I scraped SexWax over the fiberglass of my surfboard in a delicate crosshatch—it was the only action I, or my board, had gotten in months.
A fist banged on the shop door. Izzy waved from the other side of the glass, a joint dangling from her lips.
I swatted at the plume of smoke and ushered her in. “Jesus Christ, Iz. It’s 8:30 am.”
“That’s why they call it wake and bake.”
I rolled my eyes. “Wax up those rentals, will you?”
“You got it, boss.” With a soldier’s salute, she jumped over the rental counter and got to work. “Gonna get on the water today?”
Izzy had asked that same question every day since the divorce. My answer hadn’t changed in six months. “Nah, not today.”
The bell on the front door chimed. “Welcome to Ryan’s Riptide.” I tossed the greeting over my shoulder, fixated on the Fu-Wax display.
A man cleared his throat, drawing my attention. He was impossibly tall, with floppy brown hair and milky skin that hadn’t seen the sun, maybe ever.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes.” He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “My therapist suggested I find a hobby. Preferably one that includes physical activity.”
I shot Izzy a what-planet-is-this-guy-from look, but the man didn’t seem to notice.
“I was referred to Ryan for surf lessons.”
“Ah, you’ve found her.”
His eyebrows knitted. “But you’re a woman.”
I forced a pleasant smile. “And you’re wearing pleated khakis in a surf shop. What’s your point?”
“I don’t mean to be reductive. Women are superior to men in a myriad of ways. But your center of gravity is different. We’re starting with a fundamental biological imbalance.”
Izzy chuckled. “Bro, she’s won four World Championships. I think she can handle it.”
He frowned, like he was solving a complex equation in his head. “Fair enough. Can we start today?”
“It’s $400 an hour for private lessons.”
Izzy let out a low whistle, knowing that was more than double my rate.
“Done.” He reached for his wallet. “I’m Roger.”
###
Roger’s face twisted with frustration as he tried, and failed, to wrangle his lanky but surprisingly toned limbs into a popup. The gumption was endearing, but he was hopeless.
“If you can’t do it on sand, I can’t put you in the water.”
“The sunscreen is making my hands slip.”
I stifled a laugh. “Well, you did slather yourself in half a bottle of SPF100.”
He eyed me. “It’s clinically proven to be the most effective.”
“Let’s take a break. You’re in your head.” I handed him a bottle of water, and we sat on our boards in the sand.
“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong. It’s simple physics.”
“Science is a calculation. Surfing is a feeling.”
“I’m not great with feelings.” He gulped water, eyes on the ocean. “To be fair, I may have overestimated my abilities. I’m a physicist. More of an indoor person.”
“Never would have guessed.” I dusted the sand off my legs and tucked my board under my arm. “Let’s head back. Try again tomorrow.”
I turned toward the shop right as Roger leaned forward to stand. My board clocked him full force in the head with a meaty THWUNK, knocking him out cold.
###
“Attempted murder? Bold move.” Izzy snickered as she held the door. Roger was conscious, but still a little woozy.
“I’m gonna take him upstairs. Cover the store?”
Izzy tossed me a thumbs up as I half-hauled Roger into the studio apartment above the shop. I deposited him at the kitchen table and grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer.
Roger’s eyes roamed the room, widening when he spotted the telescope in the corner. “Is that a Celestron Home Observatory? Impressive.”
I nodded. “From my ex-husband. A consolation prize for suffering six years of chronic infidelity.”
Roger’s face scrunched up. “Cheating is illogical. I prefer honesty.”
“Big same, Roger.” I sat down next to him. “I do love watching the stars though. The night sky reminds me of the ocean. Vast, peaceful, beautiful.”
He studied me, a smile pulling at his lips. “An astute and poetic observation.”
“Sorry about your head.”
He sighed and pressed the bag of peas to the goose egg forming on his forehead. “I should have known cosplaying Johnny Utah would lead to bodily injury.”
I chuckled, caught off guard. “A Point Break fan!”
Roger ran a hand through his hair, giving his best Keanu Reeves. “Lose something, bruh?”
I doubled over in giggles before we settled into a comfortable silence, gazing out toward the sparkling blue of the Pacific.
“I overcharged you. I haven’t even been on my board since the divorce.”
“The price seemed fair, considering your qualifications.” He paused. “Why would you choose to stop doing something you love?”
I let out a weighty sigh. “I’m not sure. It seems tainted, somehow.”
“That’s nonsensical.”
I folded my arms and sat back in my chair. “Is that right, Almighty Physicist?”
He raised his hands in defense. “Objectively. You’re an attractive, accomplished woman.
Why allow someone who has taken so much from you, to take more?”
His matter-of-factness gutted me. I started to protest, but found no valid argument.
Surfing was my whole life—so much more than a reminder of my failed marriage. And I’d sliced it out; excised it from the root like it was nothing more than baggage.
The urge to dig my toes in the sand, to run into the surf was overwhelming. I smiled at Roger, tears pooling in my eyes, lighter than I’d been in a long time.
“Ryan.” He placed a gentle hand on mine, searching my face. “How were you going to teach me to surf without surfing?”
I barked out a laugh, wiping the wetness from my cheeks. “Wanna stay and watch the stars with me?”
Roger smiled, flecks of green sparkling in his hazel eyes. “I’d be willing to risk another head injury for the pleasure.”
****
Ashleigh Adams is a creative director and fiction writer living in Dallas, TX. Her short scribblings have been featured in Witcraft, Elegant Literature and ScribesMICRO, among others. You can find her drinking coffee and complaining about the Texas weather. X: @ashdoeswordso
Loved this story! So well-written. Brought a smile to my face this morning.
Fun read!