Page 86 of Catch a Wave

“Ready?” He smiles down at me, barely containing his eagerness.

“Let’s not check in on that. I just need to do an out-of-body for the next half-hour or so. This shouldn’t feel like going to the dentist for a root canal. But somehow, it does.”

“Mavs.” Bodhi props the board on a wall.

He places his hands on either side of my arms and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You are a world-class surfer. You love the ocean. Maybe you’re not ready to hit Nazare this week. But I promise you, nothing will satisfy you as much as getting on this stick and riding it into what’s rolling in today. It’s all going to come back. My prediction: You’re going to walk back onto shore feeling invincible. Maybe you’ll never ride anything over four feet again. Who cares? Just do this. And maybe even enjoy it.”

Bodhi leans in and places the most tender, soft kiss on my lips. His mouth is warm and gentle. He brushes his hand down my cheek when he pulls away.

“This is going to be a day you remember for the rest of your life. I remember the first day I got back on a board. It’s a marker. I’m honored to be here to witness this day for you.”

“Stop your yammering, Yoda. I’m going in.”

He chuckles. “Yoda, huh?”

“Sexy Yoda.” I smile up at him.

“Yeah. That’s not a picture I can wrap my brain around. Could I be Han instead?”

“Sure.” I smile over at him.

Bodhi grabs my board and we walk side-by-side with Shaka at our feet to the water’s edge.

When we get there he lays the board on the ground.

A serious expression crosses his face and then he asks, “Will you put your hair up in those cinnamon bun things like Princess Leah?” He’s got this smirky half-smile on his face.

I giggle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re right. I like your hair wild and falling down your back in waves. No cinnamon rolls for you.”

He’s distracting me on purpose. And it’s almost working.

I look out at the ocean like I’m facing down a bully.

Bodhi must sense the attitude of my heart.

“The ocean isn’t out to get you, babe. You can still have a lot of fun. We just learned to respect her in ways we never did before she turned on us. It won’t be what it was. But it will be good anyway.”

I wonder if he’s talking about the water stretching out in front of us, or the relationship we’re easing into. Either way, I made a decision and followed it up with action, so I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then I bend to grab the board.

Bodhi grabs his short board—the kind that is best for doing tricks—and follows me into the shallow water near shore. Shaka stays on the sand, watching us go out together.

I mount the longboard, laying belly-down on the surface. Then I dip one cupped hand into the water and drag it backward parallel to the board, followed by the other. I’m slowly pulling myself into deeper waters—waters where my feet won’t touch, where I’m committed to riding my way out.

A rush of familiarity and a sense of hope starts to bubble up in my chest as I tug at the water on my right and then my left. Bodhi’s tracking with me at a slight distance—giving me space to own this section of the water. He’s smiling over at me. I smile back, but then I look and a wave is breaking right in front of us. I hold my breath, and on instinct, I duck dive under. Saltwater covers my head and body and the board, and I pop out the other side.

I’ve been duck diving since early elementary school. It’s a maneuver we learn so we can make it out to where the waves are really breaking before they fold into something unsurfable.

Bodhi and I make it to a good spot where we can wait for waves. When I sit up on my board, allowing my legs to dangle below me in the water, I look around. Shaka is a small tan blob on shore. The water glistens. The whole town of Descanso looks like a postcard of an island beach town. It’s idyllic. Bodhi still doesn’t speak. There’s something sacred about this morning that words would corrupt.

A set starts to roll in. It will be good. My body knows it. I sense the tug of the incoming waves, so I ready myself. I don’t even have to think about it. I instinctively lower myself onto my board in a motion as natural to me as breathing, and I start paddling in. When the moment is right, I pop up, like I’ve done thousands and thousands of times before.

And then I’m riding along in a sweet line, the ocean breeze blowing my hair back, and this board is already limiting me. These aren’t longboard waves. This wave calls for a shorter stick—one I could maneuver to do some turns and even an off-the-lip. Instead, I do some old-school Hawaiian moves, walking toward the front, hanging five, and walking backward. Nothing feels clumsy or out of place.

I’m home.

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