The Perfect Wave

Tahiti: sunset-colored beaches, awesome waves, and swirling surfers. The holiday that anyone would look forward to. I could hear the waves and taste the ocean through the open window of my van.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, I caught glimpses of the paradise of surfers through the palm trees and thatched huts. The van rumbled on, carving its way down the dirt road to the gaggle of surf boards floating in the turquois water. The sun beating down on a beach of tranquility.

I looked behind me into the back of the van, eyeing the jumble of suitcases and my prized surfboard. Last summer, the black surfboard, slashed with yellow and ocean-blue, had been a head-turner on the highway to the seaside in New-Zealand, strapped onto the roof of a rental car. Only that time, the beach had been soddened, the waves whipped by lashing rain, and the glass in the window rattling as I watched my holiday drain into the ocean.

This time, I had my hopes up. The sun was blaring its sweltering message down onto the beaches. The rain was predicted to stay at bay for a fortnight, plenty of time to beat all the surfing out of me.

As the slanting roof of the Scout Bay Hotel came into view, I slowed down. The gate was framed by climbing roses.

I had taken a flight all the way from California, landing only a few hours ago in Tahiti. As the plane sloped into its descent, I had the chance to see the waves dotted with surfers, and hoped I would soon be with them.

I ate a quick dinner while waiting for the hotel to check me in. Taking the lift, I entered the barren hallway leading to my room: 328. The room was stuffy and humid, with a king bed and pale pink walls crowded with pictures of the famous surfers that had chosen the hotel. A large glass-paned window gave me a view of the beach. The sun was setting, splashing the seaside with orange-red hues and turning the clouds above it pink. The surfers started hopping onto boats, and after a few minutes the beach and waves, now dark and sinister, were clear of people.

Pulling the curtains shut, I plopped down onto my bed and popped on the radio. It crackled to life. As I switched to the weather channel, the voice of the announcer sliced through, interrupted by patches of static.

“Announcing tonight, typhoon heading towards the beaches of Tahiti. The typhoon is expected to hit by day-after-tomorrow, in the afternoon.”

This was just what I had hoped for. The perfect wave! The typhoon was probably already pushing the water towards the shore, forcing the mass of water to hit the underwater ridge a couple of hundred meters off the beach, catapulting up and creating waves greater than ten meters in height.

I shut off the radio and turned out the light. My breath was unstable as I was so excited, I could hardly fall asleep. I knew I had to sleep if I wanted to be able to surf well during the next few days, so I eased my breathing and closed my eyes.

The next morning, I woke at seven o’ clock. After eating my breakfast, I eagerly made my way down the beach, my stomach full of scrambled eggs and potato wedges. I jogged the last few meters to the shore and stopped in front of a wooden shed. The man standing at the window counter looked at me.

“You new ’round here?” he croaked. “Haven’t seen you yet. You want to rent a jet ski?”

“Yeah, for the day. How much?”

“I’ll give it to you for free for a day. I believe new kids should get some encouragement.” He smiled. “You pick any one of them, jus’ tell the guy on it where you wanna go.”

“Thanks,” I replied, jumping onto the pier. I headed out toward the flashy red jet ski.

I felt a cold hand on my shoulder stop me. I spun around.

“I always take that one,” a boy my age said. I knew that voice.

“You Francis?” I asked.

“Always been. Who’re you?”

I thought I had recognized him. Now I regretted having even spoken to him. He loomed over me. He and I were arch enemies.

“Wait a minute, I know you. You’re that soft kid from California,” he barked.

Now I really wanted to get away. I looked him in the eye and said evenly: “I’ll see you again.”

I walked away and asked the person sitting on one of the skis to take me to the largest wave he knew. He shook my hand and throttled off towards the waves.

I got in some good surfing, paddling over the waves and finessing some good barrel rides. I met some great guys and chatted with them while paddling back out to catch the next wave. They seemed frightened by the typhoon. I tried mentioning the perfect wave, but all they said was, “You crazy?”  On my way back, I thanked the man who had been my jet ski pilot.

Reaching the hotel, I ate a healthy dinner. I decided I would get in some good practice runs the next morning before tackling the wave. That night, I hit the sack, thinking of what was to come tomorrow.

The TV in the restaurant the next morning only showed news of the typhoon. The weatherman declared that there was no threat to surfers; the typhoon would just miss the island on its course. I eyed the other men I had seen on the beach the day before. I leaned back and asked the fellow nearest to me.

“You go surfing when it’s like this? With the typhoon coming and all?”

The man swallowed and slowly shifted his gaze towards me.

“I wouldn’t say no, but the waves can be dangerous. Some say they’ll reach 20 meters. I’m staying safe. Wanna live, you know. ”

“Well…” I mumbled.

As I left the restaurant, someone smashed into my shoulder, knocking me off balance. I looked up from the floor at the brute standing over me: Francis.

“Jus’ letting you know. That wave’s mine. You try and get out there, that wave will knock you flat. You’re not experienced enough.” He laughed malevolently. He turned his back on me and strolled away.

I stared after him for a couple of seconds, then slowly got up. I wouldn’t let this chap get in my way. I was surfing that wave, no matter how much he tried to dissuade me. If he was doing it, then I would too. And better.

I grabbed my surfboard from where it lay on the floor after Francis had knocked me over. I leapt down the front stairs, jogged to the beach, stopping only when I was in front of the jet ski man in his hut. I handed him a five-dollar bill.

“Stay careful!” I heard the man call out.

I fist-bumped the guy who had taken me out the day before. He didn’t get up from his stool.

“It’s dangerous,” he mumbled.

“Aww, come on, man,” I said. “Shouldn’t be that bad. Others are doing it. Look,” I pointed to a jet ski roaring its way past. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you come.”

The man was still looking at the ripples the jet ski had left behind. He slowly, reluctantly, got up and manned the jet ski. He fired it up, then gestured for me to hop on.

Zipping away from the shallow waters, I felt the wind whipping my hair back, heard the roar of the jet ski. I smiled. I was living my dream.

Five hundred meters offshore, I hopped off onto my surfboard and paddled toward a wave. I waited for it to reach me, then mounted the surfboard and harnessed the wave. The power of the wave was immense, I could already feel the influence of the typhoon.

It was only eleven in the morning, the waves eight meters high. I predicted that by noon the waves would have grown to 15.

I messed up pretty badly a few times, getting thrown underwater, catching glimpses of the coral reefs beneath me. When submerged, the world was a different place. Schools of fish rippled by. The sunlight penetrated through the water, in rays that dappled the ocean floor. 

Without pausing for lunch, I floated on my surfboard awaiting the perfect wave. I could feel it coming. The water receded from the beaches a couple feet. The waves grew quickly.

The peacefulness was interrupted by the sound of someone paddling behind me. I looked over my back, and my heart filled with dread. Francis was pulling up beside me, glaring with fulminating eyes.

I glanced away, then started paddling frantically. I drew away from him and floated out twenty meters farther than I wanted to be to catch the wave. But I would get it earlier than Francis.

The silence disturbed me. I had envisaged Francis yelling insults at me if we happened to cross paths. It was almost like he knew I was going to mess up and was content with knowing that.

Time slowed down.

Abruptly, a wall of water shot up in front of me. It headed my way at a frightening pace, ardent to engulf anything that was foolish enough to stand in its path. Images of my parents flashed through my mind, as I stared at it in awe.

A moment later, as I was getting lifted up by the surge of water, an instinct deep inside me awakened. I leapt upright onto my surfboard, frantically catching my balance.

The wave crested, and I slipped into the tube it had created. All I could see was blue. A suddenly friendly sort of blue. I stayed inside the wave, awe-struck by the flawless curve of water as it curled over me. I held my hand out to touch it.

As soon as my hand made contact, I realized I was living the moment I had waited so much for. I could see the end of the tube now, and the water thinning out as I shot out of the tube, cresting the side of the wave and getting thrown into the air.

The moment replayed inside my head as I blew water out of my nose.

An unexpected thunk rang in my ears that were full of water. I glanced at where it had come from. Francis, trying to catch the next wave, had slipped off his surfboard. I saw him go under. The thunk must have been the surfboard colliding with his head. He could have been knocked out.

Without a moment to lose, I untied my surfboard from my leg. I darted out of the path of the next wave, swimming until I reached the spot where I had last seen Francis. 

I studied the water beneath me. Francis probably only had a few seconds left. I dived under and grabbed at what I thought was his leg. I felt his toes slip out my grasp as he sunk deeper into the water.

I made one frantic push, grabbed his leg, and resurfaced.

I felt something solid under my feet. I looked below me, reassured. The waves had pushed us to the shore. I yanked Francis onto the beach, dragging him up onto the sandy shore.

I rapidly rolled him over onto his side and pounded his back. He coughed out water. I did what I had been taught by a lifeguard in California. I placed my palms on his chest and started CPR.

He coughed up some more water, taking a couple rough breaths. His head rolled over, his eyes staring helplessly into mine.

I fell backward into the sand. I had saved his life.

Only then did I realize the crowd around me. I felt suddenly small.

“Call…” I gasped. “Call an ambulance.”

“We did,” answered a man’s voice.

I closed my eyes, sighing in relief. I got up, lost my balance, and fell onto my knees. I looked at Francis.

“We made it, brother,” I whispered as I patted his arm. “We made it.”

I paced back and forth in front of the emergency room door. The starched hospital hallway was stark. A lonely bench lined one of the walls. I plopped down onto it, only to spring up again as the doctor walked out. He studied me.

“Are you his relative?” he inquired.

“Uh… yes, I guess so,” I stammered. “Is he alright?”

“Yes,” the doctor smiled reassuringly. “But he’ll only be able to talk this evening.”

I sat back down. I could wait.

“I am sorry,” was the first words Francis uttered to me.

“Don’t blame yourself,” I murmured reassuringly.

“You took that wave like a pro. Didn’t know you had it in you,” replied Francis. He coughed hoarsely. “Please forgive me for what I said, all I did…” He trailed off.

I punched him softly on the shoulder. “Just sleep now. We’ll talk later. But I like your company. And you’re a capable surfer.”

“Can’t thank you enough, man.”

“You just get better so we can surf together, mate.”