He let go of her ankles, drew in his hands, and laid the side of his face on his right forearm. “Well,” he said, “you know how those things happen, Sybil. I was sitting there, playing. And you were nowhere in sight. And Sharon Lipschutz came over and sat down next to me. I couldn’t push her off, could I?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, no. No. I couldn’t do that,” said the young man. “I’ll tell you what I did do, though.”
“What?”
“I pretended she was you.”
Sybil immediately stooped and began to dig in the sand. “Let’s go in the water,” she said.
“All right,” said the young man. “I think I can work it in.”
“Next time, push her off,” Sybil said. “Push who off?”
“Sharon Lipschutz.”
“Ah, Sharon Lipschutz,” said the young man. “How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire.” He suddenly got to his feet. He looked at the ocean. “Sybil,” he said, “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll see if we can catch a bananafish.”