots in my eyes from the flashes but I could tell from the way he cocked his head that he did not believe me.
I knew it was horrible, but I still wanted him to say it. When you want something, you can’t just stop wanting it, right?
He looked up and out over the waves at the spot where Buddy was. They looked straight at one another, and it was like he was looking in a mirror.
I couldn’t hold it in.
“Wouldn’t it be wild if there was a band singing and dancing out there on top of the water?”
I hated myself. I hated him for looking like Buddy Holly.
He didn’t look at me. I don’t think he even heard me.
“Do you know what it feels like to hate someone and love them at the same time?”
I looked straight at him.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if you do. You’re young.”
“Not so young that I don’t know who Buddy Holly is.”
What did I just say?
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing, I don’t know.”
He looked straight at me. He looked at me like he knew something but didn’t have the words for what it was.
“You know,” he said. “On some level, I feel like everything I’ve done in my life was done for him. Because of him.”
“Why?”
“Because of everything he is. All his awards. All his stardom. It felt like I had to live up to all of that or I wouldn’t be OK.”
“You don’t feel like you’re famous enough?”
“Famous enough? Dad would say there’s no such thing.”
“He’s a worm in your head.”
He looked down at the sand, frames glittering along the way. He took a long breath and sighed.
“You know, he said. “I know I should care about the cancer news. But all I am is pissed. Pissed at him for not caring about his family even though he’ll be dead soon.”
“Who says you should care?”
“I don’t know.”
“The worm?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think it’s the worm.”
“I don’t know.”
“Only a worm would tell you you should be crying for someone who makes you feel like a worthless shit.”
“I don’t know.”
“‘I don’t know.’ That’s your worm talking. You do know. And you know what else? I have a worm surgery kit in my bag here.”
“A what?”
“A worm surgery kit.”
“I didn’t know they made surgery kits.”
“They do.”
“How do you perform a worm surgery?”
“I’ll show you, boy.”
I reached my hand into my bag but didn’t pull it out. I saw him watching me and I waited. Then I took my hand out of the bag with my fist closed. He watched my fist and then, one finger at a time, I opened my hand.
He frowned.
“There’s nothing there.”
“There is.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“For the past 20 seconds, what was on your mind?”
“What you had in your bag and in your hand.”
“And you know what wasn’t on your mind? Your dad and his wormy little voice. Surgery successful.”
He looked at my palm, and a tired but calm look fell over him.
“Hey,” he said. “Why did you mention Buddy Holly before, of all singers?”
“He’s old. I’m young. You think I don’t know stuff cuz I’m young.”
“That’s another worm.”
“What is?”
“Older people thinking young people don’t know stuff.”
“Sure is.”
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For taking out my worm.”
“Pleasure. It was an old one. Looked like it’d been there since birth.”
“Think it’ll come back?”
“Yes. I didn’t get all of it and worms like that can grow back from just little pieces.”
“I can already feel its pieces wriggling again in my brain.”
“Gross.”
He grinned a wry grin, and looked at me. I could make out my reflection in his glasses. I could see my black wiry hair. It was wild hair that did what it wanted most of the time. I loved it because it had a personality all its own, and it was fun and good company.
“Do you always do things because you think other people will like what you do?” I asked.
“Wow,” he said.
“What?”
“You really do know how to spot worms, huh.”
“I am a worm surgeon.”
The sun had shifted and the sand below him glittered now and that glittering joined the glittering of his glasses frames. He might as well have been performing in a stadium.
“You think all worms are bad?” He asked.
“What do you think?”
He said nothing. He just sparkled.
“Do you think it’s you or a worm asking that question?”
Still, he said nothing. Still, he just sparkled.
“What about you?” He asked.
“What about me?”
“What about your worms.”
“I have my worms.”
“What do they make you do?”
“Fuck with people instead of asking them directly for what I want.”
“Are you fucking with me right now?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My worm won’t let me tell you.”
“Well, how hard is worm surgery?”
“Very hard.”
“Too hard for me?”
“Definitely.”
“Is that you or the worm talking?”
“What do you think?”
“What would you say if it was just you talking?”
And with just a question he had performed the surgery. I sighed and looked out at the waves and at Buddy Holly. I saw Holly smile that smile of his, and he gave me a thumbs-up. I didn’t take my eyes off of Buddy Holly.
“I think you look like Buddy Holly with those glasses on,” I said. “I’ve been trying to get you to say ‘That’ll be the day’ and I’ve been trying to get you to say it without asking for the last few minutes.”
I closed my eyes as a worm told me how dumb I was. I listened to the waves crashing. Then the crashing subsided and I heard him laughing a hearty laugh.
“That is the best thing anyone’s told me in a long, long time,” he said, laughing. “I need more worms like that in my head. The good worms.”
I opened one eye very slowly, and saw his smiling eyes behind his sparkling glasses and the sparkling sand. I smiled, too, and I could hear Buddy Holly cheering me from behind.
“Think your worm’s gone now?” He asked.
“There’s still at least a piece,” I said.
“Well,” he said. “A world without worms. That’ll be the day.”
Oh, boy. 