[Fiction] Through the Break by Kelly McLean

Through the Break

by Kelly McLean

Charlotte stood at the edge of a high bluff, looking out over the water below, rented surfboard, large and heavy, clamped under her arm. Tall palm trees swayed restlessly behind her in the warm breeze, which was ripe with the scent of salt water and coconut sunscreen. Clouds obscured the morning sun in the unsettled sky, turning the normally turquoise Caribbean a deep navy blue. It was hard to explain why she was standing on a hilltop in Barbados, enrolled for a week of surf school, but it made about as much sense as the rest of her life. She was stuck, and she needed to get unstuck, to rediscover her sense of adventure, her love of learning, to experience those moments of pure undiluted joy which had become increasingly rare in recent years.

She hung back and watched as her fellow surf school participants fearlessly followed the head instructor, Junior, down the trail to her right, disappearing down the hill one by one, laughing and chatting as they went. Like a bunch of excited puppies, she thought, their youth on display alongside swaths of glistening bare skin. Charlotte tugged the hem of her long-sleeve rash guard down past the waist of her board shorts. Her string bikini days were behind her, but she had been in the water all her life, swimming, kayaking, waterskiing, sailing. She could do this.

The second instructor, D’Angelo came up beside her. She suspected that his day’s assignment was to babysit her, the lone senior. “Ready?” he asked, gesturing to the path.

“Yes, sorry. Just taking in the view.”

“Can I carry your board?”

She considered his offer. The board seemed twice as heavy as it had moments ago, but conceding she was not up for any part of this felt like a step toward failure. “I’ll be okay, thanks.”

Gravel pinched her bare feet as she gingerly picked her way down the steep path, back of the surfboard banging, making her pause to adjust her grip. The trail ended abruptly in a narrow cove at the water’s edge. She groped for solid footing on the slippery rocks, splashed into the water, using forward momentum to keep from toppling over. Watching D’Angelo for guidance, she placed her board on the water and gripped either side of it, then launched herself forward, gasping when her stomach hit the cool water.

As D’Angelo moved away from her, she felt the pull of the water sucking her back to shore and began to paddle hard, fueled by adrenaline. Thanks to a lifetime of lane swimming, this at least came easily, although she was not making headway. In each trough she gained a few feet, only to be met by a wave that would pick her up and send her backward. Determined, she kept her eyes fixed ahead, battling her way forward, struggling to regain the ground she lost between swells, until a particularly big wave caught the tip of her board and upended her. She tumbled underwater, disoriented until she felt an upward tug on her ankle where her leash was firmly strapped. Climbing back onto her board, she lay on her stomach and tried to catch her breath. Wet strands of hair clung to her face, and she wasn’t sure if the salty taste in her mouth was from swallowing water or the aggressive nasal irrigation she had just performed. Perhaps, she thought, surfing is not for me.

Hearing a faint whistle, she sat up, raised a hand to shade her eyes, and spotted D’Angelo out beyond the break, waving in broad motions. Once she had waved back and gave him a thumbs-up, he put a hand on either side of the front of his board and pushed it under the water, ducking his head slightly as he did. Of course! That had been part of their on-land instruction; you were supposed to go through the bigger waves, not over. She gave him another thumbs-up to show she understood.

Paddling out again, Charlotte took her time with her strokes, establishing a nice, steady pace. As the first big wave approached, she gripped the front of her board, pushed it down, and followed it through the wall of water. Surfacing on the other side, she resumed paddling, grinning to herself as she realized she was making headway. She clumsily ducked under wave after wave until catching up with the group already relaxing in the swells. Copying her fellow surfers, she sat astride the board, dangling her legs in the water, heart hammering in her chest. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply in through her nose, out through her mouth.

Gradually she became aware of the sun, warm on her face, and when she opened her eyes, the turquoise waters were back. Staring into the depths, she let out a delighted laugh. There were sea turtles swimming all around her, lazily gliding below the hanging legs of the surfers. She lost herself in the rise and fall of the swells, the warmth of the sun, the graceful movement of the turtles, until D’Angelo had paddled up beside her.

He grinned and, nodding at the rolling waves behind him, said, “Ready? This one’s for you.” Following his lead, she lay down on her board and started to paddle, digging in with deep, strong strokes as the powerful wave swelled beneath her, lifted her up, and propelled her forward. She felt a surge of speed as D’Angelo gave her board a helpful push, shouting, “Up!” With no time to think about anything else, she popped up on the board, arms out, knees bent, hopelessly awkward, but up.

Her hair whipped wildly, and the sound of the wind and water filled her ears. Her board raced at an angle toward the beach, riding just ahead of the crest of the wave. The ocean bubbled and rushed beneath her board, a riotous celebration of nature’s beauty and power. She felt pure exhilaration, her blood singing through her veins echoed the unbridled vivacity of the water.

As she approached the beach and momentum slowed, she toppled off, splashing into the shallows. Finding the soft, sandy bottom, she broke through the surface, face tipped up reaching for the sun. She looked out and saw D’Angelo where she had left him. He was smiling widely, both arms raised over his head in victory. Charlotte laughed and threw her hands up in her own victory celebration before wading back into the surf. The next wave was out there.

Bio: Kelly McLean grew up in British Columbia and obtained her BSc at UBC before moving to Ontario and raising a family. She loves the outdoors and is interested in the complexities of human behaviour, both of which show up frequently in her writing.