The first streak of sunlight hit the dirty garage window at 5:28am and I was out of bed a minute later. I splashed cold water on my face, pulled on a T-shirt and slipped into the only pair of board shorts I had. I stood near the sink for a moment, took a deep breath, then grabbed the old surfboard from the corner of the garage. I headed over to the beach. To the sand. To the ocean. To find Liz.
I crossed the highway, the parking lot and the worn planks onto the powder-white sand, Ike’s beat up six- footer tucked under my left arm. The sand was already combed against the edge of the calm emerald green water and I was alone.
I jammed the tail end of the board into the sand so it stood upright. Ike told me it was old, but it looked to be in good shape. No major dings and the last wax job had held. I checked the fins on the underside and they were on tight.
I stripped off my shirt, kicked off my sandals and dropped my keys and phone onto them. I stared at the water and wondered what it was going to feel like.
I pulled the board out of the sand and shuffled into the warm water, the board floating easily on top of the soft, early morning waves. I let the water wash over the top of it, then pushed it off. I waded further out, my hands on the board, giant knots in my stomach.
I’d purposely left my boards in San Diego. I’d always sworn I’d never be without them, but after Liz’s death, nothing seemed that important to me. And, somehow, I’d connected surfing to her. We’d spent a lot of time in the ocean together and while I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing her face, it seemed as if it was bigger and brighter the closer I got to the water.
So I’d avoided it. Hadn’t set foot in it. Maybe I was punishing myself, cutting myself off from the one thing that had given me solace my entire life. I didn’t know for sure, but the water had seemed less inviting, less comforting since she’d been gone.
But I needed her. Needed her to tell me what to do, how to go forward, how to heal. How to be without her.
The waves were erratic and small, no clear break line to paddle to. I laid down on the board and paddled around, just getting used to feeling the ocean beneath me again. I let several swells push me before I swung around, putting my feet to the horizon and waiting.
My arms sliced through the water, propelling me toward the shore and the water rose beneath me. I popped to my feet and slid down the face of the small wave, riding out to my left, just letting the water take me as I stood, the wind hitting my face, the salt stinging my lips.
The wave died out and I jumped off, submerging myself in the water. I came to the surface and wiped away the first salt water that had touched my face in months. My pulse slowed and the anxiety ebbed away. For the first time since Liz had been gone, I felt like myself.
I was home.
I attacked with a vengeance, paddling out hard, getting into anything that looked like a wave, carving and cutting at the water like a butcher. Every ripple presented an opportunity to burn energy, to burn anger and I took each and every one, my thighs and calves burning as I twisted and contorted on each new wave, flying up and down the shoreline.
The sun rose higher on the horizon, giving full light to the day. Joggers and walkers appeared on the sand, eager to take advantage of the quiet and the respite the morning provided from the never-ending summer heat. I sat on the board, trailing my fingers in the water, watching. Thinking.
I paddled in toward shore. My legs were rubbery and my lungs begged for a break. I shoved the board into the shore and collapsed on the sand, breathing heavily. I stared up at the blue sky, the water dripping off my body.
I closed my eyes.
And she was there, looking at me, smiling.
“Hi.”
“Did I?”
I could see her eyes, warm, sparkling.
“I miss you,” I said. “Help me.”
“I don’t want to be without you.”
Her smile radiated warmth.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
I didn’t say anything, just squeezed my eyes shut tighter, wishing I could bring her back into existence.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
I wanted to reach out and touch her, just one last time. Touch her hands, her hair, her lips. Bury my face in her hair, breathe in the scent of her.
“I love you,” I said.
I opened my eyes and she was gone.
The familiar pain of being without her settled into me, but without the edge I had grown used to. The void inside me felt different. Maybe I was just playing games with myself, but the emptiness didn’t feel as paralyzing.
The early morning sun warmed my face and I sat up, the wet sand clinging to my back and arms. My muscles ached in a good way, reminding me that I actually liked surfing.
Needed it.
I stood and picked up my stuff and slid my feet into my sandals. I carried the board under my arm as I trudged up the dunes. When I got to the wooden bridge, I turned back to face the water.
The small white caps looked like snow on the green water, rolling rhythmically, disappearing as they crashed into the sand. But new ones would appear, a long line of them, an ever-present band of waves marching toward shore. Constant. Always there.
The ocean had always been my answer since I was a kid. To everything. My problems with Carolina-my problems with everything-melted away the minute I stepped foot in the water. It was funny to me that I’d forgotten this, that I’d been so quick to give it up.
Liz’s words, real or imagined, echoed in my head.
I stared at the water for a long time, determined to be me again.
FORTY-ONE
I heard knocking in the distance and I pried open my eyes.
I was flat on my back in my bed, disoriented. I remembered walking back to the garage after surfing, setting the board down in the corner, then sitting down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.
I’d finally found sleep.
The knocking was at my door.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. I glanced at the clock. It was ten o’clock. Which meant I’d been asleep for a
