Page 17 of The Other Brother
“Sure. Watch me.”
I lie down on the board outline then use my hands to push myself up and bring my legs through so I’m standing.
“The key is to lift your chest first, because it’s so much easier to get your legs in the right position.” I demonstrate again.
“You want your legs to be about shoulder-width apart when you finish.” I complete my instructions. “That gives you stability.”
“Like this?”
Cody’s like a cat, lithe and springy, as he whips up to get into a crouch.
I move closer to inspect him. “Yeah, that’s almost right, just drop your right leg back a fraction.” Without thinking, I reach out and touch his hip. He jerks away like I’ve scorched him.
I take a step back. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and he doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Sorry,” I say.
“No, it’s okay. You just took me by surprise.” He puffs out a breath. He looks down, moving his leg back half an inch.
“Is this right?”
“Yeah, that looks better.”
Cody practices a few more times while I watch critically, keeping my instructions verbal.
Of course, he gets the hang of it quickly. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.
“You ready to have a try out there?” I ask.
“Have I graduated off the sand?”
“Yeah, your graduation certificate and gown are in the mail.”
Cody turns his gaze to the waves. “What do I need to know before heading out?”
“Not much. The key is to find the sweet part of the board to lie on when you’re paddling out. You need to experiment with that a bit.”
“What about catching a wave?”
“You need to nail a white water takeoff before you try to catch a wave. These foamy waves are perfect.” I nod at the surf.
“Okay, lead the way.”
Carrying a surfboard through the shallow water is always awkward. I feel like an uncoordinated penguin. But when the water gets deeper, I lie down on the board and start paddling. Much better.
My breathing always slows on the ocean, and I’m sure my heart rate does too.
Because Cody’s just learning, we don’t go too deep, just to where there are some frothy broken waves streaking their way onto shore.
And he sees the method in my madness. Because it’s a lot easier to practice popping up when you’re on something stable. Doing it on a moving board is much harder.
He manages to get to his feet on his fourth try, and he sends me a triumphant smile for the three seconds he’s standing before he tips off.
I paddle over to him as he emerges from the water, his hair plastered to his skull in dark curls.
The water is only waist deep here, so he stands up, grabbing his board.
“Damn, I screwed up at the end.” His face twists in frustration.
