Zig and Zag
Colin was gone, leaving me wistful but not wounded. We were going to write. He came to the city sometimes.
The city. I knew, objectively, that it was one of the most beautiful in the world. But it loomed large and ugly and lonely to me now. I had a little more than three weeks left—though I tried to resist tallying my remaining days here, I couldn’t help it.
I longed for the nine wasted days from the beginning of my stay, before my cousin and I spoke. How I wished I could reclaim them. Fill them with her, with our rituals and confidences. I’d never had a friend like Willa.
“You’ll visit me all the time,” I told her.
“Of course I will.”
But even if my father and Patricia allowed this, I knew it wouldn’t be the same.
We sat around the fire circle, waiting for Graham and his bottle. Willa passed the joint that was making the rounds; I’d only recently broken the habit of keeping it low, out of sight, like I’d done at home, in disco alleys and parks.
I inhaled deep, holding it. I took a second puff before passing it to the woman on my left.
“Let’s go surfing,” I said to Willa.
“You mean, tomorrow?”
“No. Now. It’s the only thing left on my list.” I’d become fixated on finishing. We were going to a disco next week, to check off Willa’s last thing—she insisted, though I’d promised her there was no shame in backing out now that I knew what crowds did to her. Liam was going to stand by, like he had at the concert. Run outside with her if there were too many people.
But I hated that my last thing was uncertain, that I might leave without standing up on a surfboard. I’d learned how to stay out of the way when we tandem surfed—which meant Willa stood and I clung to the front of the board for dear life. I’d even come close on my own a few times, so close I was sure I had it, but promptly wiped out whenever I took more than five fingers off the board. That didn’t count.
“Why don’t you work up to night surfing after you master the day surfing?”
“I think daylight’s holding me back. I have a good feeling about it. Tonight’s the night.”
“You’re tired. You must’ve run five miles playing with the kids this afternoon. I don’t know...”
“Please, Wills? I’m running out of time.”
She nodded. “Okay. But if the break’s not good, we’ll save it ’til tomorrow morning.”
“See?” I said, zipping up my suit. “Nice rolling sets.”
“Don’t go too far out...or too near the rocks. Just try a baby wave first.”
We tandem surfed to get things started, and for the first time, I didn’t immediately wipe out after separating my hands from the board. No wonder Willa was addicted to this.
I stood perfectly still, my posture as straight as if someone was pulling me up by marionette strings from the crown of my head. We only stood for a second or two, but it felt endless.
“You’re doing it!” she cried behind me.
Then we were under, the world topsy-turvy.
“You’re so close,” she said. “We’ll paddle out first thing in the morning, if it’s calm.”
But I wanted to try it alone, now, while Willa watched from the sand. This was the night—it had to be.
“Look how bright it is,” I told her. “If I wipe out, I’ll swim for the stars.”
“Okay. Baby wave...”
Her voice, calling encouragement from the shore, sounded so close. I felt safe, paddling out. I felt like I could do anything. For a second, maybe less than a second, I stood.
And then I tried to duck under a wave with Willa’s beautiful seal-like motion but my timing was off and I got a throatful of salt water.
I was under, like the thousand other times I’d tried. But unlike those other times, it was dark. And I didn’t bob up right away. Something was missing besides the magic and the sun, something else was wrong... It hit me, and panic quickly followed. We’d forgotten the leash.
Liam’s suit, overlarge, felt like it would drag me down to the sea floor. The legs had gotten unrolled and I thought—if only I can unzip it. But I couldn’t find the pull.
The board... I swam for it but it was heading for the rocks.
I was close enough to shore that I could see someone’s distant fire, hear their radio, but I knew no one could hear me over the waves, and the certainty terrified me.
I popped up again and again, gulping, but couldn’t spot Willa.
“Help.” Pitifully weak, swallowed up by a wave. Water down my throat.
For just a second, I imagined letting go. Patricia and my father sobbing. Would they sob?
But Willa. She’d never forgive herself if I drowned. I couldn’t leave her onshore, blaming herself forever.
Swim parallel to the beach if there’s a riptide or you’re in trouble, she’d told me. Even if it feels wrong. Zig and zag, nice and easy, until you get closer.
Zig and zag, like the foot-tickling game I’d seen the other day in the field. Six people tickling each other’s feet while lying down in a chain, their bodies forming a jagged up-and-down line, trying not to laugh...
I zigged and zagged. Made my way closer. And just before my arms gave out, my toes touched bottom and I crawled onshore.
“Jackie! Jackie!” Willa, coming closer with each lapping wave. So that’s why I hadn’t seen her as I’d desperately scanned the beach; she’d been in the ocean with me, trying to help.
She stood above me, holding something white-and-red, long as an Amazon’s spear. Then reality pierced the fog of Angela’s pot. It was Willa’s board. Her cherished board, split on the rocks.
“Oh shit.” I reached up, too limp to stand. “I’ll buy you a new one, Wills.”
“I don’t care about that, silly... I was trying to get you to grab it but you wouldn’t look back. Promise you’re okay?” She gave up on tugging me closer in, to dry sand, and lay next to me in the foam, holding my hand.
“Perfect. Just worn out. The edge. My own edge, except water instead of sky.”
“What? You’re not making any sense...”
It had made perfect sense in my head—Graham had his waterfall ridge. I’d skirted danger tonight.
“It’s my fault,” Willa said. “You’re high as a kite.”
“Heavy as an anchor. Wet as a herring. But I did it!”
“You did.” She fumbled in her hair and handed me something sopping. “Here’s your Super Special Bravery Award. Sorry it’s not a cape.”
I held it up, squeezed the water from it, laughed. It was one of the lace scraps she always used to tie her hair back.
We lay on the wet sand, limp with relief and gratitude, staring up at the stars and listening to the distant growl of Wolfman Jack signing off on someone’s radio down the beach.
“His signal’s so strong. I read his radio tower’s all the way down in Rosarito, Mexico,” I said. “Or maybe he’s back now, I forget. But they keep trying to shut him up and they never will.”
“Ow-ow-owwwwwh,” Willa howled, imitating him.
“Owowhowhhhhhh!”