Page 20 of On Fire Island

Keep Off the Dunes

That night, in search of Ben, who had taken Sally for a walk on the beach (a mere one hundred feet from the house, by the way), I passed two people making out on the dunes. I wavered between wanting to yell “Get off the dunes!” since disturbing these fragile hills is a near federal offense in our vulnerable beach town, and averting my eyes from the seemingly PG-13 exchange. In the end, I got caught up in the beauty of young love, remembering a time when Ben and I would roll around in the sand at night on the way back from this or that, too hot for each other to make it all the way home. But then I realized it was Matty and Dylan. It didn’t completely surprise me, of course, after the conversation I’d witnessed. I was surprised though that they were in the dunes—especially Jake Finley’s daughter.

Like Dylan, Jake Finley had grown up on the island and was known as the unofficial keeper of the piles of wind and water-driven sand that protected the natural barrier from the constant threat of nor’easters and hurricanes. He would even go as far as paying a few kids out of his own pocket over the winter to plant seagrass along our stretch of dune. Aside from Dylan, there wasnothing Jake loved more than this island. Year-rounders, like him, felt especially protective of it.

There is an age-old hierarchy in Fire Island that I imagine is consistent from town to town. The year-round people, like Jake, resented the summer people, and the summer people resented the renters, and the renters resented the groupers, and the groupers resented the day-trippers. It is an island of rules, and outsiders did not always follow those rules—like keeping off the dunes, which was essential to the survival of the ecosystem. But year-rounders and summer people got annoyed by other things too, like littering or playing loud music. The people of Bay Harbor, especially, worshipped their peace; disturbing it was a near abomination. Yet nothing came close to disturbing the dunes.

I walked away from the scene of the crime and stumbled upon Ben and Sally sprawled out on the beach a few blocks east. Ben was lying on his back, staring at the starry sky. I tried not to think about the trail of sand they would bring into the house without me there to insist on a shakedown and lay beside them.

A few minutes in, Ben said, “Can you believe Shep is staying in the house—in our bed?”

It took me a bit to realize he was speaking to me, not Sally, who put her head on his chest as he continued.

“I know I can kick him out, but I feel badly for him, you know, sleeping in that big house all alone.”

He, too, realized he was speaking to me completely, as if I were there, and laughed. “I think I’m losing it, Jules. Maybe it’s good that someone is there with me, someone to talk to besides you—and Sally. Someone who will answer.” He laughed again.

Sally had picked up her head at the sound of her name. She looked west and barreled over Ben’s chest with vigor. Ben sat up to see what had caught her eye. In the distance, we could see Jake’sdog, Charlie, charging down the beach—which most likely meant that Jake wasn’t far behind. Though I was pretty sure there was nothing I could do, I raced back to where Dylan and Matty lay to try to warn them. I arrived to find them with less clothing on than before. Matty’s shirt was tossed to the side, and Dylan’s top nestled between blades of beach grass. Both were bare-breasted, with Dylan’s bare breasts, of course, being the bigger issue. As I prayed things wouldn’t advance, for a multitude of reasons, not least of which being that it felt wildly inappropriate to be standing over them, Dylan rolled off Matty and lay flat out on the sand, proclaiming, “Matty, wait.”

He rolled on his side to face her.

“What’s up?” he asked through chafed lips.

She turned to face him, her arms settled across her bare chest like Wonder Woman. Their faces were but an inch apart. They looked more like two little kids whispering secrets on a sleepover than consenting near-adults. Dylan continued very matter-of-factly, “I just want to say that I don’t want to do it tonight. I mean, obviously, because we don’t have a rubber—you don’t, right?”

I was glad she was thinking of protection. From the surprised look on Matty’s face, it was clear that he was not. He answered as if he was.

“No, I don’t—but I’m sure I can get one.”

“Not from any of our friends though, OK?”

“Do we have any friends?”

“Yeah, kind of. You know what I mean, I don’t want any of the kids our age knowing my business, especially the city kids. Just promise.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

Dylan laughed, and continued, “Stick a needle in my eye.”

“My lips are sealed, my promise true!”

“I’ll never break my word to you.”

They did some funny hand-slapping, pinky-swearing ritual before falling back onto the sand laughing. They took a beat, staring up at the stars as they had on a zillion nights before.

“Hazmat?”

“Yes, Dyl.”

“I only want to do it once.”

Matty sat up.

“Once?” he asked, no longer playing it cool.

“Yes, once. I just want to know that it’s over with.”

“Over with? Jeez, Dyl—”

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