Free Intermission by Ashley Pullo Page A

alone, oh no, there’s a whole fucking generation of exceptional, over-educated, turgid pricks like me, waiting for the future to fall in our laps. I’m not lazy or depressed, I’m a byproduct of false idealism and Saturday morning cartoons. I get that now, on the eve of my 25 th birthday – and it’s all about to change.

 
 
July 4, 2003
    “Molly’s house is three blocks east past the bait shop. Good thing I brought the rolling bags!” Natalie exclaims.
    We step off the ferry and onto the rustic dock to take in our weekend paradise. The smell of the salty ocean is overwhelmingly fresh compared to the subway steam and curry that penetrates our neighborhood. Ocean Beach is gorgeous in its natural environment, and the gentle swaying of the sea oats is like a mystical trance of tranquility. Breathe in, breathe out . . . holy shit this is amazing!
    We spent the entire train ride chatting with a group of college kids from the Upper East Side. They mentioned to us at least a million times that they’re renting a house in the Hamptons and consequently, I have a massive headache from rolling my eyes. They turned their snobby noses up at the mention of Fire Island, even though Natalie boasted about our mansion that was once owned by Elizabeth Taylor. By the time the train stopped in Bayshore, those stupid kids thought we were two rich socialites that were simply partying for the weekend. Idiots.
    I follow Natalie on the walkway, taking the time to read the large signs she seems to be ignoring. Oh shit.
    No swimming beyond floats.
    No food or drinks.
    No disrobing.
    No radios without earphones.
    No ball playing, kites or Frisbees.
    No sexual abstinence.
    Okay, so the last one is just my interpretation from the article I read in Time Out New York about the Land of NO! Apparently, people come to this island for two things: gay-friendly shenanigans and freaky, no limitations, sex. (As long as you don’t fly a kite or drink a beer.)
    “Hey Nat, did you bring a Frisbee?” I joke.
    Natalie stops abruptly and spins to face me. “Why the fuck would I bring a Frisbee? I swear Chloe, if you don’t get laid this weekend, I’m shipping you back to T.O.” She continues walking toward a green picket fence surrounding a gray shingled cottage. The front door is the color of butter, and tiny seashells dangle from the door frame. “Yes, there it is. How adorable is that house? Chloe, this is going to be so much fun!” Natalie picks up her pace and I trail behind her with a giddy smile.
    “Did Molly tell you where to meet people?” I ask.
    “Of course she did! We’ll have lunch and hang by the beach. She said parties are always popping up and tonight there’s a huge fireworks show.”
    We roll our bags into the little cottage and tour the space. There are two small bedrooms, one large bathroom and a kitchen tinier than the one in our apartment. The living room is actually in the back, overlooking the sand dunes and the foamy waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Molly’s home is cozy, comfortable and at least a million dollars.
    Natalie and I plop down on a white linen sofa and stretch out our legs. Our relaxation is interrupted by a shadow moving outside the large window and I nervously grab Nat’s hand. We quietly get up and move toward the figure, my heart racing and her hand squeezing the circulation out of mine . . . but it’s just a deer! Oh wait, there are two cute little deer, staring at us with their big brown eyes! It’s cool that the wildlife can flourish even though their habitat is disrupted by ferries full of visitors and drag queens. I could watch their innocent faces nuzzle against each other all afternoon, not a care in the world, not worried about a job or a music career or finding someone to love, these deer inspire me.
    And . . . the bigger one just mounted the female. He’s humping the shit out of her and his eyes are rolling to the back of his fuzzy head. The female on the other hand, appears frightened.