Tad

Chapter One: Ruts

MY ALARM JOLTED ME out of sleep. Fucking twangy country music. But that station was one of the few that came in around here. Since I worked in a record shop, I probably should have more of an opinion about the music of my life.

But I didn't.

I'd originally set my radio to that station because the broadcast came in clearly, in this little cove along California's Central coast. And I couldn't change it now that it was set. I was superstitious. Once things were done, I wasn't going to change them.

Changing things never worked.

My head pressed to the pillow, I realized that gah, I'd drooled everywhere. I lifted my head, willing the music to STFU. In a rush, I slapped the alarm and it fell off of the bedside table and I fell out of bed along with it.

Guess it's time to get up.

I got up painfully, scratched my ass, and padded down to the bathroom, already dressed in board shorts and a hoodie over a t-shirt.

My old, funky television blared. Guess I'd forgotten to turn it off last night. I paused to take a look.

A cartoon girl with big eyes and a bob was talking, saying "You don't know what super powers I have!"

I love anime.

"What super powers? You're just a little girl?" snarled the bad guy. He had on a suit. Bad guys always wore suits, right?

"Oh no, I have super powers you've never dreamed of," she replied. Atta girl. Go get him.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

And then rainbows shot out of her hands.

Yes. Awesome.

Dammit. Time to go. I was on a schedule. If I didn't leave at exactly the right time, the same time, every day, well ... I didn't want to find out what would happen. I'd better get ready.

A few moments later, I grabbed my wallet and keys and slid my feet into my flip flops, then ran out, closing the door behind me.

Crap. I'd forgotten.

I unlocked the door.

I turned the light switch on. Then off. Then on again. Then off. Then on again. Then off, just to make sure it was really off.

And then I slammed the door, locking it.

Crap. I'd forgotten about the television too. Oh well. My OCD only went so far.

THE SEAGULLS CONGREGATED ON the shore, greeting the still-misty gray day, squawking like hell. The waves broke. And otherwise, it was quiet in the early morning.

I shrugged off my hoodie and my t-shirt, and wrapped a towel around my hips. Doing the surfer trick of taking my boxers and shorts off at the same time, while wrapped in a towel, I stepped out of my clothes and stepped into my wetsuit. Once I was decent, I dropped the towel, zipped up the back of the wetsuit, and ran my hands through my dirty blond hair. Then I got out my booties and squeezed my feet into them. The Pacific Ocean felt too cold for trunking it these days; you had to suit up.

With my nose slathered with sunblock and my board roughed up with Sexwax, I was ready. My bootied feet ran to the surf, my short board under my arm.

Then I was in the water, my toes down, paddling out.

Once I got out past the inside (meaning to the outer waves), I sat up, legs dangling on either side of my board, watching the waves.

A set came in and I caught the second wave, a rush of water propelling me toward shore, forgetting and remembering all at once what it was like to live my life.