Jill Smolinski - The Next Thing on My List

I set down our towels. I wore a blue flowered two-piece bathing suit from last season-one of the few I could find with a bottom that actually covered a bottom and an underwire on the top. If I’ d known at the time how precious and rare this combination would turn out to be-as I bitterly discovered when I tried and failed to buy a new suit in the current season-I’ d have bought the shop out of them. Sure, my bare stomach wasn’ t perfectly flat. But big deal. I’ ve seen women flaunt plenty worse on my bus ride to and from work. Whoever came up with the idea that Los Angeles was filled with tight bodies honed to perfection obviously never rode public transportation.

I grabbed the boogie board. The waves weren’ t quite the size of billboards, but they appeared ominous enough to a coward like me. Deedee had made good on her promise not to go in the water, settling on her towel.

‘ You coming to cheer me on?’ I asked.

‘ I’ ll go up to my ankles,’ she said, snatching a bag of Doritos to bring with her. ‘ But don’ t be thinking I’ m going any deeper.’

Maybe the girl was on to something-the water was so cold that I got brain freeze the second I dipped my feet in. Deedee said, ‘ This isn’ t so bad.’ Which, of course, was easy for her to say, not being the one about to go in full-body. It figured: The one time I didn’ t put something off was the one time it would have been wise to do so. Surely the water would be warmer come summer. Too late now, though: I was committed.

It took me a while to swim out with the board, what with my limbs being numb. Plus every time a wave came, it pushed me back. Eventually-huffing and groaning and cursing the fact that I never finished that junior lifesaving course at the Y back in eighth grade-I made it out past the break, where I gave catching a wave a few tries. The technique I established was to find a wave, fall off the board, and get buried alive in the water, the boogie board attached to my wrist banging into me.

Although growing weary, I dragged my tired body out again and again. I was about to call it a day (after all, the list only said try boogie boarding; there was nothing on it about going pro) when I saw what I was sure was my wave swelling gloriously behind me. Right before it hit, I realized I was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. This wasn’ t a wave at all. It was the Chrysler Building. It was Mount Kilimanjaro. It was the Great Wall of China-only standing on its end a thousand miles high and about to come crashing down on me.

Which it did-pummeling me and sending me spinning and tossing so I couldn’ t tell which was up or down. I hit sand hard a few times but was dragged back up& or down& or any direction but toward air. Lungs bursting, I made myself follow the instructions the lifeguards used to tell us-not to fight the wave. Just as I did that, it spat me with my board crudely and unceremoniously onto the shore.

There I lay, splayed on the sand, gasping for air, scraped and sputtering.

I heard a man’ s voice say in disgust, ‘ Watch out for the big lady, Tommy. Don’ t step on the big lady.’ A pair of toddler’ s feet stepped neatly over my head.

Nice. I quit.

I unleashed myself from the board and was about to pull myself up when two more feet appeared. ‘ You okay?’

That voice sounded familiar. I looked up-it was Troy Jones. I yanked myself to my feet, trying to brush the sand off me. It encrusted my face. I was human sandpaper. My swimsuit bottom felt like a full diaper. ‘ I’ m fine.’

‘ That was one helluva ride. A bit rough on the dismount.’

‘ I was hoping for style points.’ Sand fell from my brow into my eye. Trying to restore my dignity, I said as breezily as I could manage, ‘ How’ s the garbage cleanup going?’

‘ Good. Not enough garbage to go around, though.’

Deedee walked up. ‘ You should go under the pier. That’ s where the good stuff is. My girlfriend Janelle said she once found a bag of crystal meth under there.’

I raised an eyebrow at her. More sand fell.

‘ Troy,’ I said, attempting to change the subject and use the moment of distraction to pull the back of my swimsuit to dump some of the sand, ‘ this is Deedee, a friend of mine. Deedee, this is Troy.’

Troy put out his hand to shake hers, and Deedee took it, giving him a slow once-over. He wore a K-JAM T-shirt and shorts, and she must have approved of what she saw because she bore the same expression she had at the movie theater-shame at her association with the likes of me. ‘ You know, June don’ t always look this bad.’

‘ Thanks,’ I said, sneering.

She attempted to straighten my hair, which was matted on one side and lifting like a bird in flight on the other. ‘ Okay, so it’ s not so good now. But tomorrow night she’ s going out, and she’ s gonna be bangin’ . Go on, tell him how hot you’ ll be.’

Troy grinned. ‘ Yes& do.’

‘ For real!’ Deedee continued. ‘ Those guys at this Oasis place aren’ t going to know what hit ‘ em.’

‘ I clean up nicely,’ I said, deadpan.

‘ Did you say Oasis?’ Troy asked.

I nodded. ‘ It’ s a little bar over on-’

‘ Yeah,’ he said, ‘ I know it. Used to go there with my sister once in a while. She had a crush on the bartender.’

I pulled a soggy candy bar wrapper from my hair and, disgusted, tossed it on the ground. A boy shouted, ‘ I got it!’ and ran over to pick it up and put it in his trash bag. Deedee then chucked her empty Doritos bag on the beach and watched in delight as the same thing happened. ‘ I want to see what other garbage we got. This is fun.’

After she left, Troy said, ‘ So, you a big fan of boogie boarding?’

‘ Never did it before.’

‘ Any reason you decided to try it today?’

Sand kept falling in my eyes, and I feared it appeared as if I were winking. ‘ I see we’ re also going fishing today.’ When he gave me a curious look, I said, ‘ As in fishing to see if this might be something from the list?’

‘ Was I that obvious?’

‘ That’ s okay. And yes, it is.’

He gazed out at the ocean for a moment and then asked, ‘ Did you catch any good waves?’

‘ I’ m not sure. I got going a couple times, but I don’ t know if that was catching the wave.’ It occurred to me that catching waves might be like having orgasms-if you’ re not sure you’ ve ever done it, then you haven’ t. ‘ Probably not.’

‘ You going back out again?’

Back out? Was he joking? I intended to never go back in the water& ever. In fact, in the time since what I considered my near death experience, I was seriously toying with packing up and moving to Montana-or any other state that was dead center and as far away as possible from anything large, wet, and salty.

‘ Of course I am,’ I said boldly, my pride winning over anything resembling rational thought.

‘ I’ m going to give you a shove-off.’ Without saying anything else, he reached up and pulled off his T-shirt, then tossed it on the ground. Well now! He had strong shoulders and arms-working in the fields strong as opposed to standing in front of the mirror at the gym posing strong. And a bit of light brown hair on his chest that led down to firm but not six-pack abs. That was when I noticed the huge scar that ran almost the entire length of one of his legs, crossing from where his shorts ended to his shin at a diagonal.

‘ What’ s a shove-off?’ I asked, hoping I hadn’ t been staring too obviously. But he had, after all, removed clothing. It would be rude not to look.

‘ You’ ll see.’ He shouted to his fellow garbage collectors that he’ d be right back, then grabbed the board. I followed him into the water. It was easier to swim out past the break without the board-and getting back in the water did offer the benefit of allowing me to rinse the sand from my hair and from a few of my more critical orifices.