Page 71 of On Fire Island

I was filled with nervous energy as I carried my board up over the beach stairs. I pictured myself standing at the water’s edge, facing the horizon, board lassoed to my ankle. Once there, I would find my spot, time it perfectly, and without hesitation jump on and paddle over the shore break, just as I had done in Lanai.

“Our mission today is chasing dolphins,” Ben had exclaimed, bouncing from foot to foot like a kid. I had shivered with excitement at the thought of it. I’d heard Fire Island boarders talk about the rare charge of witnessing a pod of dolphins circling them in the middle of the ocean. We had once seen a whale in Lanai. It was far in the distance, but close enough that we could hear it slapping its fins as it breached. It was magnificent—even Ben seemed tiny in comparison.

I took a deep breath in and pushed away the nerves that were forming in my belly as we got close to the intimidating shoreline. My heart raced while my mind fought to keep my anxiety at bay (where I wished I had been instead—the bay would have been much more my speed).

You can’t do this, Julia.No way!my realistic side chimed in.You’re not one of those surfer girls.

By the time I stood my board up in the sand at the shore, my hands were trembling in fear. “I can’t do it,” I admitted out loud. “I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you can. You got this!” Ben assured me. His pep talk did nothing but annoy me. It felt like his encouragement stemmed more from his eagerness to get on with the adventure than concern for me.

“These don’t seem like five-mile-an-hour winds,” I stated, to bolster my case.

I knew from other boarders and surfers that circumstances switch quickly on the water. You had to always be ready for a north wind to come off the bay out of nowhere, pushing you farther out to sea, and making it hard to come back.

Kind of like cancer, I thought now, looking back.

“It’s so different from Lanai,” I’d pointed out.

I hadn’t thought of the difference between the conditions before. The place we learned to board at in Lanai was in a cove, making it more akin to a lake than an ocean.

Ben wasn’t having it.

“It’s the same, in theory. Just find the sweet spot. Don’t hesitate. Jump on your board—nose to the wave.”

Not to sound dramatic, but when you stand facing your own mortality at the ocean’s edge, getting into the water at just the right time, with the waves pounding the shore, proves quite terrifying.

“Follow me, babe—you got this!” Ben yelled, entering the surf with ease.

I tried, I really did, but barely stepped forward. When he realized I hadn’t followed, he waded back, clearly not happy. It felt like some test of endurance that I had no desire to take, and couldn’t believe he was expecting me to pass.

We ended up having our biggest fight ever, with him repeatedly trying to coax me through the dramatic timing of navigating the heavy waves at shore break, and me ending up sitting on my board in the sand, crying. It was a bad day and, after that, I never attempted paddle boarding again, not even on the bay.

But today was different. It was Ben who seemed hesitant about entering the ocean, while my anxiety and fear of death were no longer a factor. He successfully made his move, and I jumped right on and sat at the end of his board. My legs hung off the sides, each pushing through the water like the rudder of a sailboat. It was exhilarating.

The sun was just right; the wind was perfect and, without fear weighing me down, I slipped between Ben’s powerful chest and his outstretched arm as he paddled farther and farther from the coast. I had never felt more alive.

As we glided out into the open ocean past the second break, my heart sang.

My God, I’m gonna make it! I’m gonna survive!

And even though I was already dead, my thoughts never strayed from that vibe. Ben stopped paddling after the third break of waves and we stared out as far as our eyes could see, which felt quite far. It was a unique perspective of ourselves, so small compared to such a vast sea.

Sound is different on the ocean. It was quiet except for the repetition of the small waves lapping on the edge of the board and the crashing of the huge ones on the shore in the distance. The light bounced off the water, changing what we could see and what we couldn’t by the second.

“Wow!” I said, out loud.

“Wow!” he agreed.

It was the first time that Ben had been completely alone,without even Sally, since I’d died. He seemed to realize it. A weird expression came over his face, and I couldn’t determine what he was thinking. I hoped he was enjoying it. I had rarely seen him enjoy anything that used to make him happy. Last week he bit into a Mallomars cookie (his favorite) and broke down in tears. He had to spit it out, couldn’t even swallow it.

He stood in the center of the board and yelled out my name as if screaming to the heavens, in a barreling, heart-wrenching voice, “Julia!”

He slowly lowered himself down onto his knees and then straddled his feet on either side of the board. Tears poured down his cheeks.

I spun around and whispered in his ear, “I’m here, I’m here,” then looped my legs over his. Face-to-face, I whispered, “I love you Benjamin Morse and always will. Losing the baby was no one’s fault, especially not yours.”

It seemed impossible to me that he didn’t feel my presence. I felt so entwined with his.

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