Page 173 of Better When Shared
Makai had me lie down on the board, belly flat, fingers curling around the rails, as he instructed me to “pop up” in one smooth motion. It looked easy when he did it. He was all wiry, athletic grace. But when I tried, the result was somewhere between a dying seal and a toddler trying to do a cartwheel.
“It’s all in the core. Try again, but this time, keep your eyes up and focus on planting your feet.”
I tried again and again, each attempt a little less embarrassing than the one before. By the fifth time, I managed to find my feet and end up in the right position. Makai clapped, slapping my back with a palm that nearly knocked the wind out of me.
“See? You’re a natural.”
His easy confidence was infectious. For the first time in ages, I was so absorbed in the moment that my mind didn’t spin out into disaster scenarios or self-loathing. I wanted to keep trying,to get it right, to see Makai’s eyes light up in approval. A craving, sharp and new, formed in my chest: I wanted to impress him.
On the walk down to the water, I expected my nerves to return. They didn’t.
The sand was shockingly cold, clinging to my bare feet through the too-thin layer of neoprene, and the water was even worse. But perhaps it was a good thing, as it focused my attention on my discomfort rather than my fear. I carried the board under my arm the way he did, trying to follow as best I could.
When we reached the crashing waves, Makai gave me a quick demonstration of how to duck-dive beneath an oncoming wave, swinging his board into the whitewater and disappearing for a moment before emerging, dripping and triumphant. He made it look simple.
It didn’t go like that for me. The board didn’t go under, and the wave smacked me square in the face, knocked the board from my hands, and dumped me ass-first into the shallows. I surfaced, sputtering salt water, to find Makai grinning like a proud parent.
“Fuck,” I laughed, half choking on a lungful of brine. “People enjoy this?”
“They do,” he said. “Once they stop fighting the ocean and start flowing with it. Try again. You’ve got this.”
The second time, I made it through—barely. The water was freezing, but the suit did its job, insulating me enough to staveoff hypothermia. We paddled out past the break together. My arm muscles started burning, but at least the exertion warmed me a bit. Makai kept talking, guiding me from one micro-correction to the next, and most of all, encouraging me to keep going.
When we were finally past the break, he sat up on his board and turned around to face the incoming waves, floating next to me. “Let’s watch the waves for a moment. Don’t overthink it. Look at where they break.”
“I don’t know if I can tell.”
“Not to worry, I’ll help you with timing at first. When I say ‘go,’ paddle hard, then pop up like we practiced. It’s okay if you fall.”
“Can I watch you a few times?”
He grinned and nodded, eying a wave, talking as he went, showing me how he spotted the wave he wanted, then paddled, racing in front of it until it started to break. Watching him move on the water was beautiful in a way that was hard to describe. He made it look easy, like the most natural thing a person could be doing.
My first attempt made it clear that it was not natural at all. I wiped out before I even got to my knees. The second, I managed a crouch before tumbling into the water. It kept on like that, until every muscle in my body ached.
But Makai kept coaxing one more wave out of me, and finally, on my seventeenth “one more wave,” I actually stood.
For a glorious, full-bodied heartbeat, I stood on the board, riding the crest of a tiny wave toward the shore, wind in my ears, saltwater in my eyes, and a high-pitched, undignified shriek of triumph escaping my throat.
The crash was inevitable. But as I tumbled off the board and into the shallows, I surfaced with my arms raised, grinning like an idiot. Makai paddled in after me, giving a delighted whoop. “Nice work!”
It was only then that I noticed the wind had picked up and the sky had darkened ominously, and as I considered paddling out, the first drops of rain splattered on the surface of the water. Makai called the lesson, and we staggered back up the beach, shivering and giddy, boards under our arms.
On the way to the truck, I found myself blurting, “Can we do this again tomorrow?”
“Was hoping you’d ask.”
Chapter 4
Makai
By halfway through day two, Hamish moved like he belonged on the water. His technique was still that of a beginner, but there was something in the way he paddled now, more confident, less hesitant. The way he’d take a hit and keep coming back for more, determined to master it.
There was no question that he was loving it.
I floated on my board, watching him position himself for the incoming set, his back muscles flexing beneath the wetsuit as he aligned with the wave. He’d ditched the board shorts today, going commando like I’d suggested, and the neoprene now hugged an ass that was truly perfection.
“This one!” I called out, spotting a clean, gentle roller approaching. It was perfect for a beginner’s second day. “Start paddling... now!”
