Meeting a Wave

Ironically, I have no particular fondness for the beach nor the ocean.

I cannot say what effect living on an island has had on me; I am not sure myself. Though it is still with some awe that I often see the blue of the ocean or sea, peeking between tree tops, or spreading out before me as the car descends a steep slope.

Now that I find myself at the beach so often I have had a chance to get to know the ocean and the sea. I see how it changes from hour to hour, day to day, season to season.

The beach closest to our house is a lovely little black sand beach. The water it meets is the Atlantic ocean, and so waves are constant. Today, the waves were large - the largest I've seen - and unfurled impressively before crashing against the beach with a loud roar.

I may have been a strong swimmer once. During my last two years of high school, I swam in the school pool for several hours once a week. But that was years ago, and there is nothing comparable between swimming in a pool and swimming in open water, except that one gets wet. I am aware of this as I splash my way into the water, turning my back to the waves each time they come.

The cold water and the fear is exhilarating. The thought of drowning always comes to me every time I swim in the ocean. We swim quickly beyond the break of the waves, and bob up and down as the wave rolls past us. I tire quickly from treading water, and despite my desire to stay, fear moves me to swim back.

M. tells me to be careful but I swim towards the beach without thinking about the waves. I duck under two, but miss the third, which breaks on top of me, forcing me down against the sand. I see a flash of light blue before the rush of white. The wave retreats, carrying with it the mass of the ocean. I have not moved quickly enough, and so a wave breaks again on top of me.

I stagger back to the shore, my tongue salty from the two mouthfuls of water I swallowed. I turn around, and watch the waves, sobered by the chastisement. The waves continue to swell, break, and fall. The ocean throws itself against an imaginary wall, and for a split second, an aquarium 2 meters deep, displays its contents. With awe and horror, I see nearly the entire body of M. submerged in this wall of water, his legs and arms moving about. This insignificant wave could easily swallow humans whole. The water turns from a light blue at the top to a deep and ominous black at the very bottom. The wave breaks.

From the beach, I watch as M., a small white blob in a mass of blue, slowly makes his way towards me. He returns, unscathed, the ocean playfully nudging him forward from time to time. How has he left the water so calmly, I ask. You ignore the waves, he replies. They have a rhythm; smaller calmer waves follow the sequence of large crashing waves. You must know when to swim back. Clearly, I had not been paying attention.

The waves are difficult to ignore, and I watch them closely. Later, when I close my eyes while washing off, I can still see the waves swell, break, and fall.