Authors: Suzan Colón
THE NEXT MORNING, the shouts of the howler monkeys are carried by strong winds gusting through the palm trees, and Carson is quickly alert. “Dawn patrol, Kate,” he whispers excitedly. “Time to go surfing.”
I could use a while longer in bed, but I lazily rise up to a sitting position, at least. “Sounds good,” I say, covering a yawn. “I can do my sunrise yoga thing.”
Moving fast, Carson pulls on his board shorts before I really get a chance to admire his naked body. Oh, we came so close last night, but I’m still waiting for something, some moment that will let me know it’s time. I’m caught in limbo between the fantasy of having something real with Carson and the reality that this is a vacation experience I’ll never forget but that will soon be just a memory.
So we haven’t made love yet. Lots of other fun stuff, but I can’t give myself to him completely. The brief glimpse of his nude form, worthy of a Greek statue, makes me feel like I must be crazy or stupid or both. “You don’t have to choose between the two, you know,” Carson says. “You can do yoga and surf.”
“So can you, mister,” I say, dragging myself off the bed. “Yoga’s good for surfers. You could use a little more flexibility. Remember last night, when you were admiring how I could almost put my leg behind my head?”
Carson stops. “That was really hot.” He drops his rash guard and reaches for me. “Maybe we should stay here.”
“Oh no,” I say, dancing away from him. “You got me out of bed, we’re going to the beach. Besides, I don’t want you accusing me of making you feel surf-deprived.”
We walk toward the cove, Carson carrying both our surfboards, me sleepily hugging my yoga mat. The sun is just beginning to turn the horizon blue from the black of night, so we barely see Evan and Randy waving good morning as they walk toward us, surfboards under their arms. “You’re not going to the cove?” Carson asks them.
“Intermediate beach,” Randy says. “Evan checked it out this morning. The wind is making good chop. Bigger waves there.”
Carson’s grin is as excited as theirs until I pipe up, “How big?”
Evan’s expression is uncertain. “Kind of like what you wiped out in.”
“No way,” I say, shaking my head. “Count me out of that.”
“No, of course not,” Carson agrees. “We’ll go to the cove.” Still, he looks behind him at Randy and Evan as they head off to the big waves. “You can go with them, you know,” I offer.
Carson shakes his head. “No, I want to be with you.”
The waves are calm at the cove, just the kind I like. Carson sets our boards down and sits on the beach, apparently not in a rush to surf anymore. He starts doing his simple warm-up stretches, and I unroll my yoga mat and pat it for him to come sit with me. “Put your legs out and together,” I tell him. When he does, I do the same, bracing my feet against his, and hold out my hands. He takes mine, and I instruct, “Deep breath in. Okay, now exhale.” When he does, I pull him forward to stretch his leg muscles. “Ouch!” he says, giving me a comically pained face. He gets the gist and leans back, pulling me forward as I exhale. “Wow,” he says, watching me nearly bend in half, “You really are flexible.” We do this back and forth breathing and stretching a few times before he says, “If we did this every morning, I’d be as bendy as you some day.”
“I’m not going to be here
that
long,” I say, teasing him about his stiff limbs.
He smirks at me. “We’ll see.” Then he leans all the way back and pulls me on top of him, and he rolls on top of me, and we laugh as sand gets everywhere.
We get in a few good rides as the sun rises, but every now and then, I catch Carson looking off toward the intermediate beach. “Okay, come on,” I say, grabbing my board and heading out of the water. “Let’s go check out the gnarly waves.” His smile is as big as I imagine the waves are as he quickly gathers our things.
The cove is protected from wind by a curved wall of rock and trees that hug it, but the intermediate beach is wide open, welcoming the elements. The two are just a mile apart, but the difference is startling. Wind buffets my hair nearly dry in the moments that it takes Carson to say “Wow,” and focus his gaze. I know he’s counting sets of these rough waves, some of them reaching as high as twelve feet. Randy’s out on one now, struggling just to maintain his balance on the board, never mind doing any surfer tricks. Evan walks over to us, his dreadlocks dripping, still panting from his ride. “Awesome out there, dude,” he says, grinning. Then he, Carson, and I all wince in unison as Randy gets mashed by his wave. “That’s gonna leave a mark,” Evan jokes.
Randy eventually makes his way out of the surf, holding up one fist in triumph until he reaches Carson, who gives him a fist-punch. “Good?” Carson asks eagerly.
“Aside from the saltwater smoothie that just got rammed down my throat,” Randy says. “That wave axed me. I’m done.” Evan agrees, saying they’ve been tossed around like a salad. “Time to go get the campers, anyway. Those of us who are working and not having fun on vacation with a beautiful mermaid, that is,” Evan teases as he and Randy leave. But Carson’s focus is already back on the water.
“You’re not counting sets, are you?” I ask.
“Threes,” he answers after a moment. “Excellent threes.”
“How can you even tell? It’s like the rapids out there, only bigger.” I stand in front of him because he’s not looking at me. His eyes are full of that fire I found so attractive. Now I wonder if it’s the same as a moth being attracted to a flame. “Carson, I don’t know about this.”
At last he looks at me. “No, Kate, of course not.” I breathe a sigh of relief until he adds, “These waves are way too big for you, so you stay here.” He starts heading for the churning water.
“Carson!” I trot alongside him as he walks with determination toward the crashing tide. “Is this some kind of guy thing? Because I’ll be so much more impressed if you don’t do this than if you do.”
“Kate, I’m not showing off for you,” he says with a patient tone. “Not that you aren’t worth showing off for. I just really want to ride one of those angry growlers.”
“Don’t you ever worry about getting hurt?” I stand in front of him, stopping him. “Aren’t you afraid of anything?”
He thinks for a second then looks down at me and smiles, shaking his head. “Not really.” He gives me a quick kiss to silence my protests. “I’ll be fine, Kate. Just watch.”
That’s all I can do. I can’t stop him, even though the water’s so rough it smacks Carson just for trying to walk into it.
But he’s undaunted. Instead of confronting the breakers, he duck-dives under them, dipping beneath the rising arcs and surfacing seconds later, safely past them. He does this until he’s out where the waves begin to form, and already he’s aiming for one. A water monster, roiling, taking shape, and barreling toward the shore. I can barely breathe, knowing that it’s going to maul him.
My eyes get wide as I watch Carson take the wave and leap up on his board like a stuntman jumping on a moving train. Any minute now, I expect him to be thrown, but he’s on it; he’s gliding, hanging steady. And then I see the smile, the confident fearlessness, and Carson starts doing tricks. He grabs the nose of his board and zig zags along the wave’s face. He does a few spins, turning around completely. Only when he goes for the classic skateboarder jump off the top does he tumble and disappear into the surging wall of water. For a moment, my heart stops. All I see is churning foam.
Then I hear a “Whoo-
hoo
!” Carson has popped up, laughing, so incredibly thrilled as he’s lifted up like a hero by the swell of the surf. It’s a magical sight, seeing someone this full of joy. I don’t think anyone can get happier than he is at this moment. Except maybe me, watching him.
AFTER BREAKFAST, we go to the infamous Rat Hole, the surf instructors’ bungalow. We didn’t need to discuss Carson staying with me for the rest of my time here, and he’s run out of clothes. We walk down the path behind the main building, away from the guest quarters. Here, the grass is a little overgrown, the hedges a little wilder. A while later we come to a two-story bungalow flanked by palm trees that haven’t recently been cleared of dying leaves, like the rest of the meticulously kept grounds. A pirate flag mounted above the door flaps lazily in the breeze, and the sound of Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” drifts from inside the house. Carson holds the unlocked door open for me.
The living room is hazy with mid-morning sunlight illuminating wisps of coconut incense floating through the air. Surf gear lies in all corners of the room, along with books, surfing magazines, sneakers, skateboards, iPods, a laptop, and various other boy things. It’s definitely a guys’ apartment, Costa Rican surf camp-style. Evan is stretched out on an old, well-worn sofa draped with Mexican blankets, and Anya reclines cat-like at the other end.
“You slackers on your break?” Carson asks, nodding his greeting.
“Exactly,” Evan says. “We’ll miss you at the morning lesson, Cartoon.”
“Ah, you don’t need me, you’ll be fine. Just came by to pick up some stuff.” He turns to me. “Be right back.” Then he trots up the stairs, leaving me with Evan and Anya.
She’s barely acknowledged me since I came in, and now Anya’s attention is fixed on a surf magazine she just picked up off the floor. She leans back, extending long, beautiful legs. Her cutoff denim shorts and tiny bikini top show off a perfect body, athletic and healthy and tan, like everyone who works at Emerald Cove. She lazily pulls back her honey-colored hair, revealing a face bare of makeup, not even needing any. She’s pretty in a natural, effortless way I envy.
“So, Mermaid, you decided to stay,” Evan says in a friendly tone, using my surf nickname.
I smile and nod. “Probably just another week.”
“That’s what I said,” Anya mutters. She looks up from her magazine at me. Her expression is blank, but I see her taking me in.
“Really? You came to visit and ended up staying?” I ask, intrigued by her comment and that she even deigned to speak to me.
Anya nods. “Yep. I fell in love with the beach, the lifestyle. The people.” Her eyes drift toward the room where I can hear Carson gathering his things. “But the vacation bliss wore off after a while.”
Her statement begs the question, “So
. . .
why did you stay?”
The flicker in Anya’s eyes is the same as the one I saw that day in the gift shop, but it’s not the bitchy side of Anya. The look seems raw and sad. “I keep hoping the feeling will come back,” she says.
Just then, Carson comes downstairs with a duffel bag over his shoulder. “Ready, Kate?”
We say goodbye to Evan and Anya, who doesn’t answer. She looks at Carson, then at me, and goes back to her magazine.
Carson and I walk back down the overgrown path from the instructors’ bungalow toward the guest lodging. After a few quiet moments, with me debating internally whether I should or even have the right to ask, I turn to Carson. “Was there ever anything between you and Anya?”
I want him to say no. I don’t know why I’m disappointed as the seconds go by. “Briefly,” he finally answers. “But that was a while ago.”
“Was she one of your students?”
“Not when she came back.”
I don’t have to ask him to elaborate. Anya came here on vacation and fell in love, just like she said, maybe with the beach, probably with the exhilarating feeling of freedom that surfing gave her, and definitely with Carson. She went home, gave up her life, and came back here to be with him. And now, for him, their romance can be summed up in one word:
briefly
.
But for her, it was reason enough to stay. Who knows what Anya did or didn’t have going on that would make her go home and pack, leave her family, maybe even another man, and change everything. But I can’t help wondering what her life was like before she came here. Was she the equivalent of what she is now, a shop clerk, and so the transition wasn’t a big deal? Did she have a dream, beyond being with Carson? Was changing her life worth the risk, especially given the way things turned out? I think of that sad flicker in her eyes. I wish I could ask her.