The airport was a hassle and the fuckers dinged his board, but goddamnit, he’d done it. He’d made it. To a limestone cliff overlooking the corner of an Indian ocean reef. There he stood, sweating through, gloriously naive and disconnected to the wild colors and smells and the brown-skinned humanity swirling around him. Standing, gazing down upon the spinning miracles, the revolving waves that had called him from a world away. There was nothing else in the world at this moment. Absolutely goddammed nothing.
“Racetracks” he whispered as he watched a rider begin his run down the reef through water so clear it made him swear. “Fucking Racetracks”.
He’d worked his ass off in the broiling Queensland sun, shoveling sand for the sons of bitches all summer. And now he had proven them all wrong. The naysayers that told him he was too young to go. His father who had forbade it. But he’d deal with that when the time came. A wizened brown woman with five hats stacked on her head and fifty sarong’s draped over her arms and a hundred bracelets on her wrists breaks his spell. He doesn’t know how to say no, doesn’t realize that he doesn’t have to. She takes his hand and leads him to her small stall where many other wizened brown-skinned women ply their wares to the big, white, surfing tourists. She takes his backpack from him and puts it underneath the bare bamboo bed. He understands, gives her a blue bill from the airport money exchange, rips his dinged board out of it’s bag, smears the sunscreen on his nose and the wax into the ding and trots toward the cave he has so often read about. Sweat trickles down his back as he waits his turn at the top of the ladder, his heart bursting. And he murmurs the song that is stuck in his head from the airline headphones.
“I'm going to tell you how it's going to be
You're going to give your love to me
I'm going to love you night and day
Well love is love and not fade away
Well love is love and not fade away”
• 100% Cotton
• 24s midweight fabric
• Regular fit
• Made in Indonesia