Blink Short Stories by Beth Romp

Him

The biting autumn morning nipped at my toes with each rush of water that washed up the sand. My left index finger lifted and found its way between my skin and wetsuit collar, trying to create some space between my body and the coarse material. I surveyed the water: clean open waves, about waist height, rolling from the point down to the shore.

The golden orb was beginning to peak over the horizon, showering the ocean with orange rays of light. The surfers that had been out since dusk formed an array of black dots on an otherwise picturesque morning. My father would always say that a nice day like this was a message from Huey, the surf God, letting us know that we must enjoy every moment.

I kicked my legrope up into the hand carrying my board and moved into the water, wading out despite the goosebumps that erupted across my skin. The paddle towards the break was calm, only a few duck-dives required before I entered the line-up. The seven-foot mal sailed me across the water with each stroke until I pulled to a stop. Swinging my legs down either side of the board, I nestled myself in amongst the swarm. Something in my stomach sloshed around like when Dad had taken me on the rollercoaster one too many times and I had thrown up my lunch. I tried to swallow the feeling; I could not think about it now.

I spent the next half hour or so amongst a sea of men, none of whom were him, and could feel the warmth of sunburn now kissing across my cheeks as my eyes narrowed to small slits towards the horizon of endless blue. I was yet to catch a wave and was desperate to do so before heading home. The salt air hugged me close as the other surfers around me began to stir. It must be coming - the set of the day. The tide began to pull. I spun my board to face the sand and began to paddle.

Each hand gripped the water, pulling it towards my chest. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. I felt the push of the wave. One, two, three – his face filled my vision. I felt the board's tail flip high, and my feet replaced my head as the water embraced me. My knee found the bank – thud. My back found the sand – crack. The grains of salt grating again my skin. My chest began to compress, like an old man at the local pub with a belly full of beer about to blow from the overbearing capacity. The water twisted and turned. It pulled and pushed. My eyes opened; the salt stinging them in an instant. My hand reached out. I tried to take hold of something, but I could not grasp the cool liquid that rushed through my fingers. I could not tell which way was the sun and which was the sand. My head felt like it might explode.

Then nothing, for just a moment. My head broke the surface, air ragging through my salt burned throat. The sun's warmth was now replaced with harsh rays as I spun frantically to locate my board before the rumbling white water hit again. Facing the endless blue towards the horizon, a surfboard slid by me before I was engulfed by the ocean once more.

I wake with a start only to be engulfed in darkness; the sheets twisted in all directions around my legs. My chest is heaving as I claw desperately for the light switch on my bed side table. Thoughts and memories of my father flash in and out of my mind, unable to settle on just one. Instantly, my hand reaches for the left-hand side on the small of my back; a yellowish bruise is all that physically remains from the beating in the surf over a week ago.

I pad towards the bathroom; the light patters bounce through the corridor dancing along with my shadows. My Dad's old t-shirt clings to the sweat that coats my body like a wet blanket. Stripping down, I am suddenly under a stream of warm water. If I close my eyes for just a moment, I can see him; his tall, broad shoulders, scattered with sun-kissed freckles and a soft smile that seems to linger. His hand is raised for a high five as I catch my first wave all the way to shore. I could almost feel his arms wrapped around me, squeezing until I would erupt into giggles.