Girl Out of Water(8)

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The water isn’t freezing, but it’s cold enough to make me crave the wet suit lying by my feet. I try to let my skin and mind adjust, working up the nerve to strip off my bikini too. About twenty feet away on either side of me stand Eric and Cassie, with the rest of my friends spaced twenty feet from them, dappling the coast with our nude silhouettes. The moon lights everything in odd angles, so I can’t see much more than their outlines. Still, my eyes hover over Eric, tracing the contours of his strong thighs and shoulders.

“Ready?” he shouts. The whipping wind distorts his voice.

I take two short breaths and one deep one, then shimmy out of my bathing suit. The air prickles my bare skin, and I rub my hands up and down my arms and jog in place for warmth. “Ready!” I shout and turn to ask Cassie the same.

She shouts back, “Hell yes! Go, go, go!”

Usually when we surf, only one of us goes out at a time, leaving plenty of space for each person to catch a perfect wave. But tonight, we all rush into the water at the same time, spray kicking up around our ankles. The most familiar action in the world feels alien, salt water rushing over each and every pore, wind catching my hair, flying it over my bare skin. And yet, my body still knows what to do.

As soon as I’m waist-deep, I climb on my board and paddle out to the crest of waves. My arms slice through the water with heavy strokes, warming my body with the exertion. Every element feels magnified. The biting sting of the salt. The sharp musk of the air. The tranquil thunder of the waves. My body hums as I paddle out into the moonlit water, and abruptly I let out a wordless shout, a euphoric call to the world and the waves. That call reverberates around me, over the crash of the water, my friends are doing the same, hollering to the moon and thanking it for its tides.

Up on the glowing horizon, I spot a wave pulsing toward me. It’s smaller than my usual fare, but maybe that’s good considering my state of dress, or lack thereof. I paddle fast strokes with one arm, turning my board back to the coast, spotting a glimpse of Tess on the shore. She’s dancing and skipping and jumping around, and I think perhaps she too is hollering to the moon.

As the wave launches itself behind me, I jump to my feet with a perfect takeoff. I shout once more as the current surges beneath me, hurtling me down the coast, invigorating me with adrenaline akin to when I was seven and caught my first wave. For a second, I’m transported back in time, born once more into the water, everything fresh and new, yet also filled with an overwhelming sense of home.

The ride ends all too soon, and I find myself back in the shallow water. Tess is closer now, still dancing, twirling as if on an invisible string, rippling in the shadows cast by the fire. To my right, Eric dips along on his board, staring in my direction. I can’t see the details of his face, but I know him, and he loves what I love, so I know he’s smiling because I’m smiling. There’s nothing to feel but happiness in this moment.

? ? ?

Truth or dare fizzles out after that. It’s better to appreciate certain experiences than try to top them. Instead, we all sit around the fire, cracking open a few beers stolen from parents’ pantries or bought with shitty fake IDs, huddling in oversized terry cloth towels and fleece blankets, eyes and ears on the crackle and pop of the fire.

We talk about the same things we always talk about. The waves from earlier today. What college will be like. The different pro tours all over the world. I sit and listen, finding it hard to speak because somehow I already feel the distance growing between us. Each minute stretches into another mile of separation. As they all talk about a plan for tomorrow, my stomach clenches because I won’t be there. And then, as they graze the topic of Surf Break, I retreat even further. How much will I miss while I’m gone? What if so much changes I don’t even recognize home?

Eric, perhaps noticing my silence, leans into my shoulder. “Want to take a walk?”

I hesitate, the word yes stilling on my lips, because I think I know what this walk will bring, and as much as I want it, want him, I’m scared. Pulling off a Band-Aid can’t sting if you don’t get cut in the first place. So as much as I want him, is it worth it only to be ripped apart the next day?

But then Eric nudges me again, the warmth of his lips near my neck, and I find myself nodding and saying, “Sure.”

We stand from our spot around the fire and retreat with a mumbled, “Be back.”

I love my friends because they don’t chorus with oohs and ahhs. They just say, “chill” and continue with their conversations. Well, except for Tess, who winks at me from across the fire and howls softly like a coyote in the distance.

Eric and I make our way down the beach, walking along the shoreline, bare feet padding through wet sand, water lapping behind us, erasing our freshly-made footprints. Eventually, when the light of the fire is just a small glow behind us, we stop walking, and Eric turns to me. It’s too dark to see his eyes clearly, but I know their exact color: blue with a hazel ring around the center. He runs his hand through his curly hair.

“I—” he starts to say.

But I don’t want to hear what he has to say, because that will make this real. He’ll acknowledge that I’m leaving, that tomorrow I’ll be in Nebraska instead of running out to meet the tide, that the summer will be ending by the time I’m back, that everything that could have been will never be.

I don’t want to hear it. Any of it. So instead of waiting for him to piece together his thoughts, I tug his hand, step forward, and kiss him.