Fukumori this and Fukufuku that, well have you considered Fukuzawa and Hirotsu? Drinking buddies who complain about handling Dazai and whatever partner he’s latched onto at the moment? Overseeing joint missions with the Black Lizard together? Talking about Kyouka and how she’s doing? Have you ever thought abt that?
Trimax boys! Planning to finnish them to test if my finger is good enough to go back to commissions. Asshole still hurts but its not as bad as it was before lol. Lets practice some humans then, at least im a bit more happy how they came out, still cant stop make too big eyes xD
California, 1960s. Joey Diaz, surfer, accidental hippie, aspiring pilot, spends the day with his best friend Calvin one last time.
Warnings: drug use
Joe has spent the morning in the fields before taking over for his sister manning the roadside stand. His Tia Gloria tidies around him, muttering to herself and sweeping the dirt while half a dozen of his tiny cousins play some made up little game involving cowboys. It’s madness most days, having so many family in one place and never having a moment’s peace. He knows he’ll miss it.
Joe’s family had mixed reactions when he told them he had made the decision to join the conflict in Vietnam. His father was supportive. It was the good macho thing to do-- he had one older brother overseas already and the farm could manage without him. Better to have a soldier in the family than a hippie.
He doesn’t tell them he has bigger ambitions than the family farm. He doesn’t tell them he can train to be a pilot and hopefully open up as many opportunities he can get being Hispanic. He doesn’t tell them he’s going because Calvin has already been drafted.
Calvin leaves in a week and Joe is more broken up about it than he could have imagined.
They’d been fast friends since crashing into each other surfing-- literally. They both went after the same wave from opposite sides and collided inside the barrel.
Calvin was sweet and kind and dropped out of school to work the surf shack at Huntington and chase the surf from Manhattan Beach to La Jolla. He was effortlessly cool and had a pack of girls constantly at his heels. Despite that, he only ever wanted to spend time with Joe. Joe often wondered why until Calvin met him behind a rocky outcropping a month ago, tearfully telling him he had gotten drafted, and kissed him.
“Ay! Mijo! Wake up!” Tia Gloria slaps the counter in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. “Pay attention,” she frowns, gesturing to the girl waiting in front of the cash register holding a basket of strawberries and a polite smile.
“Ah, sorry. Strawberries,” Joe smiles tiredly. “30 cents please.”
---
Traffic is a breeze as he coasts down Harbor Boulevard in the rusty, beat up farm truck, SEASIDE FAMILY FARMS in peeling paint on the door, and his surfboard balanced precariously in the bed. The weather cools and the air smells of salt and fog as he drives closer to the ocean and further away from the troubles of reality. The ocean had always felt like a second home. A safe harbor.
April is quiet-- the weather is warm but the ocean is cold. Not a lot of tourists out which is just the way Joe likes it. He settles against the rocks near the pier and fumbles with lighting a cigarette against the wind. He takes a few deep drags, and watches the surf. Only a few brave souls are amongst the waves and the chop today. He wonders vaguely if Calvin is among them.
Joe slings his sack over his shoulder and decides to pick his way across the shore to the surf shack near the pier. The wind is picking up and the salt air stings his lungs. It feels good.
The beach is a little more lively near the pier, but the food and surf shacks are all quiet.
Joe’s heart flutters a little when he peeks into the surf shack and finds Calvin, leaning over a table waxing a surfboard and chewing gum. The little radio behind the cash register gives them the latest weather reports along the beaches.
“Hey Calvin,” Joe smiles. Calvin looks up from his surfboard and his freckled smile brightens the whole shop.
“Hey amigo! What’s shakin!” Calvin immediately pulls Joe in for a tight hug.
“Nothing new,” Joe smiles, “How are you? New haircut?”
Calvin’s already traded his unruly mop of blonde hair for a tidy buzzcut. It suits him, Joe thinks.
Calvin laughs. “You like it? You’re next, amigo,” he teases, ruffling Joe’s curls.
“Oh hey--let me close up shop here, wanna hang out?” Calvin asks but he doesn’t wait for an answer. In minutes the register is closed, the radio off, and the door locked with a “Gone surfin! Back in an hour!” sign taped to the front.
“You’re not out surfing today?” Joe asks. He fishes in his bag for a basket of strawberries, the lumpy misshapen ones they can’t sell at the stand. It’s a stupid waste, thinks Joe--they still taste just as sweet as the perfect ones, even if they are a little ugly. He offers some to Calvin who takes an eager handful.
“Nah,” Calvin says, “the dawn patrol swells were better. ‘Sides, I’ve been busy helping my old man get the place ready for me leaving.”
Joe nods, mouth full of strawberries.
“How’s your old man?” Calvin asks quietly. They make their way along the beach, past the tourists.
Joe shrugs. “He doesn’t talk much. Proud to have another soldier in the family I guess.”
They pause under the the pier, leaning against the cool damp posts, sucking on strawberries.
Calvin throws a stem into an oncoming wave.
“This is the stupidest thing I think you’ve ever done, Jose,” Calvin teases.
“Strawberries under the pier?”
“A hippie going to war.”
Joe frowns with mock indignation. “I’m not a— why does everyone think that?”
Calvin laughs, bright and gentle. “Look at you!” He gently tugs on Joe’s shoulder-length hair.
Joe looks down at his faded jeans and too-tight t-shirt with a cartoon strawberry saying STRAWBERRY PICKING IS FUN. “Hmm,” he frowns.
“Besides,” Calvin says, “I’ve seen your record collection.”
They stand side by side against the pillars until they finish their strawberries and the incoming tide inches towards their toes.
“You wanna come over?” Calvin asks after a few moment’s silence. He’s watching the waves, mind a thousand miles away.
Joe looks at his watch, thinks briefly about the madness waiting for him at home.
“Yeah, I do.”
--
Calvin’s house is just a short walk from the beach, a tiny bungalow where he lived with his WWII veteran father and Hawaiian mother. They were kind and easygoing and let Calvin had run of the house, and Joe loved the time he spent there, whether they were listening to records in Calvin’s room or smoking in the backyard.
Calvin’s backyard was one of Joe’s favorite places— steps off the beach, sheltered by bougainvillea and oleander bushes, an outdoor shower and a shed full of whatever surfboard projects Calvin and his dad were working on.
“You want a smoke?” Calvin asks, rifling through the shed before even waiting for Joe’s reply. It was sometimes an infuriating habit but that was Calvin-- once he had made up his mind about something that was it.
Joe settles onto the grass next to a lawn chair, stretching out his stiff legs and back. Calvin sits in the chair next to Joe and hands him a joint.
“It’s the good stuff,” Calvin assures him, ruffling his hair. Joe takes a deep drag, exhaling slowly into the sky. Calvin’s right: it is good. Calvin winks and takes a deep puff himself.
They’re lying side by side in the grass now, looking towards the sky, sharing the joint. So much of their time together was spent in comfortable silence, which Joe enjoyed.
“I worry about you,” Calvin says soft and quiet. Joe isn’t sure he heard him at first.
Joe props himself up on his elbows. “I’ll be fine, my little brothers will take care of the farm--”
“No,” Calvin interrupts. He sits up, handing the roach to Joe, “I worry about your hippie ass. You’re gonna show up looking like that,” he gestures to Joe, “and you’re in for a world of hurt.” Joe searches Calvin’s face for any hint of a joke and finds none. Calvin is serious-- a rarity for him. Joe stares at the smouldering joint in his hands. He doesn’t know what to say.
“I just…really care about you,” Calvin says. It’s practiced and careful. Joe’s eyes search Calvin’s, and finds them full of hurt and longing and worry. Joe reaches up and gives Calvin a soft pat on his knee.
Calvin quickly rubs his eyes, blinking hard and fast. “Stupid smoke,” he murmurs. “Stupid sand.”
Embarrassed, Joe looks away. He watches an emerald hummingbird hang motionless in the air above the bougainvillea, its wings a soft green blur of movement. When he shifts his body to get a better view, the tiny bird buzzes away into the dusk.
Beside him, Calvin clears his throat at last. “Well, if you’re gonna be a soldier boy, you’ll need a haircut,” Calvin smiles, trying to lighten the mood.
“Sure,” Joe smiles. He sits up, untying his bandana. “Let’s do it.”
-----
The setting sun turns the sky orange and pink as Joe sits on the lawn chair shirtless, while Calvin works away on his hair. Calvin is gentle as he untangles Joe’s hair with his fingers.
“Now be careful with my beard and mustache,” Joe says, stroking his facial hair, “I worked hard on that!”
“You’ve been working on that as long as I’ve known you,” Calvin teases.
“It’s good,” Joe insists. “Muy guapo.”
Calvin rolls his eyes.
The clippers make short work of Joe’s hair and in no time at all he’s sporting a slick new haircut. A breeze plays across his bare neck and makes him shiver.
Calvin brushes a few stray curls from Joe’s shoulder’s, eyeing him up and down. “You look
great,” he smiles, but there’s sadness behind it.
Joe quickly runs his hands across his head and shakes like a dog, sending stray hairs everywhere. It makes Calvin laugh.
“Go hit the shower, you’re a mess!”
----
The backyard is cleaned up, Joe rinsed off in the outdoor shower and drying off in the grass.
Joe and Calvin are sharing another joint and shotgunning Coke, watching the sunset. Calvin’s mom is making something delicious. But it’s getting dark, and Joe needs to go home.
“I’m gonna miss this,” Calvin says, taking a long drag from his joint before handing it to Joe. He declines, standing up and brushing the wrinkles from his jeans.
“I’m gonna miss you too,” Joe says quietly. He playfully jabs Calvin on the shoulder. Calvin catches it and draws him in for a tight hug. Joe embraces him back.
“You know where to find me,” Calvin says, finally breaking out of their embrace after several minutes.
Joe nods. “Somewhere on the beach,” he smiles.
Calvin smiles back, his eyes wet.
“Totally.”
----
After bidding goodbye to Calvin’s parents, and giving another tearful quick kiss to Calvin, Joe hops back in his truck and drives slowly away, watching Calvin wave from the beach in his rear-view mirror.
He smokes through the rest of the pack of cigarettes with the window down-- he hates to think what his family will say when he shows up late for dinner, hair shaved, and smelling like pot. He realizes with a pang he left his favorite red bandana at Calvin’s house. Maybe Calvin would keep it for him. Joe tries to not think too hard about what the future would bring for Calvin. Or even himself, for that matter.
