Treasured Days

It was an ordinary June morning, a warm day where the cicadas hummed rhythmically. I was holding my bright silver boombox and nodded along as “Our Lips Are Sealed” by the Go-Go’s blared from the dual speakers. I really loved the Go-Go’s, especially Belinda Carlisle. With her sweet voice, bright blue eyes, and blond hair, she was everything I wanted to be but and everything I was not.

The boombox was a gift, the only thing I had on my list and the only thing I received for my 12th birthday. I loved music, especially anything Top 40, and spent every day since then using the tape player to record songs from the radio.

It was an awesome stereo. Secretly, I was also hoping to get a tutu like Belinda’s, thinking it would dress up my life. I knew a tutu would have been cooler than the hot pink shorts and striped shirt sets that I usually wore. At least I could be a little rad because I had pink jelly shoes. The rubbery straps dug into my feet, but they were way prettier than my boring Keds.

I had my jelly shoes on now and turned to Mikey as the song ended. I yelled, “My lips are sealed,” even though they definitely weren’t as I was still singing in a falsetto voice. He yelled right back, and the two of us danced and pumped our arms to the music, holding our hands up like microphones. I twirled twice and fell to the ground, both of us giggling.

We did stuff like this every morning. Mikey was my only friend in the neighborhood, our houses right next to each other, the rest of the block filled with retirees. Honestly, though, friend may have been a bit of an exaggeration. I only played with him because he was there, showing up every day after his mom and dad left for work, leaving him alone.

I often caught him looking at me funny, like he was doing now, sort of staring. I could hear the cicadas getting louder as I looked away. “Listen,” Mikey said, “I have a secret.” Oh, yeah, I thought, this ought to be good. I had never known Mikey to have a secret about anything, certainly not anything interesting. I mean, how many secrets can one skinny, boring twelve-year-old have?

He leaned down very close, and I could feel the wisps of his brown hair against my ear. He whispered so softly that I felt a little tingle in my toes and barely heard him say, “I know where there is treasure buried.”

Mikey pulled a wrinkled paper from his shirt pocket and held it up, showing me a big red mark in the middle. I couldn’t help but notice that the paper smelled a little funny and had a grease stain in one corner. It looked almost like the back of the bills my mom left piled next to the credenza. I guess it could have been a real map; it had street names drawn on it after all.

I left my boombox on the stoop and jumped on my rusty blue banana seat bike, Mike following right behind. We biked around all year, at least when we weren’t singing or listening to music. We didn’t really have any limits on where we could go as long as we stayed in town. How would Mikey’s parents know, anyway?

We started down our road, and the smell of melting tar came off of the macadam in steamy waves. We didn’t get far past the corner before my bike tire bumped the curb. My bike wobbled, and I put out my foot to catch myself, and my jelly shoe brushed the curb. I wove back and forth before tipping, my leg catching the street first, stopping the rest of me from slamming down. I stood up and a bit of blood trickled from a scrape on my knee. I wiped it clean with the end of my shirt.

Mikey caught up with me when I popped back on my bike. Our wheels whirled as we raced down the next street, at least 4 blocks away from my house. We were flying because there weren’t many cars out that day; I guess people were still easing into their summer routine.

When we passed Dave’s Market, I saw the Pepsi Challenge signs and really wanted to stop. I loved sitting down and having those two cold cups of soda put in front of me, keeping my eyes closed as I sampled each one, the dark, fizzy liquid foaming on my tongue. I liked things sweeter and chose Pepsi every single time. I knew it was the very best, and I had a pile of chocolate peanut butter bars at home that said so. They gave me one every time I picked right.

Mikey always picked Coke, so he wasn’t as enthusiastic about stopping. He insisted that the treasure was just up ahead and that we should keep going. He pedaled away and held the map above his head. It made a crinkly sound as it fluttered in the breeze.

It didn’t occur to me to ask where Mikey had found this map until we had biked over a quarter of a mile. We went right and then left, stopped to inspect the map and followed the street names on the map until we reached Main, the spot on the map that showed an enormous giant X. We snaked right past the Five and Dime and followed it around to the back.

“What are we doing here Mikey, where is the treasure? Because if you ask me, this seems like a really strange place? And where did you get this map anyway?” I said, grabbing it from his hand.

Mikey’s face lit up as he took hold of my cheek. He pressed his lips down hard onto mine, and I felt slobber and tongue and teeth. I wasn’t sure if the rock in my belly was shock or revulsion. Mikey pulled back and looked at me with hope. I sighed so big I could have blown over a pig’s straw house. I glared, turned, shoved the map in my pocket and walked away.

The next day, Mikey showed up at my front door early-so early the sun hadn’t quite made it over the hill behind my house. He rang the bell 4 times and then 5. I stood right inside the door, watching him stand on the sidewalk, smoothing his red shirt and fluffy, uncombed hair. A tiny part of me felt really sorry, and I wasn’t sure if it was for him or myself.

That was my first kiss and the last time that I hung out with Mikey. He stopped coming over after that. By the end of summer, “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield was the number one song in America. I forgot all about The Go-Go’s and I forgot all about Mikey.