The Ocean Doesn't Want Me Today
I left my men standing on the beach. Two figures, one tall and one small, smiled at me as I braced myself for the pounding of the waves. It's phase one of ocean hazing. The ocean tests you. It wants to know if you are worthy before it will invite you in.
My feet went from soft, smooth sand to a rough mixture of sand and debris. Mostly shells, I assume. I was too busy to look.
I have an intense fear of the ocean. I love it. It fascinates me. Enchants me. Terrifies me. I suppose that could be easily explained by the fact that I had watched "Jaws" when I was about 5 years old and have seen it countess times since. I tried to counter that fear by making Dr. Eugenie Clark (a sceintist who swam with sharks on National Geographic Explorer- man did I think she was cool) my hero. To no avail. Even swimming in a lake frightens me. I keep thinking that something horrible is going to grab me.
I have had other encounters with the sea. I went snorkling when I was 15. My parents and I had gone on a cruise together. I think they decided to take me along because I was so depressed. Of course I was depressed, I was 15. However, they let me go on the snorkling excursion by myself. I think I would have been fine with this if it weren't for two circumstances. #1) I was totally the odd man out in the group and did not have a swimming buddy. #2) The instructor kept talking about barracuda with wild eyes and crazy hand gestures. Subsequently, I did not get too far out and barely saw the edge of the reef. Meanwhile everyone else was riding manta rays and helping Marlin to find Nemo.
This was my mission on Saturday. To face the unknown.
The rest of the beach crowd fell away and it was just me and the ocean. Wading out past the spot where the waves break and pummel you like a housewife with a cut of cheap meat, I felt confident. Once I was waist high in the water I was back to feeling just sand under my feet, the collection of shells having rested a few feet behind me. I could see the waves way out on the horizon, swelling and dropping, swelling and dropping. I learned how to jump so the waves wouldn't pull me under. I enjoyed being tossed about. The ocean was becoming comfortable with my presence and I with his. We played tug of war with eachother, me being the rope. He would pull me out slightly and then I would see nothing but a wall of water just ahead of me. He threatened to eat me. But if I let myself go, I would ride the top of the wave and drop down, exhilerated. I started to swim out farther to meet these waves like a hostess at Perkins, welcoming the wave to the shore.
Then it happened.
I put my feet down and there was nothing to touch. In my mind I saw this endless abyss, teeming with monsters willing to drag me to the deep as their captive. And that bitch Dr. Eugenie Clark was their queen! Her role as ocean spokesowman a clever ruse to lure victims to the precipice so that her evil minions could attack! What a betrayal!
I turned and saw the people frolicking on the beach about 10 feet away. They did not seem concerned, but their feet were all touching ground. I began to do a backstroke toward the beach, not daring to take my eyes off of him when I could feel him tugging me out to sea. Once I had come this far he was reluctant to let me go back. Then I remembered something Jon Fucking Stossel told me way back in the 80's. Swim parrallel to the beach. I broke out my crawl and teased the ocean by pretending to stay. Soon enough I was able to ride a wave back to the place I could touch ground. I wanted to go back to my husband and my child, but the allure of this game was too much to resist. I waded back in.
This same drama played itself out over and over again. Each time there was an endless loop of scenes from Ocean terror movies I had seen playing over and over in my head to the tune of "The Ocean Doesn't Want Me Today". I was breathing heavy. The water was cool. My emotions like the waves pulling me this way and that between fear and excitement. From the top of my waves I could see surfers in the distance having their own ocean drama. I could see the thrill of mastering a wave and the disappointment in not catching the one that was wanted. They were studying him and his ever changing moods. I wanted to know him like they do.
I need to learn how to surf. Or maybe I need to learn how to dive.
Then maybe I can meet that bitch Dr. Eugenie Clark at the bottom of the sea and totally kick her shark lovin' ass.
My feet went from soft, smooth sand to a rough mixture of sand and debris. Mostly shells, I assume. I was too busy to look.
I have an intense fear of the ocean. I love it. It fascinates me. Enchants me. Terrifies me. I suppose that could be easily explained by the fact that I had watched "Jaws" when I was about 5 years old and have seen it countess times since. I tried to counter that fear by making Dr. Eugenie Clark (a sceintist who swam with sharks on National Geographic Explorer- man did I think she was cool) my hero. To no avail. Even swimming in a lake frightens me. I keep thinking that something horrible is going to grab me.
I have had other encounters with the sea. I went snorkling when I was 15. My parents and I had gone on a cruise together. I think they decided to take me along because I was so depressed. Of course I was depressed, I was 15. However, they let me go on the snorkling excursion by myself. I think I would have been fine with this if it weren't for two circumstances. #1) I was totally the odd man out in the group and did not have a swimming buddy. #2) The instructor kept talking about barracuda with wild eyes and crazy hand gestures. Subsequently, I did not get too far out and barely saw the edge of the reef. Meanwhile everyone else was riding manta rays and helping Marlin to find Nemo.
This was my mission on Saturday. To face the unknown.
The rest of the beach crowd fell away and it was just me and the ocean. Wading out past the spot where the waves break and pummel you like a housewife with a cut of cheap meat, I felt confident. Once I was waist high in the water I was back to feeling just sand under my feet, the collection of shells having rested a few feet behind me. I could see the waves way out on the horizon, swelling and dropping, swelling and dropping. I learned how to jump so the waves wouldn't pull me under. I enjoyed being tossed about. The ocean was becoming comfortable with my presence and I with his. We played tug of war with eachother, me being the rope. He would pull me out slightly and then I would see nothing but a wall of water just ahead of me. He threatened to eat me. But if I let myself go, I would ride the top of the wave and drop down, exhilerated. I started to swim out farther to meet these waves like a hostess at Perkins, welcoming the wave to the shore.
Then it happened.
I put my feet down and there was nothing to touch. In my mind I saw this endless abyss, teeming with monsters willing to drag me to the deep as their captive. And that bitch Dr. Eugenie Clark was their queen! Her role as ocean spokesowman a clever ruse to lure victims to the precipice so that her evil minions could attack! What a betrayal!
I turned and saw the people frolicking on the beach about 10 feet away. They did not seem concerned, but their feet were all touching ground. I began to do a backstroke toward the beach, not daring to take my eyes off of him when I could feel him tugging me out to sea. Once I had come this far he was reluctant to let me go back. Then I remembered something Jon Fucking Stossel told me way back in the 80's. Swim parrallel to the beach. I broke out my crawl and teased the ocean by pretending to stay. Soon enough I was able to ride a wave back to the place I could touch ground. I wanted to go back to my husband and my child, but the allure of this game was too much to resist. I waded back in.
This same drama played itself out over and over again. Each time there was an endless loop of scenes from Ocean terror movies I had seen playing over and over in my head to the tune of "The Ocean Doesn't Want Me Today". I was breathing heavy. The water was cool. My emotions like the waves pulling me this way and that between fear and excitement. From the top of my waves I could see surfers in the distance having their own ocean drama. I could see the thrill of mastering a wave and the disappointment in not catching the one that was wanted. They were studying him and his ever changing moods. I wanted to know him like they do.
I need to learn how to surf. Or maybe I need to learn how to dive.
Then maybe I can meet that bitch Dr. Eugenie Clark at the bottom of the sea and totally kick her shark lovin' ass.
posted by Bree O'Connor at 7:35 AM
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