To the Sea (Follow your Bliss)

by Deirdre Riordan Hall

  “Popup,” Ian called at just the right time when a wave curled behind her.

  After dropping into the groove, she felt as if she was flying.

  “You’re doing great,” Ian said after she paddled back out.

  “I’ve got a good teacher,” Kira answered.

  Ian splashed her then, and she splashed back, giggling. Being in the water was easy with him; he had a tranquil playfulness about him, but was also gentle and deep, just like the ocean. After a few more rides, the waves flattened out, and Kira floated on her belly atop the board. Ian rested his arms and chin on the front of the board, their faces inches apart.

  “So surfer girl, you can surf. How’s it feel?”

  “I don’t know. Amazing? No, not quite. Exhilarating? Like nothing else?”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “But it’s more than that—” Kira said vaguely recalling how for months she felt like she was drowning, and now she could ride the waves.

  “We have a word for it. It’s called stoke. You’ve got stoke. You’re stoked. Kira’s stoked!” he hooted for the world to hear.

  Kira called out, “I’m stoked.” She laughed and smiled. Then Kira’s eyes met Ian’s, warm and inviting. They leaned toward one another, questioning the value of the salt air gusting between them. Kira wondered if his lips were salty, what hers tasted like. Just a breath away, the waves started to pick up again, bringing in a set. Ian sniffed.

  “We shouldn’t. I’m sorry,” he said. The moment was lost.

  With confusion, Kira thought of Jamie, then worse, Jeremy. She remembered Ian was working, her teacher. She lined up to catch a wave, letting her thoughts go with the wind.

  Nonetheless, she was still stoked when she got out of the water, stoked when she returned to the shop, and super-stoked when Jamie got her alone in the back room again. Each time their lips touched, she felt breathlessly ravenous for him. Like she couldn’t get enough, like he’d never fill her up.

  “I want you so bad,” Jamie said, exploring every inch of Kira’s exposed skin with his lips until Lee hollered, needing assistance in the front.

  “Will you stick around?” Jamie asked.

  “I could grab a coffee and something to eat.”

  After Kira finished her egg and cheese bagel sandwich, she lounged on the splintered and sea battered back deck off the shop. The sun shone against a nearly cloudless sky. She closed her eyes and listened to the waves whispering their ancient stories below. A chair pulled up beside her and opening her eyes, she expected it to be Jamie, but Ian sat there, his dimpled smile reminding her not to cross the line beyond friendship. It was in that, that she found strength, in his reliability, in being able to trust in the simplicity of being a friend, and not bringing complications into it.

  “Still stoked?” Ian asked.

  “Blissed out,” Kira said, picking up on the surfer lingo.

  “Awesome. I thought so. You did great; you’ve really come a long way since that first day—” he looked at her meaningfully, as if he knew, on a soul level, initially how hard it had been for her to get in the water.

  “Thanks. I couldn’t do it without you,” Kira said, an unexpected longing drawing her toward Ian, but she pushed against it.

  “Will you be back for another lesson?” he asked.

  Before she could answer, Jamie appeared and pulled up another chair, twisting it around and sitting on it backwards, his sunglasses hiding his blue eyes.

  “Of course she’s going to be back.” Tossing his sunnies on the table, Jamie winked at her. Ian noticed and bristled. “I’ll put you on the sched for tomorrow. The waves’ll be firing in the morning. Building swell. Pretty rad.”

  An awkward pause passed. Kira had compartmentalized her relationship with the two of them, and therefore the way she acted around each of the guys was different. She wasn’t sure who to be when both lust and friendship joined her at the table. Thankfully, the bell to the front door jingled and Jamie stood up, slid his chair back into place, and confidently strode back into the shop.

  “Oh here, got this for you, thought you might like it.” Ian handed Kira an Endless Summer DVD. On the front, it bore the iconic image she’d seen on a poster in the shop with two guys and their surfboards in bold shades of orange, yellow, and pink. “This is the epitome of stoke.”

  “Thanks,” Kira said. “So, I guess tomorrow then.”

  “Looking forward to it,” he said hesitating and then getting to his feet.

  She didn’t want him to leave, a part of her wanted to sit there and talk, let them see where a languid day might take them. She turned to call his name, but Vanessa cut him off by the door, her ponytail bobbing as she talked animatedly.

  Kira lingered, letting the fresh sea air blow away her confusion. When she walked through the shop to leave, Jamie explained the difference between a single-fin and tri-fin board to a customer, but broke away when he saw her approaching.

  “Busy today,” he said apologetically. “Tomorrow. I’ll make up for it tomorrow.” He discreetly tapped her butt and went back to business. A lump formed in her throat at his choice of words, reminding her of Jeremy, but she let the excitement that followed it run through her. Once outside, she put her hand to the phantom impression where his had touched her bum, and once again, warmth blazed between her legs.

  As Kira traveled down the highway, dingy buildings replaced the grey-white shingled cottages of the seacoast. The short exchange on the deck with Ian and Jamie nagged at her. She couldn’t narrow it down to just one thing. Guilt? Uncertainty about how to act around both of them at the same time? Sexual feelings? Emotions? Vanessa? Money?

  Growing up, money was an off topic; there wasn’t much of it. At least on the surface, this was by choice in the hippie community. As Kira got older, she knew that what she wanted from her life wasn’t found cohabitating and living in commune, which meant sharing everything from her bread and butter to her soap and shower with a bunch of hairy hippies.

  She set her sights on a career goal, getting serious in thinking about her future. It was less a result of wanting to achieve a certain economic status, but more a desire for independence.

  The money from Jeremy would ensure, that at least for now, she could continue to live comfortably, keep her current job, and afford the mortgage. But it felt off, like it wasn’t really her money because she wasn’t really Jeremy’s wife.

  Later, sitting in the kitchen with her thoughts on repeat didn’t prove productive, so Kira went to the basement to retrieve a few boxes leftover from the move to pack up the items in his home office.

  She spotted a box of her own on the top of a shelf, labeled, “Kira-Photog.” A welcome glow of nostalgia brought a smile to her lips.

  Upstairs again, she removed her old manual camera. In high school, she worked all summer on a farm picking fruit and vegetables to save up to buy it second hand. She put the viewfinder to her eye and adjusted the lens, transporting her back to her high school years when she’d taken an interest in photography. Kira mostly took shots for the school newspaper, but also enjoyed the artistic side of it. Her art teacher even entered several black and white photos she’d taken at homecoming into a contest, winning her first place.

  Once at Harvard, Kira continued her hobby until she met Jeremy, then it fell away. It was as if she wasn’t able to see life through that same lens anymore, her unique lens.

  She set the camera aside and poked through the box at a few prints of friends snapped laughing, a hemlock iced with snow, and her father, before he fell ill. Kira slid her finger along his figure, and a tear plopped onto the matte paper.

  When Kira went upstairs to pack up Jeremy’s things, her sobs of loss accompanied her. All of the items in the office spoke to her of him, the Jeremy she believed she knew, not the double-timing douche bag Nicole had taken to calling him. She fitted the remaining pieces of his life into the boxes like a jigsaw puzzle, one never to be completed. When gathering the last items from his desk, she gasp
ed when she found a photo of Courtney tucked into files from work.

  Kira stared at the photo for a beat. Courtney wasn’t outstandingly beautiful or difficult on the eyes either. She sat frozen in time, just as Kira’s memory of Jeremy was, forever paused on that critical night, when she called him at the office. The laughter she heard in the background likely belonged to Courtney, not a janitor.

  Kira pulled a framed photo of Jeremy out of the newspaper she’d wrapped it in. She removed the backing and then fit Courtney in beside him. If Kira held it far enough away, it almost looked like the two images belonged together. She set this aside and finished packing up everything until all that remained in the room was the furniture. Kira reasoned she’d bring all the boxes to Jeremy’s parents, they could figure out what to do with the memories of their son.

  Later that night, Kira unearthed a pint of ice cream from the back of the freezer and did something she hadn’t done in a while; she watched a movie for entertainment. She slid The Endless Summer, into the player.

  The peeling waves, continuous sunshine, and the quest for the perfect session had her instantly hooked. Something about the pacing and tenor of the narrator and characters had her relaxed and dreaming of adventure. Kira dozed off to the soundtrack as the credits rolled and woke, refreshed, just before the sun came up.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kira quickly packed the boxes she’d brought down from Jeremy’s office in the Mercedes, grabbed her checkbook, and the photo of Jeremy and Courtney, along with her camera.

  After several trips, the road to the shore was familiar, and she arrived swiftly. Kira and Ian continued their usual routine of peacefully watching the waves as the sun appeared, in a pink-copper blaze.

  Ian took a deep breath. “This is nice, being here with—” A car honked from behind and Kira startled. He looked at her meaningfully. For a flash, she envisioned him pulling her against his toned chest, wrapping his arms around her, and telling her everything was all right.

  A couple of his buddies thumped him on the shoulders.

  “Brah,” one of them said.

  Ian gave Kira a smile, dimples and all, took up his board, and padded across the sand. Just before tossing himself in the water, he looked over his shoulder at Kira, and then paddled out to the lineup.

  With a thrill of excitement, she vaulted over the cement wall to her car and grabbed her camera. She rushed toward the water and started clicking. When Ian caught a wave, she snapped him in the surfer’s crouch. She captured him with his arm outstretched behind him as his hand made an impression, like a trail, on the wave. She took others of him as still as stone, the surging water propelling him on. It felt good to see the world through her own lens again.

  Before long, it was Kira’s lesson. She gleefully bounded into the water. They started with Ian pushing her into the waves and calling popup, just as they had been.

  After a few rides Ian said, “I have an idea.”

  Kira was as eager to hear what it was, as she was to be out in the water with him. He was tuned to comfort and ease; all Kira had to do was be in his proximity to receive the same signal. She’d never felt that way around a guy before. It was different from Jamie. With him, it was carnal, pure pleasure, a glorious feast for the senses, but Ian appealed to her in a different, more even-keeled way. Their fingers grazed, and then he steadied her on the board, his broad hand on her back. She felt an excited tingling, but it wasn’t urgent or self-conscious like the one she experienced with Jamie. It was playful, yet patient, honest, yet expansive.

  “And your idea is—”

  “What if instead of pushing you into a wave, we begin working on you paddling into one on your own?”

  It had crossed Kira’s mind that was something she wanted to do, eventually. However, she didn’t want to give up the connection they shared. Like using training wheels when learning to ride a bike, when he helped her into the wave, it felt like teamwork, companionship. She wasn’t sure she was ready to go it alone.

  “Not to worry, I’ll be right here with you. I’ll tell you when to paddle and when to popup; you just have to do the work. Sweating, toil, and labor are good, especially when it’s for a good cause. And I would say you, Kira, are definitely a good cause.” He smiled directly at her, their eyes, with wet lashes meeting, and smiling faces kissed by the sun. His eyes landed on her lips and hers on his. She let his bold and honest words settle over her like a blanket, snug and contented. But a wave, the board, and the invisible threshold of friendship stopped them.

  On the first try, Kira paddled, but the wave crashed over her. On the second try, she paddled, tried to get up, but the wave fizzled out beneath her. She sank off the back of it like an elevator slowly lowering to the ground floor. On the third try, she got to her feet, but did a backward flop into the water before she got her footing. Frustrated, Kira made her way out to where Ian waited. He had so much faith in her, and she failed.

  “You look disappointed,” Ian said.

  “It’s just harder than I thought.”

  “Most good things are,” he said looking over his shoulder at the incoming wave after the words slipped out of his mouth.“Remember what I said about practice? Patience? We’ll try again,” he said with a steadiness that reminded Kira of how far she’d come.

  Again, she couldn’t get to her feet without the push Ian gave her board, thrusting her into the wave. Ian looked at Kira carefully and intently when she reached him.

  “What I think might be helpful, and correct me if you think I’m wrong, is to let go of trying to control your experience. Let the waves come to you, catch you, and pick you up. Just trust the ocean and trust yourself.”

  Kira sunk back into the water letting her head slip under. Ian had a point. His words cut to the truth. This wasn’t something that she could do perfectly every time. Her ever-present Type-A mentality set her up for failure. Kira couldn’t control the ocean or each wave. Perhaps that was the gift the sea offered. Encouraged, she surfaced and got back on the board.

  “Okay,” she said determinedly angling herself into position. Ian smiled. Kira closed her eyes. She let the salt air wash through her. She felt the stiff board beneath her as she lay on her belly, and the wave undulating beneath it. She borrowed Ian’s grounding, yet fluid presence, steadying her breath.

  Kira tried and tried again.

  She found a still point in her mind and dropped into it.

  She failed and failed.

  Then with her awareness tucked into the ocean beneath her, she summoned courage and trust. She paddled, paddled, and popped up. That ride, the one she took without a push, with Ian’s belief in her ability, trusting that space of peace, made the burning muscles, tarnished pride, and sweat intermingling with droplets of water on her forehead worth it.

  Kira whooped loudly as she breezed across the cresting wave. When she deftly hopped off the board near shore, Ian ran through the water against the current, clapping and hooting. In her moment of triumph, he lifted her up out of the water and swung her around, her toes skimming the surface.

  “You did it!”

  “I did it!” Ian set her down, and with her tethered board loose nearby and the waves breaking around them, they both lost their footing. Kira slipped forward in the water, still in Ian’s arms, laughing. They splashed into the shallows. He lay beneath her, his body hardly underwater and their legs in a tangle. Ian looked at Kira softly, his eyes smiling.

  “You are—” he started to say, but Vanessa’s shouting and flagging arms distracted Kira.

  “I think someone’s waiting for you.”

  He shook his head and sighed.

  “Guess so.” He emerged onto the sand heavily.

  With the lesson over, Kira practically skipped to the Boardroom as cheery and light as one of the droplets of water that dripped off her wetsuit. She had surfed. She’d really done it. She contemplated blowing off work the next day, but with one more week until her would-be honeymoon vacation, she thought better of it. S
he entertained scheduling an entire week of lessons with Ian instead of Paris.

  After Kira had taken off her wetsuit, and all that remained was her itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny bikini, Jamie wrapped his arms around her low back and pulled her hips into his. Lee busied himself with a rack of board shorts and the soundtrack to a surf video played on the TV in the otherwise quiet shop. Jamie lowered his lips to Kira’s and they disappeared into the back room.

  “What do you say you and I head back to my place?” he whispered into her ear between kisses.

  ***

  As Kira and Jamie lay in his sandy bed after having steamy sex, she quietly evaluated him like a scientist who’s discovered a rare specimen. His body stretched long beside her, with variants of blond and brown hair clinging to his skin. He dozed lightly, his breath slow and steady. He had one toned arm around Kira’s waist, and his bent knee rested on her leg. Jamie’s muscular physique and all-over tan, except for a patch of skin below his bellybutton, could pass for a bronze statue of museum quality. He had streaks of sun-bleached blond hair, an alluring accent, perfect teeth, bright blue eyes, and a propensity for knowing exactly where to touch her: the total package. Also, his package—she trembled, envisioning their bodies rocking together.

  In an alternate life, perhaps he was a person she would’ve passed Jeremy over for, had she known men like him existed, and hadn’t jumped at the first one who offered her the slightest bit of attention.

  Jamie seemed to be attracted to her too, but she also thought Jeremy was making her unsure whether to trust her judgment. But if she was honest, even early in their relationship he approached her as if she was a required class in college. They kissed, but it was so tame compared to Jamie’s leonine advances.

  When Jeremy finished in bed, he quickly took a shower and then went about his business. There was no warm cuddling, no absentmindedly kissing her belly, no telling her before, during, and after how hot she was. However, she never knew any different, she was a late bloomer.