Choppy (Desk Surfing Series Book 2)

by Davila Eggert

  "Yeah that sucks."

  "It more than sucks," said Jessie, "That's one thing I can't stand about my dad. He considers himself a shogun and he's the modern day equivalent, the head of a medium-sized conglomerate. But I can't count the number of mistresses he's had. At least he could get better at covering it up."

  "I'm not knocking you off your soap box, but we're in Princeville. This is a resort. Let's not lasso O'ahu and drag it here."

  "Ok," said Jessie, "I just wanted you to know me. We're best friends, so it's uncomfortable to feel like part of me is in the shadows or in a closet somewhere."

  "And you don't feel like that anymore?"

  "Not so much," said Jessie, "But then I'm wondering what you think of me."

  "I think the same."

  "What's that?" asked Jessie.

  "You're a very interesting girl and a very good friend."

  "And you don't feel uncomfortable around me?" asked Jessie.

  "Yeah, but I feel uncomfortable around everyone else. I could save money with a roommate. So why do you think I live alone?"

  "Because you're a xenophobe," said Jessie.

  "No, because I'm an asshole." She laughed.

  "Agreed," said Jessie.

  "Gee, thanks friend."

  "Hey, you said it not me," said Jessie.

  "Ok, we've had our coffee talk. What's on the agenda for today? This is a getaway."

  "It's called a Jetovator," said Jessie.

  "What's a Jetovator?"

  Chapter Two

  The resort had a long beachhead all to itself. There was a section cordoned off for jetskis. The jet skis were lined up like the manager was OCD. I've seen resorts before. I'm Hawaiian. But someone was paying attention. There was a couple with a boy. He looked about twelve. Jessie went right up to them.

  "Are you guys waiting on the Jetovator?" asked Jessie.

  "Yes, we are," said the woman, "Are you?"

  "Yeah we are," said Jessie.

  "Have you tried it before?" asked the woman.

  "Neither of us have," said Jessie.

  "Us neither," said the woman, "Look here comes somebody." I turned to look up the beach and there was a sinewy, balding, sun-tanned beach bum riding a quad bike up the sand.

  "Sorry I'm late." His voice echoed off the wind from a distance, through the sound of the quad bike.

  "You five are my group," said the man, shutting the engine off as he reached the jet skis.

  "My name's Stefen." We all said hi to Stefen.

  "Has anyone been on the Jetovator before?" asked Stefen. We all said no.

  "This is the Jetovator," said Stefen, pointing to what looked like an unfinished bike for spinning class.

  "It's a bike that lets you ride it with water jets," said Stefen, "It's like a waterboard but it's a bike basically. It you've ever tried waterboarding then this should seem quite familiar to you. Basically the Jetovator bike doesn't have its own power source so it has to be hooked up to a jet ski. I can regulate the thrust of the Jetovator to help you out a bit. If you're a bit more comfortable with the feel of it I'll give you all the thrust and let you have fun with it. If you've surfed or done any type of water sport you should pick it up pretty quick." Stefen gave us his spiel about safety. I tuned out. The only thing I was thinking about was who would go first. I actually wanted to watch first.

  Jessie and I decided to let the family go first. The husband, Jose, went first. Their son, Adrian, went next, followed by his mom, Cynthia. Jose was the only one that did anything impressive. He figure out how to do a zigzag, which was pretty cool for a first-timer. As I stood on the beach watching the family, I kept thinking about Malia. We were standing on the same beach head where I ran into her. The Ocean Floor Club was maybe three quarters of a mile east along the sand. We weren't in the same section of the beach but it was close enough to the spot where Malia told me about Boss and how he was a straight up perv, recording sex with women in his office. I could focus my eyes on almost the exact spot, where we had that conversation. A bit of anxiety flooded in, when I realized I hadn't thought of what to do about it. I suddenly didn't want to go on the Jetovator bike anymore. But it was Jessie's turn. Each of us had a ten-minute turn on the bike. Like everyone else, Jessie sat on the Jetovator bike, while it was partially submerged. The bike didn't emerge until the jets were turned on. Jessie wasn't like the others. Her turn on the bike began immediately. The others took time to get completely upright. They spent a lot of time trying to figure out the nature of the beast.

  Jessie was the beast. A yellow conduit passed from the jet-ski to the Jetovator bike that gave the bike a power source. Stefen revved on the jet-ski throttle to give Jessie more thrust. The water jets began to let loose, so did Jessie.

  "I'm giving you full thrust," said Stefen.

  "Ok, my man," said Jessie. The raw force of the water jets poured out like a waterfall. The hyper currents rushing out of the bottom of the bike sent Jessie up seven feet above the water's surface. I could see her leaning forward trying to force the direction of the bike out to sea. Stefen followed on the jet-ski, making sure the power conduit was taut. Jessie mastered the zigzag pattern that Jose took most of ten minutes to get down. She took to it like riding a bike. That was a lame comparison, but she did so well. She got so good that she could feel the limitations of the bike. You couldn't just let the thing rip over the open sea because it was tethered to the jet-ski. Without the jet-ski, it didn't have a power source. After about nine minutes I could tell Jessie was getting bored. It wasn't like Cynthia. It took her almost half of her ten minutes to get the bike completely out of the water. I think her husband yelling out trying to give her pointers made her nervous. No one yelled at Jessie. She could've taught a course.

  It was my turn. I started off like everyone else. I was on the bike with water above my belly button. I figured I was in a good starting position and the jets would propel me straight upward. I went upward. But only my right side. My right knee came up out of the water and my left knee dug in deep. I could feel the water in my brain shifting as the bike tilted me. I went sideways skating through the hard sea. I was moving pretty fast but not graceful. I was screaming out like that Cynthia woman. I was just trying to master the mechanics. I had a mandatory life jacket and helmet. I realized that I needed less thrust to get the Jetovator to go back to being upright. But I didn't realize it soon enough. The sideways movement had me making what would have been a donut in the open ocean. But Stefen turned off the jet-ski's engine, which cut off the jets on my water powered bike. Without any thrust, my own body weight wouldn't let the Jetovator right itself. I went tumbling off the thing. My life jacket was defiant. It keep me afloat. I would have sunk face-first to the ocean sand and wound up with an ear full of sand. I've been there. That I could have handled. But the life jacket had some sort of extra bounce. I wanted to fall into the ocean. Every now and then it felt good to wipeout. But the life jacket made me panic. I wasn't used to life jackets. My biggest water sport was always surfing. You don't wear a life jacket when you surf, at least not on the Island. I wasn't used to that style of wiping out. So I started kicking my legs trying to stay on the bike. The top of my foot kicked the edge of the bottom bar hard. At first I thought I just took a hit. But I could feel the sting from the sea salt. I opened a wound. Anyone who spent any time around the water would know that feeling. I looked down and could see the brownish vapor coming from my foot and spreading in the water. I raised my right hand. It was the move we learned in middle school surf camp. Right hand up while you slowly made your way back to the beach, if you could. I was about twenty feet from the dry sand so I walked it in. I left the little Jetovator floating half-in half-out of the water. It was tethered to the jet ski. It wasn't going anywhere. I limped up to the beach. I tried to keep my toes up to keep sand from pouring into the cut. I looked down to see it for the first time. I could see white meat with meant it was somewhat deep.

  There's an old surfer saying that only Hawaiians prob
ably know. It says that all true surfers face the sky when they wipeout. Because the sky is a ceiling. You can fix your eyes on a point and remember where you were when you come up. But the ocean is bottomless and unpredictable. That's why surfers go out. Because the challenge is never the same.

  "What happened?" asked Jessie.

  "I wiped out."

  "I saw that," said Jessie, "We all saw that."

  "Great, thanks."

  "Why didn't you get back on?" asked Jessie. I held my foot out for Jessie to see.

  "That's deep," said Jessie, "We need to get you to the clinic."

  "There's a clinic?"

  "Of course," said Jessie. Stefen parked his jet ski and came running up. The family stayed back.

  "You ok?" asked Stefen.

  “Eh, I’m still on two feet.”

  “That’s what surfers say,” said Stefen, “But that doesn’t look too good.”

  “She’s trying to play tough,” said Jessie.

  “I just want my turn.”

  “Get her to the clinic,” said Stefen.

  “I don’t want to waste your money.”

  “Don’t worry I won’t charge for it,” said Stefen, “I’ll put in a refund request on your account.”

  “The account’s under Jessica Jin,” said Jessie.

  “Don’t worry I only have two groups at this hour and only one with two people, so I’ll just refund one of you,” said Stefen, “It doesn’t really matter, which one.”

  “Thanks,” said Jessie.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Stefen.

  “What’s up?” said Jessie.

  “Since these guys have already had their turn, I’ll cart you back on the quad bike,” said Stefen, “That way you don’t get any sand in that wound.”

  “OK.”

  “I’ll meet you back at the hotel,” said Jessie.

  “OK.” I held my flip flops in my hand and hopped on the back of Stefen’s quad bike.

  “Hold on to me,” said Stefen. He was strong. You could feel it. It wasn’t like when you hug a friend and feel a bit of give. Nothing gave. It felt like hugging something from Home Depot—hardware. I watched Jessie disappear as she walked through thick sand. The quad bike could navigate the beach much faster. It took about a minute and a half for us to make it back to the hotel.

  “Do you know where the clinic is?” asked Stefen.

  “No.”

  “OK,” said Stefen, “Let me show you.” Stefen hopped off the quad bike quickly. And like a beach bum galant, he helped me off the quad bike and held my left arm so I could put weight on him and not my injured foot. He lead me through a side entrance, swiping his employee access card that hung around his neck in a waterproof plastic sleeve.

  “It’s quicker this way,” said Stefen.

  He lead me down a cold hallway, cold because I was still wet. The room is right through there. There was a door with a high-quality glass plaque. CLINIC was all it said.

  “Just head through those doors,” said Stefen.

  “OK, but wait right here a sec.”

  “OK,” said Stefen. I went in through the door and saw a young looking blonde, wearing earrings that I used to have.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I got this gash on my foot from trying to ride the Jetovator thing. I think that’s how you call it.”

  “Ok,” said the woman.

  “But right now what I really need is a pen, like a felt tip marker. Like the one’s you use to write names on cups of pee.”

  “Ok,” said the woman, “Let me get you one. Do you know what you need it for?”

  “To give the guy outside my phone number.”

  “Ah,” said the woman. She came back with a black marker.

  “Be right back.”

  “Good luck,” she said. Stefen was still in the same spot.

  “Excuse me sir.” He looked at me.

  “They didn’t turn you away did they?” asked Stefen.

  “No. I’m about to go back in, just wanted to give you this.”

  “What’s that?” said Stefen. I grabbed his right wrist and twisted his arm over. I wrote my number on his forearm.

  “When’s the next time you’re in Honolulu?”

  “I’ll be heading through in about three weeks,” said Stefen.

  “Call that number when you do.”

  “I can manage that,” said Stefen.

  “I bet you can.” I turned around and went back to the clinic wondering why I was suddenly so forward. I knew myself and that wasn’t like myself. The woman in the clinic was Sophie and she wasn’t inquisitive. She had fitted herself with blue latex gloves, while I was out. She made me sit and began inspecting my foot for swelling. She doused my foot with iodine solution and dabbed it dry with a cotton ball held with tweezers. She was something rare. She seemed to block out everything and pay absolute attention to what she was doing. There wasn’t any music on in the clinic, despite the fact that she was in there alone. I had to fill out a form, then she made me elevate my foot as she gave me a shot of local anesthetic. She started with the stitches like she did everything else, methodically.

  “Any pain or stinging in your leg?” asked Sophie.

  “None.”

  “Ok,” said Sophie, “There are some micro-organisms that exist at sea. They can infect an open wound but it doesn’t happen very often unless you were in the water for hours.”

  “I got out of the water immediately after I saw I was cut.”

  “That’s always the best thing if you can get out always do that,” said Sophie, “The salt will keep your wound sterile mostly, but it’s those microorganisms you have to worry about.”

  “I grew up on O’ahu so I’m seafaring.”

  “I’m from O’ahu as well,” said Sophie.

  “Cool.” Jessie came through the door. Her breath was heavy like she jogged part of the way.

  “I’m out of shape,” said Jessie.

  “So am I.” I raised my stitched foot for the world to see.

  “You’re gonna have a sexy scar,” said Jessie, “Foot scars are always hot.”

  “You must be from O’ahu too,” said Sophie.

  “How do you know that?” said Jessie.

  “Context,” said Sophie.

  “Explain,” said Jessie.

  “She just said she was from O’ahu,” said Sophie, “And you’re together so I assume you both came from O’ahu. Plus, you talk like a surfer, with the bit about scars.”

  “You’re like Sherlock Holmes,” said Jessie. Sophie smiled.

  “You better get this one off to her room,” said Sophie.

  “Ok,” said Jessie.

  “Do I need to keep this foot elevated?”

  “It will help keep any swelling down,” said Sophie, “But you can walk on it.”

  “She’s gonna have to walk,” said Jessie, “If I try to carry her I’ll need to come see you too.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get your name,” said Sophie.

  “Jessie,” said Jessie.

  “Sophie,” said Sophie, “You take good care of her, Jessie.”

  “I will,” said Jessie. Jessie helped me down from the table. And we walked outside.

  “She asked your name. She didn’t ask my name.”

  “That’s because she knows you’re not,” said Jessie.

  “Not wha…, oh, really?”

  “Yep,” said Jessie.

  “She’s …”

  “She’s down,” said Jessie.

  “You know what?”

  “What?” said Jessie.

  “I kinda feel like I’m not really your friend or not that good of a friend.”

  “Why?” asked Jessie.

  “Because I never knew about this part of you before.”

  “I never told you,” said Jessie, “That’s why you never knew.”

  “That’s my exact point.”

  “Are you upset?” asked Jessie.

  “Probably n
ot.”

  “What do you mean probably?” asked Jessie.

  “Well, if you take the last twenty-four hours of my life as a whole…Are we going back to the room?”

  “Yeah,” said Jessie, “I told Sophie I was gonna look after you. You need to elevate your foot.”

  “So that’s it? The fun’s over?”

  “No,” said Jessie, “I’m gonna buy a bottle of gin and a bottle of tonic.”

  “So we’re gonna be in the room drinking G&Ts?”

  “Well, at least until dinner time,” said Jessie, “We’ve got a reservation at the restaurant on the second floor. It’s Middle Eastern and they have a sheesha lounge.”

  “Sounds good, I guess.”

  “How are you gonna look with flip flops and a big bandage walking around?” said Jessie.

  “I’d look like a badass chick.” We entered the room and Jessie sat me down in a chair. She brought another chair over and let me elevate my foot.

  “You don’t wanna elevate it too much,” said Jessie, “Just take pressure off it.”

  “OK.”

  “I’m gonna buy a bottle of Seagram’s Gin and Canada Dry,” said Jessie.

  “Do it, Sister.” Jessie left and took a certain amount of time to buy two items that were probably located in the same shop down in the mall on the first floor. It took her close to thirty minutes. It was a big resort but damn. I was expecting a drink in my hand in no more than fifteen minutes. But she came back with gin and tonic as promised.

  “Let me go grab some ice,” said Jessie, running back outside. I went back to feeling like a lonely gimp. But I could still think properly, even if I couldn’t walk properly. When Jessie came back in I went straight for the topic.

  “You went back to get Sophie’s contact info.” I let it hang in the air. Jessie froze.

  “What makes you say that?” said Jessie.

  Because you’re a platinum cardholder and it took you a real long time to buy gin and tonic. You knew which card to use. You didn’t have to fumble through cards like some folks.”