Mended (Connections, #3)(92)

“You’re finally doing it today?” my waiter Scott asks, pointing to the Sharpie I have in my hand.

I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “I am.”

“Way to go, man. You did it.” He raises his hand and I slap it.

After I drink a cup of coffee, I approach the iconic wall with my marker and write my checked off items on it. It reads:

Ben Covington

Jog the Bondi Bronte Cliff Walk

Brave the surf at Tamarama

Yes, I did do it. I rode the waves of Tamarama yesterday, despite its ferocious currents and strong riptides. It took me six months to get back in shape but I can now say this: mission accomplished.

Time grows short and I move through town in an effort to say my good-byes—not only to the locals but also to the places. I stop at Icebergs. It’s a local bar with its own outdoor pool wedged right into a cliff. The pool refills itself with seawater whenever waves crash against the rocks below it. And the joint itself is filled with happy, friendly people. No one cares what demons you carry. They’re just here to have a good time. Not to mention, the deeply tanned waitresses saunter around taking drink orders wearing skimpy bikinis. . . . Talk about living life easy.

Living in the Bondi Bubble . . . life couldn’t be sweeter. But my visit here today isn’t to enjoy the pool or talk to the waitresses, it’s to say good-bye to Kale Alexander, the owner’s son. He and I hit it off right from the start. He reintroduced me to what I once loved—writing. Not just the thrill of catching the story that I had become addicted to—he reacquainted me with the passion I once felt for words.

Kale writes for Surfers End magazine and is worried he’ll be losing his job soon. The publication is tanking in circulation. We’ve had in-depth discussions as to why. His view was very eye-opening but I didn’t necessarily agree with it.

When I walk in he’s sitting where he always does—a table near the railing overlooking the water, notebook in hand. He’s old-school—no laptop, just pen and paper. Ironically, I think that’s the issue with the magazine—they need to enter the world of technology.

I clasp his shoulder. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”

He looks up, lifting his shades. “Just trying to figure it all out.”

I sit across from him. “That’s heavy for this early in the day.” I bob my chin to one of the waitresses and hold up two fingers. She smiles and I direct my attention back to Kale. “Care to elaborate?”

He sets his pad down and leans with his elbows on the table. “Surfing is at a crossroads.”

“What do you mean?”

“Too many of us out there.”

I scrunch my brows together.

He points out to the water. “Watch that.”

I do. Two, three, four, five surfers systematically fading with one another in what at first seems to be some strange choreography. However, once the wave rolls over, the surfers are shaking their fists at one another—obviously fighting for the waves and not bothering to wait their turn.

“Why is no blood being spilled over this? You can’t just fade someone rail to rail and get away with it,” he says, slamming his fist on the table.

It’s a thin fabric that holds surfing together. Kale is a former champion and he holds his standards high. I shake my head. “But there are so many unwritten rules out there. Some have long passed their use.”

Our drinks arrive and I push one his way.

“Too early, man. I have to get something on paper before I can indulge.”

I push it farther toward him. “I’m taking off today.”

He sits up straight. “Fuck, how about a little warning? I just got used to seeing your scrawny ass around here.”

“Yeah, right.” I grin and raise my glass before downing its contents. Then I stand up and extend my hand. “Hope to see you in another life, brother.”

He quickly rises and pulls me to him, patting me on the back. “Take care, man, and keep in touch. I’m serious about coming out to see your nephew in action. Who the f*ck knows? I might even be writing about him someday.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t that be something? See ya, man.”

“Oh and, Ben, make sure you teach your nephew better than what just happened out there. Courtesy is one rule that should never pass its time.”

I nod. “I completely agree.”

As I walk away, he says, “In my day, that would never have happened. If it had, someone would have gotten a f*cking punch in the head.”

I twist around as he snakes his arm around one of the waitresses and plunges his tongue in her ear before looking over toward me. “Sure you don’t have a little time?” he asks, his eyes darting to the chick in his arms.

I grin at him before I take a last look around. “Next time.”

I have one final stop to make before I leave—the beach herself. As I make my way through the sand, I think about the many hours I’ve spent here . . . surfing, walking, running, looking for myself. On this beach, I found a part of what I was missing. It was finality, a feeling of closure. Something I had missed over and over with everyone I lost. I’ll especially always regret how things ended with Dahl. As I meander down this beach for the last time, I want so much to let that guilt roll off my shoulders. But there are some burdens that just won’t wash away. While I wipe the sand from my feet and slip back into my shoes, I try to focus on the possibility of new beginnings, instead of the fact that when I head back to California, no one will be awaiting my arrival.