Tad

Chapter Three: Surfing

My alarm clock blared at 5:45 a.m. Surfers get up at ungodly hours, when it's still dark outside, so that we can go surfing before the wind picks up and while the conditions are good. Also, I suppose, to make sure that you can get to work on time.

I got out of bed, groggy from minimal sleep, slipped on a t-shirt, hoodie and pants, and got ready to leave. On my way out the front door, I grabbed my surfboard, which was propped up right as you walked in.

Before I closed the front door, I reached over and turned the lights on and off three times.

I had to.

Then I left and latched the door shut.

Today, as usual in this stretch of the coast, the early morning beach felt foggy and cold. Blurry weather. The kind of day that hasn't quite made up its mind. Wearing my wetsuit and booties, I walked gingerly on the rocks, holding my surfboard under my arm.

The waves slapped against the shore, then fizzled, and then drew back. Repeatedly. This time, one lone gull flew overhead as the dawn came out. Dark figures lurked in the water: surfers already out.

I scanned the figures, looking for Marsha. I didn't totally believe that she surfed. I'd never seen her out here and I knew almost everyone from daily surfing. There were other breaks, sure, but this was the best one. Why go anywhere else?

I didn't see her and I decided to head further up the beach to look for her. I walked on the sand, scrambled over a breakwater wall and went up to the next surf break.

Standing at the edge of the surf, looking out, I saw her.

Girls were easy to spot in a wetsuit.

Marsha, a tiny figure, splashed in the shallows, running with a little surfboard under her arm. She jumped on top of the surfboard, toes out of the water, and paddled.

My surfboard under my arm, I ran in after her, slapped it down in the water, got in, and paddled as rapidly as I could. Gaining on her, I yelled, "Hey!"

She turned around unsurprised. "Oh, you made it."

Other surfers sat on their boards in the grainy bluish water, the quiet of the morning and the roar of the waves coexisting. The fog pressed in on us and made it like everything was covered in cotton wool, subdued.

Paddling over to her, I saw that a set of waves was out a ways and headed in. She was out further, and sat on her board, legs in the water on either side. When I got to her, she smiled, chin up, and looked confident.

No makeup.

Her features, which had been cartoonish yesterday, today looked delicate and pretty. Fresh-faced, her short hair slicked back, she looked like a dark haired surfer girl.  No anime about her today.

We bobbed on the water, waiting, and then the set started to roll in. She looked at me, impishly, and said, "Time to paddle paddle paddle!" Her belly to the board, toes up, she paddled fast, and in an instant, caught the wave.

And stood up.

In her glory.

The weight of the ocean and of gravity pushed her toward the shore, all of heaven behind her and the wind coursing through her hair, the salt licking her eyes.

Then it was time to turn out and she did, hopping back on her board and straddling it. She took a break for a moment, then got on her belly again, paddling toward me.

And the waves broke and we rode them. 

And the waves crashed and we rode them. 

Always pushing toward the shore.