Just Stand Up
“You do
know how to swim, yeah?” The gorgeous male lifeguard began pulling the boards
off of the rack, undoing ropes and tying new ones. Like most Hawaiians in their
early twenties, he had tribal tattoos all over his arms and neck. His skin was
coffee colored, perfectly bronze; which made my skin look like paste. He looked
over at me, expecting an answer to his question. Embarrassed at my gawking, I
fiercely nodded my head in affirmation, hoping he didn't notice my staring. He
hands me a heavy board, and begins to pick out a lovely red life jacket. “Just
in case, ok? These waters get rough this time of day, and I have a feeling you
are a malihini.” Although struggling
with the board, I attempted to look put together when I asked, “What’s that
mean,” immediately realizing my naivety. He chuckled and replied, “It means
newbie.”
The plastic buckles on my life jacket
were broken. I could not decide whether this was merely coincidence or a bad
omen. Nevertheless, I took small steps off of the safety of the pavement onto
the uncertainty of the sand. I stood for
a moment with the sand between my toes, looking onward toward the horizon. The
early afternoon sun beat down upon me, but in comforting way. My sunscreen
provided an extra layer of security. “I go home in two weeks,” I told myself,
baffled. So without further daydreaming, I shuffled into the tide. “Don’t
forget the oar,” the lifeguard shouted from twenty feet behind. “Oh, mahalo,” I shouted back. My own father
was already out on the water, rowing away.
“Paddle right, right, right. Left,
left. Evened out. Repeat.” A constant stream of instructions went reeling
through my head as I attempted to fight the strong winds blowing against me.
Thirty minutes had passed, and I had not yet stood upon my board. Fear captivated me and made me feel paralyzed. “Just keep
going. Catch up with Dad. No sharks ‘round here, right?” The winds fought
intently to move my board back to where I had started.
“You just gotta stand up, girl!” I
heard a woman’s voice over my shoulder. She appeared to be rowing in the same
direction I was, only she was significantly faster. She was standing. Her brown
hair was pulled into a loose bun for concentration. She had no life jacket. “Try
that left paddle, but do it backwards! So you can turn around!” I turned around
as she commanded; after all, she looked well-versed in the activity. “Now, get
on your toes and hop up! You gotta do it quick.” During this lecture, mind you,
she did not stop rowing once. She adjusted her grip on the oar, as if presenting
to me how I was to hold it during my stand of faith. She smiled and nodded,
repeating, “Just stand up, just stand up.” She was out of sight in less than
two minutes.
Adjusting my weight to the balls of
my feet, I prepared myself for takeoff. I expected to fall into the Pacific
where there just happened to be a school of shark lurking about. I expected to
embarrass myself further. I expected I would come right back down.
I stood up. I stood quickly, like
the lady instructed. The waves rolled beneath me, with me, not against me. The
wind was now guiding me back, quickly and sufficiently. A gasp of excitement
left me when I was able to look at the incomprehensible beauty of Honolulu from
my own personal vehicle. The moment only lasted about a minute, though; my
father’s board collided with mine and I went down like the Titanic. I swam up
to the surface and shared a moment of laughter with my father, a moment I
treasure to this day. “You ready to hit the road?” he asked me after we
collected our giggles. I took another gaze around me, noticing all the families
at the beach, the shave ice stand, and the beautiful Waikiki in the distance. “No,” I
replied with a chuckle, “But I have to be.”
No comments:
Post a Comment