Into The White Water

episode one: reborn

1
Surfing in his sleep again and this was surely not to be the last time.  Milo had spent countless nights dreaming of the sea.  For that matter, he spent countless days awake, dreaming of the sea.  Now that he found himself dwelling in the gritty, dusty, humid city, Milo could only imagine what it would be like to get in the water once again.  It really didn’t matter if it had been several months or only a few days.  Heck, even a few hours out of the ocean could drive a surfer mad.  He often defended this notion.  Trying desperately in his mild mannered yet passionate surfer tone, to explain that it was not a childish nor a selfish desire.  It was not even a matter of riding the waves.  The simple and pure feeling of capturing a little slice of tropical paradise, even on a cold winter swell amidst the falling snow, could carry Milo away to some secret island in his mind. 

Cold surf trips were hard work.  They were also immensely enjoyable and often helped steal a bit of summer right smack in the middle of winter.  But what upset Milo the most, was not just the random news flashes of distant waves breaking perfectly, or even breaking at all for that matter.  What he took issue with was the fact that on those rare, hot, humid, tropical days which only hit the inland during a few short months each year, that the seemingly naive people did not take the opportunity to at least get outside and feel the salt in the air from hundreds of miles away.  Milo could look at the lush green leaves of any summer town in any corner of his world, and instantly and virtually transport himself to the beach.  This was his gift, and nobody really got it.  Maybe his closest friends did, and surely his family understood. He also figured that probably a good amount of surfers felt this vibe. But the vast majority just trudged through the mundane, not even dreaming of the magical glow of the blue ocean, or the green reflections off of a perfect peeling wall of water, or even that mysterious question of what lies beyond the ripples and foaming chop of the white water explosions that always seem to find their place in the grand scheme of things.

Milo came inland for work.  Not really so much for the work, but to help some old friends.  This was a lifelong pursuit of his, to help.  But as rewarding as it was, it did take away from the self.  And as he was always willing to sacrifice this self, it still had begun to add up over the years and take a toll on his life.  His kids were off at school and doing well. The love of his life was at home taking care of everything that he could never manage to sort out. She was the one making the family engine run smoothly for him and their children. And they all missed each other.  Each one of them in a different locale and longing to be in that same, comfortable, precious spot called home.  His late night surfing dreams would often include some of the more memorable moments in the water with his family.  He had taught each one of them the magic of riding a wave and walking on water, and they in return taught him how far this gift could carry a soul. They all gave back to the world as he gave to them.  It was his own private metaphor; the mystery of the white water in each of us.

2
Milo wondered if people really counted on him as much as he had hoped.  It felt good to be of use.  Back when he was teaching, even with all of the stress that he seemed to take on from caring so much about each troubled young soul, he was still comforted with a rewarding sense of purpose.  But now, as a hired hand if you will, his thoughts would wander as he wondered if his services were called upon due to his talents or if it was his easy accessibility and the habit he had acquired to always say yes.  He was also always too much of a thinker.  Milo stared out of the window in the early hours of the morning, still dark as night, unable to sleep.  This was a common ritual anymore.  But something unexpected happened on this occasion.

It was not a major event to most of the world, but to him it marked a significant change.  It was still only mid-August, but the temperatures somehow had dropped to the low 50’s and as he looked out towards the east, where the ocean would be if only he could see that far, he noticed his old winter friend in the sky.  Orion was coming up over the horizon.  Milo was a star gazer and the Orion constellation was his favorite.  It was almost a religious relationship that he had with this far and ancient fellow.  But he had not remembered ever before seeing it come up in the night sky for the first time this early in the year.  It always seemed to mark the coming of the cold weather on this part of the globe, yet it was still mid summer. Today was in fact the birthday of his dear wife Brielle, and he was sure this was a sign that he must hit the road and get to her before the sunrise.  It was his way of taking a cue from the skies that he could and should rescue a bit more summer somehow.