Perfect Waves

You walk past two boys digging in the sand, a few men watching surfers, and a young family looking for hermit crabs. The water moves from your ankles to your knees, as you maneuver past the tide pools and over to where the wet sand is soft on your feet.

I’m camping in Malibu this weekend

Think about me when you’re swimming

Your skin slippery and cold

Peeling off your suit

Tasting salt on your lips and neck

Yes baby

At the break in the sets, you glide into the ocean, ducking your head under small waves. Foamy, white water rolls over the back of your legs. You’re the only swimmer. Everyone else is on a surf board.

I think I’m falling in love with you

I know that I love you

The next set starts to build. You breathe to fill your lungs. Blue water, like a force, grows into a tall wall. It’s one of the biggest waves that you’ve ever swam with and you laugh. The last time you felt this scared was that car accident, nine years ago. You thought your head was going to crack open and splatter your brains, like that scene from Pulp Fiction, when Vincent accidentally shoots Marvin in the face.

The tip of the wave starts to roll over, like the water can’t support any more of its own weight. You take one last breath and dive as deep as you can, kicking. Its not quiet under a wave, but it seems like it. Water rushing past your ears muffles any sound.

                                                                                                          I saw your profile photo
You’re going to be a good dad

You blink under water, hoping it’s blue, but it’s sandy and you shut your eyes. You expect to get pulled into that massive rock. The one with the seagulls painting it white, at the top. But, the ocean carries you up and out the other side of the wave. You watch it rush to shore, but only for a second. There are two waves in these sets.

                                                                     Everything would be so much easier if I could
just get you out of my damn head

You give me butterflies

You swim under another perfect wave. The water feels so smooth on your skin and there’s power in the fluttering of your legs, but you’re not going to stay for another set. You don’t feel strong enough make it through again.

Walking back to shore, you notice scratches on your knees and the tops of your feet. You go and sit with your legs stretched in front of you, covering them with piles of sand. That should stop the bleeding.

Listen here.


Author: Christy

I love that Toni Morrison and Dr Dre were born on my birthday, but identify more with the Cheshire Cat. Pablo, from Herman Hesse's "Steppenwolf", is kinda like my John Galt.

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