He swung his 4Runner into the parking space, put it into park, switched off the ignition, and stared out over the dashboard. It was a quarter past six in the morning and there were already about a dozen guys in the water, out past where the waves began their break, behind the white crest, just waiting. Past them was nothing but ocean and the horizon. The morning clouds hadnıt lifted, so the dark blue-green of the ocean seemed to blend with the early-morning dreary gray sky. Two guys took off about 20 yards apart on a wave to his right, both cutting it the same way. There were 12 others out in the lineup, waiting on a bigger one. He scanned the naked sand, which was yet to be overrun with people. The pier was to his left, and up the beach to his right was the first of the rock jetties that sectioned off this beach every half a mile for as far north as the eye could see. Each wave began to break near the pier, and as they rolled towards the beach, the white-topped curl that marked the edge of the break moved towards the jetty. A few sandpipers scurried along the waterıs edge, and a pack of gulls circled overhead. Their shrieking cries, piercing the air every few seconds, accompanied the periodic roars of each crashing wave as their peaks spilled over and crashed into the flat ocean in front of them, spewing whitewater back up.
He got out and walked around to the back of the SUV, unlatched the back and sat down on the prone rear door. He sat there for a minute, drinking in the morning air. It was sharp and crisp, and as he inhaled it filled his nose and the sharp chill entered his lungs, awakening his nerves on the way down. He looked across the parking lot at the shops and restaurants that faced the beach, and took in the silence. In an hour or so, the first rollerblader would appear, followed by another, and another, and then the shops would slowly open one by one, followed by the tourists. By 10 a.m., the 21st St. pier would be the most crowded place in Newport Beach, even on a Thursday. At 6:15 though, the parking lot belonged to him. He could hear the crash of the waves behind him, on the other side of the car and down the beach, but he wasnıt in any hurry. Theyıd be there five minutes from now, just like theyıd be there an hour for now, but the silence wouldnıt. He needed it today.
He pulled his wetsuit up over his legs and shoulders and, reaching around behind him, he zipped up the back, all the way up to his neck. After picking up his towel, which was hanging over the back seat, he shut the back door of the 4Runner. Its dull thud momentarily broke the stillness of the parking lot. He undid the fastenings that held his surfboard on top of the car, and carefully brought the six and a half foot fiberglass board down to the ground. He ran his hands over its smooth rounded edges, and over the flat face of the board that had been rubbed down with hard carnauba wax so that his stomach wouldnıt slide. After taking a few steps away from the car he sat down on the short concrete embankment between the parking lot and the sand. He set his board down in front of him and took another long look at the break.
"Tre-vor" he called. "Trev, buddy, whereıd you toddle off to?" Tom Brokaw was going over the eveningıs headlines and there was pasta boiling on the stove. "Honey? Cam? Whereıd Trevor go?" "I donıt know Ty, I thought you had him," came the reply from the top of the stairs. He searched the family room and the living room. The sound of the shower starting came through the pipes above the ceiling. He stopped in the middle of the family room, thinking. Finally the open back door caught his attention. He went to close it, but then stepped out into the backyard. There in the pool he saw it, drifting listlessly towards the bottom, rendered amorphous by the four feet of water above it. The backyard was silent.
After wrapping his keys in his towel he set the bundle down on the beach and trod down towards the water. He stopped at the waterıs edge to put his feet in it and splash himself, just to get his wetsuit damp. As he slowly waded out to deeper water, with his board under his arm, the cold found his naked feet and penetrated his body there. When the water reached his waist, he set his board on the water, climbed onto it as it floated along the surface, and began paddling out to where the pack had congregated. His arms sliced through the water, right then left, and he watched the ocean part as the nose of his board glided forward in front of his face. A wave rose up ahead of him, just about to break, and with his hands out in front of him he pushed the nose down into the water and dove underneath the wave. He popped through it and continued paddling. When he reached the spot he had picked out, he stopped paddling and straddled his board to wait for a wave. Along with the other surfers, he drifted there in the current, not making a sound, just staring intently at the ripples on the horizon, watching.
He waited out breaks, and watched waves for almost two hours, paddling into maybe four or five. Mostly he waited, and passed on each one as it rolled underneath him. He watched the ocean and its patterns, and knew when each set began and ended. He knew that with each wave that he passed up, another came, and another, and that there would always be another behind that one. This morning though, he just couldnıt find a good ride. A guy would turn away from the pack and paddle into a wave before dropping down onto its face and disappearing from their view, hidden by the back of the wave as it rose and surged forward. Soon, he would come paddling up from behind and rejoin the lineup. Not once during those two hours did anyone speak a word.
Around half past eight he finally went back in to the beach. He was done for the morning. He lifted his board up out of the water and once more tucked it under his arm. He reached back and unzipped the back of his wetsuit, peeling it down to his waist. The cool morning breeze flicked at his exposed upper body, and brought a new, sharper cold. He sat down on the towel, feeling his body sink into the sand, and looked back towards the ocean. This morning had been a stalemate. The ocean hadnıt gotten him, but hadnıt allowed itself to be taken either. On mornings like this one, the ocean wins. He knew there would be another time.
He walked over to the beach shower and turned the rusty knob, unleashing a firm stream of cold water from the rickety pole. The freezing wet concrete stung his feet, and he grimaced as he waited for the initial shock to subside. He rinsed his board, and after stripping off his wetsuit he ran it under the water too. Underneath the nozzle, he scrubbed himself with his hands to get the grimy feel of the saltwater off of his skin and ruffled his dirty brown hair that the ocean had left coarse and stringy. Turning his back to the pole that held the nozzle, he tilted his head back and felt the water hitting his scalp and running off over his shoulders and down his body. He remained there for a minute, letting the feel of the cold penetrate into his muscles, jolting them to life for the start of the real day.
After the prayers finished and hugs had been exchanged, the mass of black made its way back down the hill, across the grass, arms around shoulders, hands in hands. Cammie was amongst them, on the arm of her mother. He stayed behind, alone, crouching, staring at the little coffin, trying to understand a world where coffins were made for children. His muscles gave out, and he fell back, sitting down on the grass. His arms wrapped themselves around his knees, and he looked up as he felt the rain start to fall on his head and shoulders. He looked back down at the coffin. He stayed in that position, fighting the feeling that leaving was the ending.
Still clad in just his board shorts, he arrived at the shop at ten til nine, which gave him plenty of time to open. One of the teenagers he had hired last month was there, waiting by the back door and smoking a cigarette. The shipment of fins he was supposed to receive the day before hadnıt come yet, so there was no new merchandise to stock or tag. All they really had to do to open for business was unlock the front door.
"Hey Mr. Anderson," the kid said.
"Youıve been here three weeks, kid, I told you to start calling me Tyler. Grab those boxes out of the back of my truck, will ya?"
He reached up and unfastened the board frame and removed his board from the roof. The kid slid one of the cardboard boxes onto the other and hoisted both of them up into his arms.
"Whatıs in here?" he asked.
"Just some crap I picked up for the counter. Pens, receipt forms, staplers. Nothing interesting, really."
"Right on," came the kidıs automatic response. "Are we opening on time today?"
"Weıd better be," he answered, offering a slight smile.
He carried his board and a duffle bag he had grabbed off of the front passenger seat in through the back door and into the office in the back of the shop. He placed the board in the rack next to another two that were already there. Opening the duffle, he took out a clean t-shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he kicked off his flip-flops into the corner by the board rack and pulled on a pair of running shoes over his bare feet, before setting foot into the shop. The kid was already behind the counter.
"Up for the early surf today Mr. Ander--I mean, Tyler?"
"Yeah. As usual."
"Any good?"
He shrugged. "It was okay this morning, nothing to get too stoked about. Listen, you know Iım taking off early today, right?"
"Yeah, you told me, you have some business to take care of or something? Some place to go, right?"
"Something like that," he mumbled, slowly running his hand across his hair. "So listen," he started again. "Kelly is coming in for the afternoon. I think the two of you should be able to manage the place on your own. You guys have been here long enough; between you and her you should know everything. You can reach me on my cell if something goes wrong, but please donıt unless itıs an emergency."
"Alright. Somethinı important this afternoon? Is it like a big business meeting?" the kid asked innocently, clearly trying to just keep conversation.
"No, itıs a personal day."
"Oh, is it like an anniversary or something like that?"
"Something like that."
He found her sprawled out on the chaise longue next to the pool, staring at the water. He went over to her and sat on the edge. Taking her in his arms, he squeezed her. She didnıt look up, but kept her gaze fixed on the water. He couldnıt tell if the smell of vodka was coming from her or the empty bottle that had been overturned and rolled underneath the chair. "Itıs not our fault, Cam. You know that, right?" She didnıt move. "Itıs been a month, baby. We canıt keep doing this to ourselves." Nothing. "We need help, baby. We need it bad." She didnıt look up from the pool. He got up and walked into the kitchen. The whiskey bottle was where he had left it last night, half empty. Tomorrow he would need a new bottle. "Tomorrow we get help," he said as he poured himself a glass.
At a quarter past one, he retreated into his office. Kelly had arrived at one, and after making sure the two teenagers knew what they were doing, and where to stock the wetsuit shipment that had finally turned up, he turned the shop over for the day. He opened up the duffel bag that he had brought in from his car and pulled out a pair of cotton slacks and a black button-down shirt. Closing the office door, he quickly changed into the new clothes and put his trunks and t-shirt into the bag. He picked up a pair of sunglasses from the desk and put them in the breast pocket, and put on the Tevas that he kept in the office. Taking with him his board and the duffel, he walked out the back door. The sun had finally burned off the clouds, and it bore down upon the parking lot. Augmented by the black asphalt, the heat forced him to unbutton his cuffs and push his sleeves up past his elbows. He rested the board against the car and put on the sunglasses. He opened the driverıs door and tossed the duffel onto the floor of the passenger side, and then lifted his board up onto the roof and fastened it into place.
He pulled out of the parking lot and turned left, merging into traffic. The windows stayed up and the radio remained off. He drove for about a mile, and pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. Getting out of the car, he walked down the line of shops to his right. At the end of the row, the second to last shop was a florist.
"I ordered a dozen rosebuds and a bouquet of azaleas; the name is Anderson."
The florists had the order ready within a few minutes, and he carried the two bouquets back to his car. He opened the door and set them both carefully on the front passenger seat. He closed the door again, locked the car, and walked towards the shops, this time to his left. He stopped in front of a liquor store. As soon as he walked in, he became uncomfortable under the familiar stare of the shop owner. The man looked at him as if he was seeing a ghost, and he could feel the eyes follow him down the aisle. Hands shaking, he reached out and lifted a fifth of whiskey off of the shelf. He slowly and hesitantly made his way to the counter, where he paid for the bottle and hurried out of the store. He turned to his right, away from his car, and nervously walked around the strip mall to the back of the grocery store that dominated the lot. There he stopped next to a dumpster and took the bottle out of the bag. He uncorked it and held it in his hand. Holding it to his nose, he took in the sweet aroma of the malt, and the delayed sting of the alcohol. It was all too familiar. His hand shook as he lifted the bottle and overturned it into the dumpster, listening to the glug it made as the amber liquid slowly emptied out of the narrow neck. He tossed the bottle into the dumpster and, turning quickly, walked away.
Once back inside his car, he leaned over and rested his head on the steering wheel. His chest heaved, and his brow was caked with sweat. It was a minute before he looked up, a full minute of deeply breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth. When he did pick his head up, he wiped his forearm across his forehead. After glancing at the flowers on the seat next to him, he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot and drove in the direction of the cemetery. He arrived in half an hour, and taking the flowers with him, he began the walk down the road to where his two headstones lay.
The house was silent when he walked in, and he punctured that, calling out into it. "Cam? Honey?" He looked around the kitchen for a note, but found none. He walked to the family room, where the afternoon sunlight shone in through the back doors and pierced the roomıs calm. As he entered the room he looked at the couch that faced away from him and noticed her hand slumped off of the edge. A half empty bottle of vodka sat on the coffee table. His shoulders dropped. "Baby? Cam, you ready? Weıre gonna go see Trev today, remember?" She didnıt budge. He walked towards the couch. "Cımon, baby doll. You said youıd go with me today, we talked about this. Remember? It makes a year today?" He again got no response. "Dammit Cam, you promised me today youıd keep it together." When he stooped over her, he noticed the little round white bottle that lay on its side against one of the legs of the table. He looked up at her. "Cam? Cammie?!" He shook her. She felt cold.
It took five minutes to reach the graves. He sat down facing them, laying the flowers in his lap. He looked at the matching stones, side by side. Trevor Anderson, 1993-1996ı read the left one, and underneath that was etched Weıll love you forever buddy, and we know youıll be somewhere loving us back.ı The stone on the right read Cameron Anderson, 19721997,ı and below it Mother, Wife, Daughter, Friend, but a life that defies description.ı He leaned over and rubbed his hand over Trevorıs name, and then Cammieıs, feeling the cuts in the stone against his fingers.
"I brought you guys flowers again. Same thing as last year, you guys are probably bored. Iıve got rosebuds for you buddy, so you can watch them bloom the way you would have. Cam, hon, Iıve got azaleas for youthey mean temperance, and take care of yourself for me.ı " He laid the flowers on each of the graves, and returned to his sitting position. "Iım doing it baby, Iım still doing it. Like I promised you, I poured out a bottle before I came over here. Thatıs four years in a row Iıve been able to do it. Like I do every time. Itıs been 4 years and eleven months now. Another month and Iım sober five years. Only the one slip, too, that first anniversary. Itıs been hard, but Iım doing it. I wish you could have been with me, baby doll, I wish we could have done it together. Iım still sorry, yıknow? I should have done it earlier, and then we could have done it together."
He stopped, and tilted his head up slightly to feel the breeze and the afternoon sun against his cheek.
"Trev, buddy, we got some wetsuits in today. We got some real small ones, I wanted to bring you one. Youıre eight now, youıd be old enough to start getting serious. I taught you how last year, remember? I showed you how to paddle, and how to push up onto your feet? Youıd have it down by now, I know you would, youıd be ready to really start cutting some waves apart. I can see you buddy. Did you see your daddy this morning? Thatıs called having patience. Every surfer needs it. Watch Daddy, okay Trev? Learn to pick your waves the way he does."
He could feel the first tear welling up in the corner of his right eye.
"Are you taking care of Mommy, Trev? She loves you a lot, she missed you and really just wanted to see you again. You are everything to her, you know that? She loves you just like I do. We knew you were gonna be something big, buddy. I hope youıre being good to your mommy. She needs you to love her, thatıs why she couldnıt stay here. She needed you too much."
A few tears had tumbled down his cheeks. He wiped his eyes, and took a deep breath.
"Cam, the storeıs doing pretty well. Iım turning a profit, at least. Who knows, a year from now, I might even be able to open another one, I really think so. Iıve been on the beach every morning. Some afternoons, too. You know that though, I can feel you watching me. The way you used to, remember? I know you still do it. Anyway, surfing helps, it keeps me in control. Itıs my outlet, but you know that."
"Baby doll, I miss you. I still miss you a lot. Iım sorry I couldnıt take care of me, and I couldnıt take care of you, but I hope Trev is keeping you happy. I know how much he meant to you, and Iım sorry we lost him that day." The tears came back, and were now flowing freely. "I know you guys are some place where someone is protecting you, but I just wish Iıd done it, yıknow? I wish I was the one who could keep you two safe, like you keep me safe now."
He stopped, and just stared at the headstones. He closed his eyes, and as he became aware of the hot tears that were now flowing freely down his cheeks, memories flashed before him. Cammie when she was just a beautiful sunbathing stranger, and talking to her for the first time. Paddling out with her on his board, teaching her to surf. Their wedding, there on the sand, standing together in full tux and dress, barefoot, the waves lapping at their feet. Trevorıs birth, and the day he came home from the hospital in his little boardshorts over his diapers. Their first day at the beach as a family. The bodies. The bottles. This day, each of the last four years. He waded through each of them, riding each one out to its exhaustion before moving onto the next, and when he had passed them all, he opened his eyes. The tears had stopped.
He turned the paper bag over. Nothing dripped out of it onto the pier. He tossed it on the ground, and it made a loud clunk against the wooden planks of the pier. He couldnıt see straight. He tried to stand up, but his legs failed him. He failed a second time. On the third try, he rose up, and began stumbling towards the end of the pier. It was dark out, and the shine of the lamps hurt his eyes. He squinted. Stumbling again, he fell against the railing, leaned over it and looking down at the ocean. He saw Trevor floating down there, just underneath the surface, lifeless, and Cammie alongside him. He lifted one foot up onto the lower rail, and reached over the top. Using his upper body, he slowly pulled himself up on top of the upper rail, and rolled his entire body up and over. Then he fell. The surface hit him, jolting him to a stop, and now he was drifting there beneath the surface too. Suddenly he felt a splash somewhere near him, next to him, above him, and then a hand on his arm.
When he pulled into the parking lot at the 21st St. pier for the second time that day, the sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon. At the point where it met the ocean, the sky was a very bright yet pale blue, almost white, and the faintest touches of color were just beginning to become noticeable a bit higher up. He got out of the car, and surveyed the beach. A few casual beachgoers remained; most read, napped, or cooled down after a run. The dayıs surfers were almost all gone. There were not more than a dozen left outside the break, each of them eager to catch the dayıs last hurrah, a final few five oıclock sets whipped up by the breeze that had come down the coast. He watched as one of them took off on a break right near the pier, cut it to the right, away from the pier, and rode it halfway to the jetty. The guy cut his board around and back to slow himself down twice during the run, carving the wave and delighting in every last inch of face before the wave died out near the beach.
He quickly pulled his board down off the roof of the car, slipped into his wetsuit, and scurried towards the beach. He hopped over the embankment, dropped his towel and jogged down to the water. Hitting the ocean in stride, he laid his board down and pushed off out towards the lineup. As he paddled out, he laid his head down to the board and felt the motion of the water. With each long, rounded stroke of his arm his board surged forward in a graceful glide. He watched as the ocean split in front of him, and he could feel the tailing off behind him of the swath that his board cut through the surface of the calm water. He felt the water surge, and knew a wave was billowing up in front of him, pulling the water below it up into its mass. He lifted his head, pointed the nose of his board at a spot near the bottom of the wave, and dove into it, sliding straight into the wave without resistance. He felt the swelling, shifting water all around him, before he emerged out into the afternoon sky again. He reached the lineup, and he took a seat up on his board to watch the distance. He stared forward into the nothingness of the horizon, and watched the vast expanse of the ocean that stretched out infinitely in front of him. His legs dangled in the ocean beneath him, and the cold of the water pushed up into the part of his body that protruded up above the surface. He let the ocean gently rock him in between waves, and let his body move along with it.
He let the first set of waves pass, and studied the pattern. As soon as the calm began to subside, and the second set came in off the horizon, he turned and slid his belly back down horizontally onto his board. He let two swells of the ocean surface roll under his prone body, and then began slowly paddling back towards the beach. He looked over his shoulder and spotted the next wave, which was just now rising up out of the ocean. Pointing his board a little bit to his left, he picked up his paddle only slightly. The wave slowed, trying to force him too far out in front of it. He slowed his paddle. The wave suddenly picked up, and just as it crested he swung his board nearly parallel to the beach and burst into a furious paddle across the face. The height of the wave overwhelmed itself, and the water it pulled up into its body no longer rolled up and over, instead tumbling forwards back down onto the surface from which it had come.
As the roar of the plummeting whitewater charged up behind him, he pushed his upper body up off of the board and swung his feet underneath his body, planting them firmly. Twisting his body slightly to the left, he guided the board up the face, towards the top of the wave, where the water was falling over itself, crashing down onto the waveıs body. He perched there at the crest, upright, just ahead of the point where the wave was actually breaking, with the whitewater on his heels. He looked down on the eight-foot wall of water ahead and below him, and watched as this solid, glassy bulk took its shape by absorbing and passing through all the water in front of it. The face was smooth and untouched, and water rushed into, through, and out of it as it sped towards the beach.
He pointed the nose slightly right and dipped down into the face, picking up speed, before sharply whipping the board around with a violent twist of his hips, briefly turning nearly 120 degrees back to his left and then smoothly turning it forward again. This slowed him, and he guided the board up the face towards the crest again, and lingered there at the top of the wave. It carried him towards the sand, yet didnıt break fully into whitewater, and left him smooth blue ocean to work with. It allowed him to continue moving across it as if to say "Stay with me for a while, enjoy me." He cut down the face into the belly again, and again whipped his body and the board back to his left and cut up towards the top. This time, he slowly and effortlessly allowed his board to drift into the middle of the face, and he finally looked up ahead of him. He watched as the water tumbled and tumbled, each drop following the next, and propelled him forward, back to land, back to solid ground. He felt the wave dying out, and he rode the whitewash in before dropping off the board.
He rode until the waves were no longer big enough to ride, and it was too dark to properly see. Even then he stayed out in the water a little longer, feeling the rhythms of the tide underneath him. When he finally paddled in, he left no one behind in the water and found only a few people left on the beach. A breeze was blowing off of the ocean, and it nipped at the saltwater that still coated his body and lingered in his hair. He set his board next to an empty lifeguard stand, and walked to his car. Opening up the back, he climbed out of his wetsuit, toweled off and pulled a sweatshirt over his head, and produced a saran-wrapped sandwich from a cooler. He walked back towards the lifeguard stand and climbed up onto it. He sat down on the towel, and unwrapped and slowly ate the sandwich. When he had finished, he stayed. He stared out at the stars above the ocean, and the gentle sound of the tide filled his ears, one wave after another. This sound was different than the dayıs waves. There was comfort in its soothing and docile repetitiveness. It called to him, and beckoned. The powerful crashing that the ocean doled out all day subsided, and rewarded anyone who was willing to wait it out with this calm. He stayed for a few hours, just listening.
It was half past eleven when he finally put the key in the front door. He slowly turned the lock, and carefully squeezed the door open, sneaking in so as not to make any noise. Silence surrounded him as he moved through the house, and he made sure he did not disrupt it. He entered the kitchen, and carefully switched the light on. He poured himself a glass of water, but only allowed the faucet to barely drip, so as not to make any noise. After finishing it, he gently set the glass down in the sink and switched off the light. He tiptoed up the stairs, and then measured each step across the hallway in order to miss the creaky boards. He firmly gripped the knob and turned it millimeter by millimeter until he heard the latch drop, and then he cracked open the door just enough to poke through it. The door squeaked just slightly, but it was enough because a rustling came from the bed.
"Mmmm, Ty, are you just now getting home?" the voice murmured through the darkness.
"Hey sweetheart. Sorry to wake you." He sat down on the bed next to her and laid his hand gently on her shoulder.
"Itıs okay sweetie, what time is it?"
"Itıs eleven-thirty. Listen, Karen," he said, and his voice became soft and timid as he slowly rubbed her back in a circular motion. "Thank you for letting me have today."
She turned over and sat up slowly. "Ty, donıt. I love you. How could I say no?"
He smiled. "Thatıs why Iım thanking you. For understanding. Iım sorry that I"
"Shhhh. Donıt apologize. Were you okay today? Did the day go alright?"
"It was exactly the way I wanted it." He bent over and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you Karen, you know that right?"
"Yes. I do."
"Get some sleep, kay sweetheart?"
"Are you coming to bed?" she asked as she curled up with the pillow once more.
"In a little while," he answered, and he stood up from the bed. He went back out into the hallway, and slowly opened another door. He froze for a moment, and when he heard nothing, he snuck into the room and with the utmost care closed the door behind him. He carefully opened the blinds and allowed the moonlight to filter into the room, very lightly illuminating it. He stood frozen there by the window, opposite the crib, and just stared at the mobile figures suspended in air. Tiptoeing over to the edge, he peered down at the sleeping child, and he smiled. He reached into the crib and stroked the babyıs head.
"God, youıre beautiful. My beautiful little girl."
He picked up a blanket off of an easy chair that had been placed next to the crib, and wrapping himself in it he slid down into the chair. Eyes closed, he could still feel the motion of the waves, rocking him forward and backwards, and side to side. It soon lulled him off to sleep. This was not the first time he fell asleep in that chair, and it would not be the last.