sunday floating

This fourteen year old kid is looking at me with an expression I can’t help but feel endeared towards: confused as hell yet forgiving. A teacher. He's going, "You need to be moving before. You need to put your weight forward first and then pull it back." And then, "You need to feel you're going before you stand up."

I'm leeching on to every bit of information and trying to get every scrap of meaning I can out of it. I am trying to understand what I can't yet understand.

I look at him thinking, you are a much different world to me. Thinking I am probably a minority in this place marked by a sign shouting "YOU ARE A GUEST." Definitely. I bet everyone up here can do this. Kids younger than fourteen year olds, even.

"Hey," I ask him. "How old were you when you started doing this?"

Post-its note messages are flying at me. Instinctively: Make space underneath yourself. Lift your body weight off the board with your arms. Feet parallel and whole foot on the board, one at the back, one in the middle. Weight downwards, into the board. Momentum -- momentum and weight, it's the same it's the same and therefore you SHOULD be able to do this.

I announce to my company that it will happen today. Lock myself into a contract by publicly vomiting out great ambitions. Pride thrown into the water to be gobbled up by sharks. It has to happen now, I'm telling myself. Can't give up now. Got you. You said it out loud. Ha-ha.

"Got this one," the fourteen year old says. But he doesn't. He is better than me. He falls off his board. He's better at this than me.

The company are happy. They are sitting on masses of salt and startling shadows. They are sitting on each other sitting on masses of salt and one is wearing sunblock. An old man about six meters to my right is completely owned by a wave. He surfaces and is pulling his swimming pants back to the height they are meant to be at. He is watching three thirteen year old girls on shore. I am watching an old man watch three thirteen year old girls in sixteen year old bikinis.

The fourteen year old gets out of the water and walks past the thirteen year old girls. He says to them, "Hey Melissa." Melissa says to the sun, "He-ey." The old man gets owned by an even dumpier wave. When he surfaces the fourteen year old has walked across the beach just in time to let the old man have his view back.

The old man gets out. And walks past the three girls.

"Hey Melissa," he says to the sun.

The old man walks up to the top of the sand dunes. He reads the sign which says "YOU ARE A GUEST." He watches me chew. I have never much been a fan of salt. I'm failing.

"Hey!" the old man yells at me. The three girls lift their sunglasses above their eyes just enough to see and turn their heads around to look at him, but he is looking at me. "You need to be moving before. And put your weight forward first."

"I fucking know, okay?" I yell back. "Go put some clothes on," I bark at the girls. The old man adjusts the worn elastic on his swim shorts. "Yeah," he tells the girls. "Yeah, go put some clothes on would you?"

The company are drifting sideways. Clinging to each other like koala bears clinging to trees. "Shark!" I shout. "There's a shark!"

"Get on your board!" yell the koala bears. "And for God's sake, put your weight forward. You'll never make a triple unless you put your weight forward. Bend from the hips. Shoulders relaxed. Torso lifted. Leg straight. Arms tidy. Smile. There's a whole beach here who've paid to watch you. Bloody hell, just SMILE! And put your weight forward!"

The three girls are performing a bit of beach choreography. On surfboards. Three surfboards pointing towards the sea. The motion of the ocean in their pelvises. With good turn out. Good legs. Real good legs. "YOU ARE A GUEST" the old man tells them each individually. "And five, six..."  The old man likes their legs. The old man joins in with the beach choreography but he does not have good turn out. The elastic on his swim shorts is worn.

"Where's your mate?" I yell at the company.

"Whaa-aat?" they yell back.

"Where's your mate gone? The teacher?"

"Just put your weight forward," they yell at me. Clinging tighter to the small soluble salt particles in the water. "Everything will work out if your put your weight forward. Just trust that your body already knows how to do it. Yeah. Try to understand how it feels. We're drifting! Oh my gosh we're drifting away! There's a shark! Whatever you do, don't let the shark get you. Just stand up and don't fall off! Don't fall off don't fall off don't falafel. Don't falafel. Just catch the shark and eat it. The shark's hungry. It hasn't eaten in days. Just do it a favour. Kill it humanely. It's had a good life, really. The shark loves you. The shark loves everyone. Even the creepy old man. The shark loves little girls. The shark loves beach choreography. You can kill it. Just kill it. With a straight, quick arm. With good turn out."

"But I'm just a guest here," I say. "I can't just go killing sharks whenever I feel like it."

"Nah, it's all good," say the koalas. "Look, the fourteen year old's doing it."

Sure enough he's sitting on a fold out chair, in the sea, line out, just like that old early 20th century picture of glamorous women floating in the dead sea. Plus fishing line. He floats past me. "I'm drifting!" The shark is coming to him. He is not going for the shark.

"Look, the fourteen year old's doing it," the koalas reassure me.

I'm taking my board out further. I'm sick of this crap. I don't care about being an amateur. I wanna get dumped by the waves like the old man. Not even wearing swim shorts.

I'm going to do some easy beach choreography. On a surfboard. Not even on land. Legit beach choreography on a surfboard in the waves. In a bikini. Knees bent. Weight forward. I'm going to scout out little girls and break their scrawny little legs by throwing overweight sharks at their bones. "Try stand up on your surfboards now!" I will tell them. They will cry because sharks will be gnawing at their shins.

Then, once the sharks have finished eating them, I will return to land and eat the sharks. And eat the girl parts which have been eaten by the sharks. "You should have kept your weight forward," I will say to them. "You are GUESTS. Please don't hate me. I was doing you a favour. You looked hungry. I mean, you had good legs but they looked hungry. Have you seen a pair of koalas by chance?"

A thirteen year old finger will find it's way out of my throat and point down the beach.

"There," it will say. "At the other end of the beach. They have been drifting all this time and you didn't even notice. Two koalas."

The finger will waggle a little bit and tickle my throat.

"Two koalas. And one fourteen year old."