They said the place couldn’t be surfed. Too dangerous. Anybody who tried was a fool. Perfect. Just what he needed.
He jumped into the ocean and navigated shallow reef, shifting current, chronic whitewash. After a brutal paddle, he reached calm water and straddled his surfboard. A crowd had gathered on the bluff. He couldn’t tell if she was among them. Could only hope.
A set stacked on the horizon. He floated in the channel and studied it from a distance. Waves broke in shallow water, thick and hollow, with minimal room to maneuver before the reef ran dry. It might be surfable. Might not. He didn’t know and didn’t care.
He glanced again toward shore, the bodies packed and milling like seabirds in some coastal rookery. She’d left last week amidst false allegations and righteous huff. Would not listen to reason. She was pretty and smart, but dense sometimes. Fucking dense.
Another set arrived, yanking him from thought. He let three waves pass unridden, stroked into the fourth, hopped to his feet, and freefell down the face. He survived the drop and leaned into a turn. His fins hit rock and he tumbled forward, pulled over the falls and slammed onto the reef once, twice, three times. Barnacles tore through his wetsuit. The surfboard shattered over his head.
His lungs burned for oxygen as he flailed underwater. Finally he surfaced, coughing and gasping. Waves pushed him toward a cave and certain death. He fought the current, managed a last burst onto the beach.
He crawled onto the sand, vomited saltwater, and struggled for breath. His body stiffened from cold and pain. With some effort he stood, collected the remnants of his broken surfboard, and trudged up to the bluff.
The crowd loitered about, maybe fifty people. They stared at him blankly. As if perhaps they’d just witnessed a modest accident in which they had no stake. He scanned the faces. She wasn’t there. Remained entrenched in her stubborn bunker, unreachable. In three days, she’d leave the country for good. If he didn’t get to her first.
The pain vanished. He just felt numb.
“That was stupid, man,” a friend said. “Really fucking stupid.”
He shrugged.
“And irresponsible.”
This from a guy who’d never held a paying job, and at thirty still lived with his parents.
The crowd began to drift off.
“Why don’t you just call and talk to her,” the friend said over his shoulder. “Before you kill yourself.”
Yeah, simple as that. He grunted in exasperation and watched bodies shuffle down the dirt path like refugees. Soon he stood alone on the bluff. The sun sank into the Pacific. He admired it for a bit, then gathered his broken board and limped home beneath the twilight, plotting his next surf. A spot up the coast, more brutal than here.
Maybe she’d show.
