Watching the waves, I wash away...

Watching the waves wash, I wash away.  They hold me, under water, sick and salty.  Crashing upon the rocks, and I roll over, and then over again.  I find myself sitting on a bed of sea urchins, red and purple, with only a thin piece of rubber separating my soft fleshy outside and their unbreakable piercing spines.  Feelings of heat and stinging begin to well up in my right knee and palm.  Another wave lifts me off of the rock shelf, off of the nightmare needle bed, and I am free of the poor little sea lily hooligans.  

My father is somewhere nearby.  I cannot see or hear him, but I keep a lookout so as to know if I am alone or not. I am nervous and tired.  My last attempt to dive under left me breathless.  My body is aching cold and I can only wiz in my wetsuit to warm up. The heat of the urine as it quickly slides up my back is somehow welcomed.  How can pissing in your clothes be the most refreshing and relished part of one’s day?

We walk back to the point and up the narrow dirt trail to the car. Green with gray interior never felt so good.  Our lovely Aerostar, a safe haven from the cold and wet, but never had it been so lovely to me before that day.  Driving home that night to our camp, we stop to eat.  Our all-time classic and favorite restaurant, famous for the milkshake and chiliburgers. Across from our booth I look out to see the remaining factories from a time forgotten.  Logs still were stacked back then in high piles; steam still rose to the sky twenty-four hours a day. Now it is gone.  Years pass by and the memory from when I was only twelve still holds.

He always told me to watch the waves, to never turn my back. It still is clear in my mind the feeling of watching him pick for mussels along the rocks; my job to watch over him while he diligently and feverishly worked against the incoming tide.  

The rivers, lakes, and oceans that my father brought me too were too many to count and remember. We have played together in many waters and watched over each other to make sure we would return to our mothers and sisters alive and in one piece. I am thankful for my father’s respect for the waves, and his foresight in teaching me about them. If it were not for my dad there would have been so many others that would not have seen the cold underworlds below. He has taught the world so many things over the years.

Darkness holds the water, though, and I fear that one day it may take me.  On nights and certain occasions I dream of the last breath; the cold dark cave that I shouldn’t have entered, the rock ledge that was too far down to return alive from.  I pray that I will always be able to remember what my father taught me, and hope that I can pass it on too.  If it should one day destroy me, let it be known that I always did enjoy watching the waves, seeing the light set, the silhouette of my father along the rocks, being the keeper. 

Eyes wide open, just watching the waves.