Dyke Bridge

My brother and I in the knee-deep water, standing in the tidal current, under Dyke Bridge. We are hunting whelks. Yes, it is the water Mary Jo Kopechne drowned in. I know all about it. About Teddy drunk and how the story of what happened was less covered up than simply muddled. My brother tells me all about it. How Teddy was still grieving his brothers, both his shot-to-death brothers, and that maybe he drank too much. Not that this excuses what happened, my brother says. But wouldn’t you drink if somebody shot me in the head? And then your other brother? If you had another brother? Wouldn’t you drink a whole hell of a lot and probably crash a car?

We are on vacation with our parents on Martha’s Vineyard. We are from Illinois. It is classy if you are from Illinois to take a vacation on Martha’s Vineyard. And Kennedyesque. My parents are still married (to each other), although my brother and I would prefer this not to be the case. We have ridden our bikes out to this bridge to see this very spot, to muck around in this famous water. My brother is wearing a T-shirt with the face of Sam Ervin, the hero of Watergate, on it.