Page 3 of Try Easy

The boy tore his eyes away from the waves long enough to nod at Keoni. “Yes, sir.”

“What’s your name?” Keoni asked.

“Benjamin Kealoha,” the boy said.

“I’m Keoni Makai,” Keoni said. They shook hands with an air of professionalism, as if they were two businessmen getting ready to close a deal. “One day I’m gonna see your name on a trophy,” Keoni said.

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin said, lifting his chin proudly.

“Laydahs,” Keoni said.

Flashing the boy the shaka sign, Keoni stepped toward shore. The waves were slamming the sand. It would be suicide to charge into them while the set was closing out. Keoni counted in his head, remembering the pattern he’d observed from the parking lot.

When all five waves of the set had closed out, Keoni dove into the water, and popped up on the other side. He started the long, grueling paddle out to the lineup. Every few feet he gained, he was pushed back toward shore by the angry waves. The ocean was determined to keep him from reaching the lineup, but Keoni was even more determined to get there. He crawled over the massive waves, feeling the thunderous power of the ocean beneath him.

Keoni should have been more frightened, but all he felt was a detached sense of calm and the belief that the day to make a name for himself had finally come. These were the biggest waves in the world, and Keoni was going to ride them.

When he finally reached the lineup, he glanced around at the other surfers bobbing on top of their boards. He saw fear in their eyes. Most of them were wondering how to get back to shore alive. There was only one way back to the beach, and it was back the way they had come, through the violent crash of the waves. Even getting this far was either an act of stupidity or extreme bravery.

“Ey, maybe we should go surf Queen’s,” Bones said, hunching over his board while a wave rolled under him, threatening to spill him into the sea.

Keoni smiled at his cousin. Queen’s Beach was for tourists, but it had once been their stomping ground. They’d gotten their first rides at Queen’s Beach, where long, gentle waves caressed the sparkling sands of Waikiki. It was hard to believe those sweet waves inhabited the same ocean as the angry behemoths thrashing the sand of Waimea Bay Beach.

Keoni watched a blue bump in the distance, sensing promise in its obscure shape. It lumbered toward them, and when it hit the reef, it exploded. The other surfers scrambled to paddle over the top, but Keoni turned toward shore, stroking calmly to catch the swell.

This was his wave. It would be good to him. Keoni could tell. He listened closely and heard the voice of the ocean speaking to him.

This wave was going to be a force of nature.

Keoni paddled as hard as he could, racing to get ahead of the wave. The key was strong paddling. It was essential to stay in front of the wave for as long as possible. Although that was an extremely difficult feat when the waves were roaring toward him faster than he could drive his VW Bug.

The wave that had been a lump in the sea a moment earlier became a mountain, and it was bent on crushing Keoni to dust. The inevitable moment came, and the wave caught him.

Keoni stopped paddling and let the wave lift him into the air. He jumped to his feet, landing with feline grace on top of the thin, wet board. He kept his weight centered in his hips, crouching low over the board as the wave threatened to toss him off its lip.

It was already too late for him to change his mind. If he did anything other than drop in, he would wipe out. He stood on top of the cliff, peering over into the watery abyss. Knowing that one moment of hesitation could mean his death, Keoni pushed the limits of time, waiting as long as possible on top of the wave before making the drop.

It was moments like this, the split seconds between life and death, that Keoni lived for. It was the rush of leaning over and staring potential death in the face that made his heart beat and his blood pump. There was nothing like standing on top of a giant wave, feeling the weight of your own mortality. It was physical and spiritual at the same time. This was Keoni’s church and his playground. It was his passion, his lifeblood.

He inched forward, pushing the narrow nose of his board over the top of the wave. He leaned into the wind, letting the roar of the ocean fill his ears and the rays of the sun shine down on him as if for the last time. He tasted the bitterness of fear mixed with the salt of the ocean and smelled his own nervous sweat.

The moment for hesitation was gone. Keoni dropped into the wave. His board slid along the moving mountain at top speed. Throwing out his arms and bending his knees in a wide warrior stance, Keoni leaned into his toes and plunged down the face of the wave.

One. Two. Three.

Keoni counted silently, savoring each second that he plummeted into the blue abyss. Four. Five. Six. Keoni smiled triumphantly. Seven! He settled his weight in his heels and began to turn the long, heavy board to the right. His smile spread over his whole body as he relished the milestone of getting to the number seven.

Seven seconds. Seven incredible seconds of sliding, of conquering. The ride had felt like forever, and yet it had gone by so fast.

He’d done it. He’d ridden the biggest wave in the world.

Keoni turned back toward the lineup with a triumphant smile and paddled out for more.

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