The night left as quickly as it had come. The buzzing alarm clock startled Tai and shook him from his sleep. He awoke instantly, wide awake. He could feel it deep in his soul and throughout his bones how today was going to be. Regardless, he gently placed his feet on the floor, careful not to wake his parents who were asleep just in the room below. His blankets laid sloppily on his bed and his room sat around in disorder and chaos. Justifying his lack of responsibility to tend to these things, and warring his mother’s will, he thought, there are much more important things to be done.
Swiftly, Tai changed out of the large blue T-shirt and yellow Nike basketball shorts he wore to bed and slipped into his wetsuit and sandals. He proceeded to grab his duffel bag of swim gear he had prepared last night and tip-toed down the stairs.
Each old, wooden step creaked under the weight of Tai and his gear. Tai’s great-grandparents, who built the house in 1924, always told him that when the stairs, walls or doorways creaked, it was the house’s way of telling long, old stories of when it was new and lively; it would give wise advice, if only he would sit and listen. Tai knew that the house was telling him not to go, but he could not resist his will.
At the bottom of the stairs, he walked in to the kitchen and rummaged through the half-full cabinets and fridge to find enough food to last him for the day. Grabbing five granola bars, 2 bologna sandwiches, and three apples, he headed outside. Just to the right of the exit of the house was his surfboard. It was covered with morning dew and a few blades of grass. He brushed it off, took it under his arm, and headed toward the great adventure that awaited him.
The walk was not long, really. After all, Tai only lived a mile from the abandoned beach that he loved so much. He called it Grácil Beach. He called it this because grácil, in Spanish, means graceful and delicate. The waves at this beach were the epitome of grácil. In fact, because of how grácil this beach was, he often forgot why it was abandoned.
As Tai arrived, he barely hesitated to run straight for the ocean. A cold wave rushed against his waist-line and thrust him back. He embraced it and the loss of balance it brought. Chills ran down his spine as he succumbed to the Pacific Ocean that longed to envelope his entire body. When he pushed himself up, the warm California air welcomed him with a windy kiss. He returned to the unoccupied grainy sand that he practically called home to grab his surf board when he took a moment to behold the beauty of the sun just peaking the mountainous horizon in the distance. 5:42 a.m. was the most beautiful time of day.
The waves were low, yet just high enough to get a surf. He knew they would get higher as time went on; they just needed more encouragement from the wind. He softly walked along the shoreline waiting for an epiphany to tell him where to stay for the day. Every few steps a wave would grab his feet, covering them with a layer of sand, begging him to come right then. However, he knew not to give in to every Siren that tempted him; he needed to wait for the right moment. Suddenly, he found it. There, stuck between the mountain and the sand, rested a cave. Around it, seagulls playfully experimented between wind and gravity. He gazed at them as he neared, then turned around to look at the sea. The waves were promising in this area; he knew it was a sign.
With each approaching step rose Tai’s curiosity of what might be inside this cave. Perhaps it would be a never-ending abyss, or a tunnel to the other side of the planet he thought. Denying his interest, he returned to what he came here to do in the first place: surf.
The water felt chillier this time than it had before, but he kept wading anyway. When the ocean hit his mid-thighs, he shoved his 26-pound surfboard onto the majestic sea and jumped onto it, belly-down. With each stroke of his arms, Tai distanced himself from the world where he could be anything, and neared himself to the world where he was something.
The waves were not as high as he had assumed; they were all just ankle-busters. Briefly discouraged by the setback, he sat up on his board, said a quick prayer, and got back to stroking the water. Almost as soon as he had laid his fit stomach back on the board, a beaut was coming toward him. She was so graceful in the way that she handled herself. She was a bombora, through and through. Quicker than ever, he strode his heavy, tan arms to get himself to a place where he could meet her. With those same arms, he pulled his body forward and shifted himself to where he was on his knees. One after the other, he put his legs under his body, and stood with his weight distributed evenly between the two. Suddenly, the bombora Tai was riding began to break. The white tip of the wave sank down in the direction of the beach, enclosing him to a barrel of water.
This was a divine intervention for Tai. It was where he was home; it was where he belonged.
The first time Tai experienced something like this was the first time he experienced, what he considered, perfection. Crowds gathered in the streets with cameras and microphones.
“Tai, I want you to stay with me. Do not let go of my hand. Do you understand?” Said Dane, Tai’s father. Young Tai was overwhelmed by the paparazzi, but Dane grabbed ahold of his five-year-old’s hand and pushed through the crowd anyway. The streets were overflowing with a plethora of fans, all there for one purpose: Robert Kelly Slater was there, in the flesh. Tai, once he realized who was there, forgot about his father and the anxiety from the crowd. He slipped between the legs of the fans, and rushed to the side of the all-time best surfer known to man, of whom only a few have received the victory over. Tai’s adrenaline flushed his flesh as well as his mind. Each step seemed to take more oxygen from his lungs, and by the time he reached Kelly, there was no more oxygen in the air either.
“Well, aloha, my friend.” He looked down at Tai, smiling. Dane was also smiling from a distance. Kelly took Tai out for a surf that day, his first surf, and taught him all of the tricks and tips he was given as a kid that helped him become who he was today. That same day, Tai’s younger brother was born. Dane tried so hard to get Tai to come see, but Tai refused to leave the beach. This is because it was divine intervention; it was as if the stars had all lined up perfectly in order just for Tai, himself. Tai only left when Kelly made him go.
Slip.
Before Tai knew it, water flooded his face and panic ran through him like a wildfire. He had no time to think or react, he was left to the mercy of the wave, even though no mercy was given. Flip after flip, he rolled in the massive undertow for minutes that seemed to pass like hours. His body flailed and arms flapped in many failing attempts to gain control. Eventually, Tai felt something to grab ahold of; a rubbery, yet firm surface that was currently swimming right up next to him. He reached out to it, and lost any sense of control he may have just gained. Then, he realized that what he just tried to take hold of was the fin of a shark. At this point, he couldn’t feel anything anymore; his body just went numb. The shark continued to swim around him and take a few digs at his tired, drowning body. For the first time in his life, there was no fight left in Tai. There was just nothing.
As the wave was closing in on the shore, it ran over large, hazardous rocks that Tai wasn’t fortunate enough to run “over,” but run “into.” Everything turned black as he slowly faded into the ocean blue. After all, this is where he belonged.
