He smiled but again said nothing. I shifted slightly on the step. “How’d work go?” I asked.
“The same,” he said.
He lapsed back into his own thoughts, and all I could think was that the same thing could be said about our conversations.
Three
Surfing is a solitary sport, one in which long stretches of boredom are interspersed with frantic activity, and it teaches you to flow with nature, instead of fighting it… it’s about getting in the zone. That’s what the surfing magazines say, anyway, and I mostly agree. There’s nothing quite as exciting as catching a wave and living within a wall of water as it rolls toward shore. But I’m not like a lot of those dudes with freeze-dried skin and stringy hair who do it all day, every day, because they think it’s the be—all and end—all of existence. It isn’t. For me, it’s more about the fact that the world is crazy noisy almost all the time, and when you’re out there, it’s not. You’re able to hear yourself think.”
This is what I was telling Savannah, anyway, as we made our way toward the ocean early Sunday morning. At least, that’s what I thought I was saying. For the most part, I was just sort of rambling, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that I really liked the way she looked in a bikini.
“Like horseback riding,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Hearing yourself think. That’s why I like riding, too.”
I’d shown up a few minutes earlier. The best waves were usually early in the morning, and it was one of those clear, blue-sky days portending heat that meant the beach would be packed again. Savannah had been sitting on the steps out back, wrapped in a towel, the remains of the bonfire before her. Despite the fact that the party had no doubt gone on for hours after I’d left, there wasn’t a single empty can or piece of trash anywhere. My impression of the group improved a bit.
Despite the hour, the air was already warm. We spent a few minutes in the sand near the water’s edge going over the basics of surfing, and I explained how to pop up on the board. When Savannah thought she was ready, I waded in carrying the board, walking beside her.
There were only a few surfers out, the same ones I’d seen the day before. I was trying to figure out the best place to bring Savannah so she’d have enough room when I realized I could no longer see her.
“Hold on, hold on!” she shouted from behind me. “Stop, stop…”
I turned. Savannah was on her tiptoes as the first splashes of water hit her belly, and her upper body was immediately covered in gooseflesh. She appeared to be trying to lift herself from the water.
“Let me get used to this….” She gave a few quick, audible gasps and crossed her arms. “Wow. This is really cold. Holy cow!”
Holy cow? It wasn’t exactly something my buddies would say. “You’ll get used to it,” I said, smirking.
“I don’t like being cold. I hate being cold.”
“You live in the mountains where it snows.”
“Yeah, but we have these things called jackets and gloves and hats that we wear to keep warm. And we don’t thrust ourselves into arctic waters first thing in the morning.”
“Funny,” I said.
She continued to hop up and down. “Yeah, real funny. I mean, geez!”
Geez? I grinned. Her breathing gradually began to even out, but the gooseflesh was still there. She took another tiny step forward.
“It works best if you just jump right in and go under instead of torturing yourself in stages,” I suggested.
“You do it your way, I’ll do it mine,” she said, unimpressed with my wisdom. “I can’t believe you wanted to come out now. I was thinking sometime in the afternoon, when the temperature was above freezing.”
“It’s almost eighty degrees.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, finally acclimating. Uncrossing her arms, she took another series of breaths, then dipped maybe an inch. Steeling herself, she slapped a bit of water on her arms. “Okay, I think I’m getting there.”
“Don’t rush for me. Really. Take your time.”
“I will, thank you,” she said, ignoring the teasing tone. “Okay,” she said again, more to herself than me. She took a small step forward, then another. As she moved, her face was a mask of concentration, and I liked the way it looked. So serious, so intense. So ridiculous.
“Quit laughing at me,” she said, noting my expression.
“I’m not laughing.”
“I can see it in your face. You’re laughing on the inside.”
“All right, I’ll stop.”
Eventually she waded out to join me, and when the water was up to my shoulders, Savannah climbed on the board. I held it in place, trying again not to stare at her figure, which wasn’t easy, considering it was right in front of me. I forced myself to monitor the swells behind us.
“Now what?”
“Do you remember what to do? Paddle hard, grab the board on both sides near the front, then pop up to your feet?”
“Got it.”
“It’s kind of tough at first. Don’t be surprised if you fall, but if you do, just roll with it. It usually takes a few times to get it.”
“Okay,” she said, and I saw a small swell approaching.
“Get ready…,” I said, timing it. “Okay, start paddling….”
As the wave hit us, I pushed the board, giving it some momentum, and Savannah caught the wave. I don’t know what I expected, except that it wasn’t to see her pop straight up, keep her balance, and ride the wave all the way back to shore, where it finally petered out. In the shallow water, she jumped off the board as it slowed and turned with dramatic flair toward me.
“How was that?” she called out.
Despite the distance between us, I couldn’t look away. Oh man, I suddenly thought, I’m in real trouble.
“I did gymnastics for years,” she admitted. “I’ve always had a good sense of balance. I suppose I should have said something about that while you were telling me I was going to wipe out.”
We spent more than an hour in the water. She popped up every time and rode the waves to shore with ease; though she couldn’t steer the board, I had no doubt that if she wanted to, she would be able to master that in no time.
Afterward, we returned to the house. I waited out back while she went upstairs. While a few people had risen—three girls were on the deck staring at the ocean—most were still recovering from the night before and nowhere to be seen. Savannah emerged a couple of minutes later in shorts and a T-shirt, holding two cups of coffee. She sat beside me on the steps as we faced the water.
“I didn’t say you’d wipe out,” I clarified. “I just said that if you did, you should roll with it.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, her expression mischievous. She pointed to my cup. “Is your coffee okay?”
“Tastes great,” I said.
“I have to start my day with coffee. It’s my one vice.”
“Everyone’s got to have one.”
She glanced at me. “What’s yours?”
“I don’t have any,” I answered, and she surprised me by giving me a playful nudge.
“Did you know that last night was the first night of the full moon?”
I did but thought it best not to admit it. “Really?” I said.
“I’ve always loved full moons. Ever since I was a kid. I liked to think that they were an omen of sorts. I wanted to believe they always portended good things. Like if I was making a mistake, I would have the chance to
