Page 1 of The Voice We Find

1

August

Iduck dive the nose of my surfboard under the next breaking wave using the same technique my dad endeavored to teach me back when I was a know-it-all punk who believed time was something to exhaust, not cherish. And back before I realized that practicing pop-ups with him at dawn wasn’t a punishment, but a privilege. But I suppose that’s the ugly truth about regrets: They never arrive until after it’s too late.

I paddle hard for the next surf-worthy lineup, timing the enormous swell ahead with the same precision I once applied to mastering albums for artists in Los Angeles. As soon as I close in on the shoulder of the wave, my adrenaline surges.Three, two, one.I pop up on my board. Despite my muscle fatigue, my core holds taut, ready for one last battle for balance. Fiery heat licks the length of my spine as I pick up speed to ride the wave’s power source.

The instant I slip into the pocket of the massive curl, the static in my brain is replaced by instinct. And it’s this moment that isboth everything I crave and everything I need all at once. Here, in this temporary cocoon of peace, there are no overdue medical bills screaming for attention, no home-based business investments lacking clientele, and no teenage dependent relying on me to keep us afloat.

The familiar tremor in my quads urges me to ride this wave back to shore and recover on the beach with a bottle of electrolytes and a protein bar. Only I’m not ready to go back to the noise yet.I never am.

I maneuver the board and cut back into the pocket, riding high on the momentum and gaining confidence with every second I’m on top. But when the next swell crests and breaks, the calm inside my head begins to slip, uncovering each stressor I’d hoped to drown. A single misstep later and I’m on the wrong side of the churning foam.

I have less than a second to tuck my head before I’m plunged into the dark waters with a force that depletes my oxygen reserve. On impact, I tumble head over feet, plummeting deeper and deeper into the abyss of the Pacific until I’m nothing more than a disoriented tangle of heavy neoprene limbs and spasming lungs.

But it’s silent down here.

An enticing, addictive, weightless kind of quiet.

And for a moment, I will the panic clawing for my next breath to stop.

I will it all to stop.

The regret. The pain. The guilt. The grief. The shame.

My bearings and vision grow dim as a single thought closes in:What if I just let go?

The question barely has enough time to register before a spear of light illuminates the crashing waves above me, and with it, a primal, almost savage instinct takes over.I can’t leave my sister alone.

I grasp for the leash around my ankle.

Desperation drives me as I climb the safety tether with a strength that consumes me. It’s unnatural, and yet I’m positive it’s the very thing keeping me alive. With every pull toward the light, the burn in my lungs intensifies. The urge to inhale is relentless as my vision spots and tunnels.

And then I see it: the shadowy outline of my board directly above me.

I break the surface.

I gasp for air, but I’m too weak to do anything more than cling to my board like the lifeline it is until I’ve recovered enough to float on my back and breathe.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

I chant the words over and over again in my mind until I almost believe them.

Once the trembling in my chest subsides, I heave my upper body onto my surfboard and drag my dead-weight legs to follow suit. Though my body is thoroughly trashed, my mind fights to make sense of that suspended moment underwater.How close was I to...?I don’t allow myself to finish the question, but much like the waves rolling beneath me, my thoughts collide, one after another, and soon I’m picturing my sister outside the Welcome Lodge of Camp Wilson yesterday, waving good-bye.

The irony of our last conversation plays over in my mind.

I hadn’t even put the gearshift fully into Park before I’d started in on her again. “No surfing, no diving, no trampolines—on land or on water—”I amended after I saw the glint of mischief in Gabby’s dark brown eyes.“No go-karts, no rock climbing, no mountain trails without adult supervision, and no horseback riding without a secure helmet.”

“Do you really think I’m going to forget your long list of no-no’s the second you pull away?”My sister fiddled with her right hearing aid in the visor mirror before moving on to her left side.“I had a head injury, August. Not Alzheimer’s. Besides, I know you wrote an entire essay to the camp nurse about me already.”She flipped the visor closed and gave me a look that dared me to deny it. I couldn’t.

“I’m just saying, I know how difficult peer pressure can be at your age. It wasn’t so long ago that I was sixteen, and—”

“Oh wow, okay. I’m gonna go now.”She popped the passenger door open, and I felt a distinct pinch in the center of my chest.

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