A Taste of Rebellion (Fiction)

There really were two young men in a convertible during the Bicentennial parade. Since I will never know who they were or what happened to them I created this story. This piece has been in the works for a few years. An earlier draft can be found here and an essay on rebellion is here.

Critiques welcome. 

~

Jack O’Neill is certain his parents will kill him. Why did he let his twin brother Dave convince him to have this party? Friends from high school plus a few strangers, including a guy with a peculiar hat and the pony, pile into the O’Neill home. The thunderous roar of youth and frenetic energy pour out of the split-level house and into the cul-de-sac.

Beer cans are lined with military precision on the tempered glass-top coffee table with spindly gold legs, while more cans are stacked pyramid-style on a Scandinavian teak and pine end-table. A Roy Lichtenstein print is askew on the wall, a curtain with a bold harvest gold and burnt orange geometric pattern is falling off its rod, and a spider plant has spilled out of its Macramé holder and landed in a splat on the hairy auburn carpet.

How will Jack explain things to his parents? And what on earth was he thinking getting tattoos all over his chest and arms? He’s never going to get a job now.

Overcome with panic Jack, convinced his life is ruined, bolts straight up, his heart pounding. Surrounded in a palette of plaid accented with mahogany paneling, Jack finds himself in a twin bed, his varsity letters, medals, trophies, and photos from high school decorate a bulletin board and shelves. Slowly, Jack realizes he’s been dreaming. He’s back in his childhood bedroom.

There was no party here last night; that was down the street. The tattoos, they were drawn on his chest and arms by cute girls at the party. The ruckus, a bunch of neighborhood kids roughhousing on the neighbor’s lawn. The guy with the hat and the pony, who knows.

The strong and handsome O’Neill twins have returned to their parent’s place in Randolph, New Jersey after college graduation. Although they work, Jack at his old high school job at Friendly’s, Dave at a local landscaping company, they hope these jobs and their time in Randolph are temporary. Both hold on to the post-college ideal of not being tied to convention. For the summer, they act out their inner wild child; the future, who knows what it will bring.

Jack wanders to the kitchen where Dave is toasting bagels and making weak Folger’s coffee. 

“What’s got those brats so wound up?” Jack says, as he slumps into a white tulip chair and rubs his eyes like a bear coming out of hibernation.

“It’s July 4th,” Dave says. “America’s 200th birthday.”

These kids studied the Revolutionary War at school and were taught that America’s Bicentennial is a very big deal. The upcoming parade, BBQs, and fireworks fuel their excitement. Repeatedly, they squeal, “Yankee doodle went to town riding on a pony. Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni.”

Jack cringes at the commotion. “Chill out bro’,” Dave says. “Have some Joe. Let’s figure out what to do with this fine day.”

You’d never know by their outward appearance that the O’Neill twins were once jocks. This summer, they work to cultivate a counter-culture vibe with cut-off shorts and tie-dye t-shirts serving as their uniform. Despite these attempts, their rowdy, loudmouth jock personalities still dominate, as if by changing outfits they can escape their nature.

Dave’s hair is long, pin straight and silky blonde. He likes to think he’s a Gregg Allman look-alike, but lacks the grooviness and swagger to pull it off. Jack’s hair is cut in shaggy layers, and today he has traded a tie-dye for a leather vest with no shirt underneath allowing him to better attain a bad-boy look. Jack, technically the older of the twins, has always been more brash and volatile, while Dave is more even-headed, easy to smile, and eager to please.

“How about we meet up with some folks at Hedden Park?” Dave says. “Chill out, enjoy some rays. Take the ol’ 356 out for a spin.”

“Plan,” Jack responds. After a few phone calls a posse of high school friends is rallied. A number of classmates are back in Randolph after college graduation. Some killing time before law school or medical school in the fall, others, like Jack and Dave, living at their parents’ house for the summer while they try to figure out what to do next.

Their parent’s black 1959 Ferrari 356 convertible was once a prized possession, but today the former status symbol looks tired. Its red paint has dulled, years of butts on leather seats have left them worn, and rust and dents pock the hood. Easing the car out of the garage, Jack and Dave head to the A&P for food and libations and deal with the mass of humanity looking for a parking space. “This place is mobbed,” says Jack. “Is it possible Randolph is home to even more morons than it was four years ago?”

Jack and Dave meander the isles of the A&P, a cacophony of sounds fills the supermarket. Mothers secure last-minute provisions throwing bags of Wise potato chips, cans of Tab, and other sundries into shopping carts. Gaggles of children are about, some tethered to their mothers while others run around like miniature barbarians.

A brother and sister pair plays a game on the dull linoleum floor, which includes only stepping on the randomly scattered colored tiles; the predominant white tiles are strictly off-limits. The entire store must know this as the bossy, rotund girl issues orders to her younger brother in a loud, shrill voice. “You’re not following the rules,” she says. “You stepped on a white tile. I win. I win. I win.”

“Up your nose with a rubber hose,” the brother says.

“Twice as far with a chocolate bar, you cheater,” she says.

“This,” Jack says, “is a good dose of birth control.” He swings the grocery cart around a tower of watermelons narrowly missing the startled little boy who emits a piercing yelp, the entire time his sister’s bossiness does not relent. While the kids rush to their mother, a grouchy old man marches right up to the twins. 

“Mr. Greenhut,” Dave says. “It’s David O’Neill. With the landscaping company. We met last week when my boss and I did upkeep on your lawn and gardens. Gosh, Randolph sure is a small town, isn’t it?”

Something between a grunt and a curt hello comes from Mr. Greenhut’s mouth while Dave continues to defuse the situation. “What lovely children do we have here?” he says bending down to pat the little boy on the head.

Mr. Greenhut introduces the brother and sister pair as his grandchildren, now silent as they cower behind their mother.

“And this is my daughter Gwendolyn,” Mr. Greenhut mumbles.

“People call me Gwen,” she says.

Jack is captivated. This flower of a woman is just the way he likes them; cornflower blue eyes, blonde hair cascades to her shoulders and ends in bouncy curls, a delicate white sundress shows off her curves. So out of control of her children. Her father so gruff she seems scared of him.

“And people call me Carmine,” Jack says extending his hand.

“A delight to meet you Carmine,” Gwen replies holding his gaze.

Silly smiles are plastered to their faces; the sense of sexual energy between them is palpable. Seeing young men like Jack reminds her of what life could have been. Unknowingly pregnant at her high school graduation, Gwen had what her father calls a “rushed wedding” and gave birth shortly before her 19th birthday. A second child followed less than three years later. Today, Gwen has a solid marriage and her boring husband provides nicely for her and her children, but she finds life as a stay-at-home mother to be tedious. Her dull days drag on ad nauseum filled with domestic responsibilities, Jazzercise classes, Junior League meetings, neighborhood cookouts, and other entrapments of an upwardly mobile lifestyle. Jack’s free-as-air vibe entices Gwen who wants to run away with him to embark on wild, youthful adventures motherhood has denied her.

“I’m, ah, sorry about …ya’ know,” says Jack.

“It’s really our fault,” says Gwen. “What do you say to Carmine and Dave,” she asks her children.

The kids look down at their sneakers in silence.

“Well, um…,” says Mr. Greehhut. “Yes.. these things…it’s nothing.”

“I couldn’t think of a better day to enjoy the Bicentennial parade,” says Dave. “We’ll leave you and your fine family to your affairs. Mr. Greenhut. Hope to see everyone around town.”

The groups go on their separate ways to vastly different days that stretch out before them. Family time, American pride, and Independence Day festivities for the Greenhut clan. For the O’Neill men, the day is unstructured. Nothing more than idle time hanging out with friends, questioning authority, talking about life.

“We better get out of here before the parade begins and we spend the day in the parking lot of the goddamn A&P,” Jack says.

Lack of sleep, radiant sun, and bare legs on hot leather seats make Jack and Dave a bit antsy as they pass by, irritated with the scene. Families made of ticky-tacky line the streets in a sheep-like herd. Pie-faced children wave American flags with gusto and well-tailored moms and dads beam proudly at the unadulterated wholesomeness and abundant prosperity that surrounds them.

“Yankee-Fucking-Doodle can kiss my ass,” Jack bellows to the crowd while Dave lets out a boisterous guffaw as his hand slaps the dashboard.

Randolph is a town of top-siders and madras shorts; Capri pants, Izod shirts, and pearl necklaces. The counter-culture does not thrive here. To many of the young children along the parade route, young men like Jack and Dave are something they’ve only seen on television. The moms look at one another in disgust, but don’t say a word, as if by ignoring the twins the young ones won’t notice or ask questions. Kids old enough to recognize the curse words stare wide-eyed, pretending not to notice while secretly in awe of these two young men so ready to mock what they were taught was important and go against the prevailing sentimentality. For many of the sheltered Randolph kids, this is their first taste of rebellion.

“What was that all about, Jack?” Dave says. “’Hi, my name is Carmine.’” Hand extended he mimics his brother “Like you’re some sort of business man or George-Fucking-Washington.”

“Look who’s talking,’ Jack says. “’Hello Mr. Greenhut.’ Like he’s a Latin professor or your goddamn golf partner.”

There’s a brief silence before Jack says. “Did you catch that foxy young thing with your buddy Mr. Greenhut? Hubba, hubba, man. Did you see the way she was checking me out?”

~

The future troubles the O’Neill twins and questions weight heavy on their minds. Like everyone in their high school class, they are expected to live professional, success-oriented lives. It’s what you’re taught in Randolph, but is it what Jack and Dave want?

“What are we going to do with our lives?” Jack says. “The last thing I want to do is to end with a rigid corporate job and a gaggle of kids.”

“What if we never leave Randolph and end up like old, grouchy Mr. Greenhut,” Dave says. “Nice house, bratty grandchildren, boring life. We should go skiing in Vermont this winter or surfing in Baha. Maybe move San Francisco and just hang out. Blow this turkey town.”

“Mom and dad would kill us.” says Jack.

“Randolph will kill us first.” Dave says

“But it would be nice to make some money. Buy one of those cool hi-fi system with some kickin’ quadrophonic speakers, a new convertible, a trip to Hawaii. Maybe we should take dad up on his offer to introduce us to his business buddies.” Jack says.

“The world is our oyster bro’; all we have to do is get off our asses and seize it.” Jack says. “But that can wait for another day.”

~

At Hedden Park, a lone jogger plods along a path and a few geese squawk and splash in the pond, but otherwise it is peaceful as Jack, Dave, and their friends settle in for the afternoon.

“The revolution will not go better with Coke. The revolution will not fight the germs that cause bad breath. The revolution WILL put you in the driver's seat. The revolution will not be televised,” Gil Scott Heron’s husky voice drifts from tinny boombox speakers.

Cans of Rheingold Beer dripping with perspiration are handed out, a spliff of Maui Wowie is passed around, and a few of the crew kick a hacky sack. These young men are unencumbered from responsibility, free to live the good life that has been made available to them. All is blissful until two police officers stride up in their staid navy uniforms. Hair buzz cut, lips pin straight, they are all business.

“The fuzz are here to harsh our mellow,” someone whispers in Jack’s ear.

“Hello gentlemen,” the more gangly of the two officers says.

“Hello sir” says David. “How may we be of assistance?”

“Are you aware that public consumption of alcohol and marijuana is against the law in Randolph?” says the officer.

The O’Neill twins and their friends stay silent as they squirm, their eyes gaze downward and they fiddle with blades of grass and the tassels of the Mexican blanket they’re sprawled out on.

“Aren’t you the O’Neill twins?” the second cop asks. “And you’re Phillip and Rachel Russo’s son, aren’t you” he says pointing to one of the boys.

They nod.

“I know your parents. You young men are from fine families, so I’ll let you off with a verbal warning.”


“Thank you, officer,” says Dave.

~

Little do Jack and Dave know that life has a way of working itself out, offering opportunities never imagined or even desired. At the time, Jack doesn’t know that in a week he’ll run into Gwen at Pizza Palace where after some heavy flirting he succeeds at luring her into a torrid affair. For two weeks, they rendezvous daily at Mr. Greenhut’s house while he is on vacation, his wooded three-acre property the perfect spot for their trysts. There, Jack can hide his brown AMC Gremlin behind a strand of tall spruce trees concealing him from the neighbors’ eyes. The entire time Gwen calls him Carmine and he doesn’t correct her.

Jack also doesn’t know he’s going to secure a job with the State of New Jersey as an inspector for the Bureau of Weights and Measures. He doesn’t even know there is such a thing as Weights and Measures. One summer becomes a year and the dull job leads to other opportunities that propel Jack into a powerful political career. His affair with Gwen is the first of many. Fast cars and fast women. Opulence and excess. Scandals and controversy follow him.

Dave doesn’t know he’ll continue working at the landscaping company. He’ll eventually buy and expand the business and settle into a quiet life in Randolph. He, too, will become successful, yet will remain the more conventional of the brothers. A father of twin girls, a vacation home on Cape Cod, non-profit boards and civic commitments.

They don’t know that in the fall, the United States will elect a peanut farmer by the name of Jimmy as president, and they can’t fathom that many years hence, during the year of America’s 240th birthday, the American people will elect a crass, petulant real estate developer with no political experience to the office of president. In 2016, Mr. Greenhut will be long gone and neither Jack nor Dave will know what has become of Gwen and her wild children. The twins will still be robust and vigorous at age 62. How will they react to what the past 40 years has brought them? Will they be content with life or will they lament their lost youth and missed opportunities?

Life has a strange way of changing direction yet often works out exactly as it should. The O’Neill brothers don’t know this now and for the time being, they are content to sit around, mock the status quo, and hang out with old friends. They are boys from a good family with bountiful opportunities in front of them, striving desperately to perfect the image of youthful rebellion even if it’s just for a summer. Life is good.

~
The essay that inspired this story: http://annvinciguerra.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-taste-of-rebellion.html