Page 25 of About That Night

Then we’re off, clustered together, and I’m paddling pretty hard because I want to get ahead of the pack for privacy. I also want to impress Chastity with my ability to outpace senior citizens. Or rather, not be humiliated if I can’t.

I manage it easily, but then Janie yells at me to slow down and wait for the group. I’m not sure why we all have to stick together, but she seems pretty adamant, so I ease up and let us glide over the surface of the water.

But if Betty says something rude to Chastity, I’m not responsible for whatever might come out of my mouth.

Chastity taps me on the shoulder. I turn, and she’s pointing to the water’s edge. “Look, a heron!”

The excitement on her face gives me immeasurable pleasure.

Our group of paddlers does not.

As everyone else catches up with us, Janie has us float in place to watch the heron. Except wildlife isn’t as interesting as gossip, apparently. I have a feeling this trio has actually traversed this route frequently. They’re not as interested in watching the shoreline as they are in peppering me with inappropriate and invasive questions about my personal life. Which, while annoying, is fine because I’d rather the focus be on me instead of Chastity. I can take it. She seems like she takes petty bullshit to heart.

“Aren’t you that Young boy who slept with his teacher?” Mary asks, clear out of the blue. “You know what, I’m certain you are. I’m convinced of it. It was that Rawlings girl. Her mother goes to church with my neighbor, and everyone was talking about it.”

Of course they were. I recall my own mother wasn’t particularly thrilled about it.

Chastity looks scandalized, which irritates me. I want her in awe of my charm and sexual prowess, not shocked by my somewhat misspent youth.

The brief relationship with Nicki Rawlings wasn’t the big deal everyone had made it out to be. “To be fair, that was three years after I graduated, and she was only four years older than me, so I don’t think that really counts. It didn’t happen while she was my teacher.”

No one appears to be buying it. Their faces are filled with judgment.

“Though she did teach me a thing or two, if you know what I mean,” I add, because lighten the fuck up everyone. I’m kidding. I’m clearly kidding.

No one looks amused.

“And I remember when you were in high school, you stole all those street signs, and we had tourists all turned around. That was highly inconvenient, young man,” Bill says. “The swamp tours took quite the financial hit that day.”

I’ll happily give the two tour companies in town a hundred bucks in restitution, which is what they probably lost, because the sign stealing was dumb, but me and my buddies had enjoyed ourselves. It was silly and mostly harmless and a teen-boy bonding experience. “Yeah, sorry about that. It was a senior prank.”

“You also broke the window at the ice cream shop, goofing off on your skateboard.”

What the hell, is this an episode of “This is your life, Hank Young?”

“That was genuinely an accident.”

Next, they’d be bringing up the time I got arrested for pretending to twerk outside of a bar. I’d been terrible at it, because why would I be good at twerking? I was also drunk and had managed to fall off a balcony in the French Quarter. I’d damaged the car I landed on and rolled off the hood and onto a pile of trash bags. Not one of my finer moments.

Chastity has her paddle across her lap and is just listening to all of this.

“And you flashed those bachelorettes on their tour boat.”

That is actually a fond memory. “I was twenty-one when I did that, so it was all totally legal.” I’d forgotten about the bachelorettes. I’d ended up in a threesome with two of the bridesmaids.

Otis nods. He’s falling for it.

Betty glares at me. “Exposing yourself is still against the law, even if you’re of age.”

“Wish I had known that then,” I say.

Chastity is shaking her head at me. But she’s smiling. She thinks I’m funny. Which I am. Life should be fun. Take that, Betty.

“Heard you’ve been living in New Orleans. Now talk about a place where evil flourishes,” Otis says. “Didn’t pick up a spirit, did you?”

“Pretty sure I didn’t. Sometimes I do get the urge to sacrifice a chicken, though,” I say.

They stare at me.

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