1 - Body Surfing

Deserves my description

The waves pound in the distance and ocean spray and foam fall back to the endless churning waters. The sand remains grainy yet soft beneath my calloused feet. A ripple of water surges toward me, a feint echo of the crashing tempests that I had witnessed moments before. The icy water rolls up around my ankles and my heart gives a feint jump. I grip the styrofoam board in my hands. The grit of the sand bothers me but I know it won’t be long before it is washed away. I take a step forward with the motion of the waves. The water seems to pull me in, beckoning, inviting. Digging my toes into the sand I start running.

The water is up to my waist now and water drips from my nose and eye lashes. My toes continue to dig into the hard sand as I push forward. The waves, no longer inviting, no linger beckoning, crash against my chest as if punishing me for trespassing. A wave crashes right in front of me and I dive down as deep as I can, kicking my legs to avoid the push. Emerging on the other side I wipe my eyes. The water is almost up to my neck now, but I know that in a moment it could be as low as my knees. I take another couple steps toward the horizon and something in the wind, perhaps the water, tells me that this is the place. For a moment the ocean seems still, unmoving. I almost let myself believe that the ocean has accepted me, ceased the pounding waves that drove me back toward the shore. It didn’t take me longer than 20 minutes to get here, but it seems as though hundreds of waves have crashed upon my chest forcing me back one step for every two I have taken. I refocus on the forming waves. I see it forming in the distance, a huge swelling mound. As if a monster were trying to break free of the moisture binding it, it reared up in a colossal rage. I had misread it this time. The ocean had not accepted me, nor had this keen the place. I take a few steps toward the shore but I realize that it is too late. This monster has me in its sights and now is pulling me in. The water which was once at my chest is now at my navel, my waist, and the current pulls me closer and closer to the mouth of this monster. Realizing it is hopeless, I turn around to try to go under. In the same motion, the beast pounces.

The styrofoam board in my hands beats the side of my face and a muffled roar surges around my head. Like a rag doll I turn head over heels in an endless tumbling mass unable to breathe or see. Finally my head breaks the surface and sweet air fills my lungs. I dry heave once, my body’s natural response to the quart of Ocean water that just forced its way into my system. I rub my eyes and start to notice the sting of the raw flesh that surrounds them. I smile. It didn’t take me too far back to shore. “You may have won this one,” I think wryly. “But I’m not finished yet.” Then, ignoring the stinging of my eyes and throat, I dig my toes into the sand and push forward, unsure of wether the ocean beckons me in or fights against.