Ignorance is no Excuse

Our Hero

In the late Spring of '82 or '83... A young man was moved to the city by the sea. He was 13. And excited to get to launch his new life, in this new town.

In one of the first opportunities in his life to go explore without adult supervision, our hero visited the beach. He boarded one city bus at 9:30 in the morning, and after transferring twice, and a long, long, bridge that smelled like the ocean, he was finally brought to a beach front station. Only twenty yards from the water. It was 11:45am.

He walked out and saw the food stand opening, and went to line-up at the window. As these things go, a line formed behind him... And he, as always, felt very conspicuous. It was an endless amount of time before the cashier was ready for him. He ordered a small drink and walked toward the water. Then he saw...

A girl... of course... In a bikini..., of course... She was walking toward the water with a surfboard under one arm, the alabaster of her board carried under her left arm. It accentuated the curvature of her waistline in a way that mesmerized our young hero.

He searched his mind desperately for a reason to go toward her. Nothing... He watched her every wiggle and every curve and every step until she got in the water. He couldn't turn away. After ten minutes of barely catching a distant sight of her hair, far off, in the water, unbelievably, the girl caught a modest wave, and got to her feet...

She rode for a legitimate distance and dove off the board, then swam to the shore. After she retrieved her board, walking back, she purposefully pulled the board up to her right arm. So it accentuated her form for the young man who cant take his eyes off of her. The girl turned and looked directly at the boy and smiled as if she knew he had watched her every move for thirty minutes.

He was in love. It was only the puppy love that boys feel a few times in their young life. But the defining characteristic of puppy-love is that he was deeply, madly, uncontrollably in love. He had to buy a surfboard. ____________________________________________________

The following summer hadn't dimmed the lad's remembrance of the surfer girl. He dutifully mowed lawns and washed cars. He put all his allowance in the jar in his closet. He got on that early bus again... Many times. But he never saw that particular girl again. He did, however see cute girls and cute bikinis on every trip... And it deepened his desire to be a surfer.

It also alleviated his fears of the impending freshman year of high school. He figured that he would just be friends with the surfer kids that were out in the hundreds. With boards and girl friends... He saw one with a set of drumsticks in his back pocket.

The young man also boarded his bus in the opposite direction. And visited the mall in the city. It was a little bit closer than the beach, not by much. In the mall, the lad saw a surfer shop. He saw a music store. He bought a pair of drumsticks, for his back pocket to be as cool as he had seen. The thought of actually learning to play the drums, never crossed his mind. He entered the mall, through the surf shop. On earlier trips, he had purchased surf-wax. There was 10 years worth, in a couple of boxes, under his bed. He wore the requisite Hawaiian shirt, un-buttoned. And the shorts and flip-flops that he had seen. But this visit was different.

Our hero was here to buy his first board. Today, he entered the new world... The surfer's world. He had done his homework, he saw a two-fin surf-board, with a little metal skull on the front tip. It had the coolest picture of some mythological, big-toothed thing. As if surfing equaled nirvana... where you're eaten by some mythological, big-toothed thing.

It was a little out of reach, financially. However, the proprietor, sensing a chance to rid the store of a true monstrosity, offered the boy a 'first-time-buyer's discount and made it exactly the amount of money that the lad had in his pockets. Leaving only a tattered bus pass.

So the boy walked bravely toward the bus-stop. With his brand-new two-fin, shark-of-a-board, under his arm. Forgetting completely that there are NO surfboards on the bus. This small over-sight resulted in a six-hour walk. And it was well passed dark when the boy finally walked into the garage and leaned up his new board where everyone could come see it. Then he called to his family.

Mom looked first, happy to see her middle child home. He was in trouble. They both knew it. He now lived under Severe Alert Status Orange. Which meant... nothing... they both knew it. She also liked to see him get a hobby that was done outdoors. Dad looked on, too. He hadn't heard of any 'pro' surfers and it wasn't on ESPN. So, he wasn't as impressed as anybody else. But big brother told our hero about the tropical storm. The kid was so full of the thoughts of becoming a surfer and joining a group... His first 'not-part-of-the-family' group. And it all circled around an early start tomorrow. Be in the waves by noon, and make your first 'surfer' friend by 12:30. But now... With a tropical storm churning the waters. Even great surfers don't bother trying to fight the swells and undertows. So, his first foray into that world would be postponed... 5, 6, seven days. Maybe more. He was crestfallen. ____________________________________________________

It was an eternal, eleven days before there were good surfing conditions... It was a big day. - A bag lunch packed. Money for a locker, maybe a goodie from the snack-bar. And he had asked the driver, whom he had befriended almost a year earlier, if he could bring his surfboard . With a consent due to plenty of room on the outskirts bus routes. The boy was waiting for the first outbound bus of the day.

After the transfers and the long bridge, that brings the smell of the ocean. Not that cologne from 'Seinfeld', but a good smell. He finally arrived at the station near the surfer's usual hang-outs. He put his extra stuff in a locker, pinned the lock-key to his trunks and proudly lifted his board under the arm-side that was 'cool'... Because the other side meant something... And started to walk the 'beach-walk' that he had practiced for more hours than anything else for the last year.

Nobody noticed.

The walk was adequate. It was also 8:45 in the morning. He was on the first bus of the day. That was 6:30 am. There were literally no other people here. He spread his towel, and looked ocean-ward. After a touch of time, he dipped into the water that was going to be cold in the noon-day sun... He went back to his towel and reclined. He wanted to be the perfect amount of brooding masculinity that will have every girls attention. He got to practice his poses for almost two hours before anybody else showed up.

He was almost surprised when he saw the first family hauling their towels and sun-shades, their bags of personal belongings and kids to find shells, later. It was a small while after that, when the first surfboard was put in the water. - It wasn't our hero's 'shark'. He sat up... applied sunscreen again, to an already well-screened shoulder. Our hero will have a sunburnt face and forehead. He will even get a bit on his legs between his trunks and his knee... But he will not get sunburn on his shoulder.

He stood and grabbed the 'Shark', and it fell into balance with his stride, as if it were in his possession for years, instead of it being his first day at the beach. - A girl was there, she stood at the water line, with surf running up to and over her feet. She held a board, but wasn't really sure if she wanted to go out in the water. The young man stepped up beside her and asked if she liked the surf today. He was surprised by the answer. “I've never gone out without my brothers here before.”

Their conversation shifted from a meager offer to show her all she needs to know; (it was probably dripping with sexual innuendo, but the boy really didn't get it...) to a “...wait here and I'll go check it out...” And the lad ran into the surf with his board. This was his first foray into the surf... The actual surf... But he had spent a thousand hours over the previous year drilling every aspect of surfdom into his brain. In the library, watching on the beach, he would talk to anybody that might have some advice, he asked stupid questions of the clerk at the surf shop. He was ready to go out and catch a wave. And he had a cute girl in a cute bikini watching him. Now was the time to step up...

Our hero forgot to pull his leg band taught. On the first wave, he wobbled like a cheap skateboard on a steep hill. He was thrown upside down into the surf, his leg-rope slid off of his ankle smoothly. He sputtered and spurted to the surface and almost failed when something brushed his leg under the water. He realized that the anklet had slid off, and that the monster under the water was the rope to his board ten feet away. He retrieved it and mounted the board, aligning toward the beach almost instinctively.

Another decent wave with a comical fall into the water. The rope was more secure and there weren't any frightening touches underneath. Remounted and the boy can see the girl, back on the beach. She was waving toward the concession stand. He was already afraid that her attention was stolen by some other guy. This, by the way, is when boy's stop feeling puppy love and start to experience... adolescent love. Or the primal urge to fight for the girl... Ahh... the beginning of every conflict.

Our hero paddled in, as fast as he could... But making sure to look nonchalant when he crested the waves, in case she was looking. He had to hurry. Just not look like he was hurrying. An interminable amount of time later, and he put his feet on sand and lifted his board out of the water. The girl had stood and waved at someone, in the parking lot, in a vehicle. It was a man... er... an older boy... He must be 15... 16? He could be her brother... Please be her brother...

She hugged the older boy and spoke for a second. She turned and ran back to the lad's towel. Not ran... Her run was more of a jaunty little dance routine across the sand. There were no somersaults or flips but she had a grace in her athleticism that seemed to have somersaults and flips on the verge of bursting out of her at any moment.

He approached her, and not wanting to be too possessive... He asked about if she watched his techniques? He knew she watched all kinds of parking lot and even visited... what might be her brother... please be her brother. But she answered “...some... sure I did”, as if that would reinforce this lovesick lamb, that he might have been all along.

He started to stammer a second question about his surfing, wanting to fish for a compliment. But she interrupted him.

“My brother showed up. He wants to take me to the cove with his friends.” Our hero's heart skipped two beats. - When she announced that the boy in the parking lot, was indeed her brother... And again when she said the cove... “The Cove”...

Infamous for the consumption of beer, tobacco, marijuana and virginity. Our hero had heard tales of the legend that is 'The Cove'. He knew the cove was almost two miles SouthWest, down the beach. A not-so-secret cave where the tides have washed out from under a parking lot. The lot, abandoned by the military almost thirty years earlier, doesn't support any traffic, so no one important, noticed when an indention began on the seaward side of the concrete expanse. That indention grew inward, fifty yards deep... The sides and floor perfectly hard, to have to scratch a grain of sand from it's walls.

Another decade and the fifty yard cave grew into a 150 yard cave, that turns two corners. The sides and floor perfectly hard, the back wall, swirled by the relentless tides have places where a human can recline even lay all the way back... somewhat relaxed in the total darkness. As the tides circulated, the floor of the cave could be dry, or moist. It might even have an inch or two of standing water. But if the water was ever running inward...

The normal urban legend in these circumstances is to tell the ghost story about the kid who was caught in the tides in the back of the cove and drowned... He can howl or steal any misplaced items, when you want to give a girl the chance to feign fright. But in truth, when the tide is highest, there is enough water to make a person swim, But it almost never reaches all the way to the ceiling, And, there is over three hours to recognize the danger and traverse 150 or so yards. So no one has ever, actually drowned, nor have the authorities ever been called to that location.

However... This girl is going to the cove...

“Can you come and meet me there?”... she asked. His heart jumped... “Sure”... He already envisioned his seat in the back of the older kid's car. His new girlfriend sitting next to him. Her bare leg nuzzled up next to his. Before he could ask where his board will fit, she mentioned that her brother's car was full and he would need to drive his own car. “sure”... he said... He assumed he could take the bus to the cove... However, the busses at the beach all went to the East toward the next little towns. None go West toward the abandoned Coast Guard base. She cooed and whispered at him to keep him entranced for a minute until she was called from the parking lot. “Oh! That's my brother, I have to go. Will I see you at the cove?” “Sure,” he answered. And she jaunted off toward her brother's car.

Our hero would not be denied. After standing in the bus area, and reading a schedule of routes, he realized that there was no bus going West. He racked his little brain. He pondered asking an older boy for a ride. There were a few around. But he didn't want his first impression to be as a hitchhiker. Or worse... A vagrant. There seemed to be some of them around too. The only alternative is to be the quintessential walking surfer boy and start the long trek.

It was just under two miles... It took about forty minutes until the abandoned military base is within sight, and maybe another ten to the waterfront. The legend of the 'cove' has many stories like the one where a kid stepped in water too deep near the entrance and was attacked by Moray Eels who live in the burrows at the mouth of the entrance. Our hero quietly stepped along the edge to avoid these monsters.

The young man stepped into the cave, and noted how wet... or in this case dry... bone-dry... that the cave floor was to the touch. He would learn later that a bone-dry stretch along here, meant that the 'fill-the-cave-with-ocean-water' tide was due in the next seven or eight hours. He listened for the sound of the grown-up party at the end of the tunnel. And his imagination swirled at the rewards that awaited him. But he heard nothing. He pressed on. Assuring himself that even as the visibility dropped to nothing he was about to embark on his first adventure in the cove.

Two minutes of slow steps and he reached the corner where all light drops to nothing. If he proceeds, his eyes will adjust, and he will be able to see in a minute. But if he stays. His eyes will not adjust, the ambient glare from the 'lighted' side of the cave is too prominent.

He walked forward. His heart overjoyed at the thought of the welcoming party that awaited him around the corner. But still no sounds. He can only be 20, maybe 30 yards from the back now. They must be waiting to surprise him... with... a big “surprise”... it's a surprise party... for him...

Then reality struck the young lad.

“You wanted to come to the cove with my sister, huh?” It was the older boy... He hadn't recognized him from a distant sight, and the girl was so distracting.

“I didn't know it was your sister.” The boy stammered out. Now knowing it was Brendan Parish. The only freshman at sea city high school with a driver's license. He was infamous among the lads of 3rd period PE because he showed them a hand-gun that he swiped from his father's closet. Our hero's friend Corey, swears.

“Ignorance is no excuse.” Spoken by Brendan, with a finality that only one of them would ever grasp. From fear, our hero's eyesight returned a little bit, enough to see Brendans feet against the rock-hard sand floor. The younger boy recognized right away that the older boy was stepping into a punch. A haymaker of a right cross. It was easy to side-step the blow. Brendan's momentum and air-ball miss sent him flying as if thrown by a Shaolin master. Brendan's unseen, due to our heroes still not quite adjusted eyes-sight, yet hilariously comical fall was accompanied by a metallic rattle. As if something hand held, and heavy had dropped to the floor and skittered a few feet.

The boy strained his vision to resolve the darkness. He saw Brendan stand. The older boy's shorts were ripped in a way that couldn't be hidden, and dropped to Brendan's ankles. He stepped out of them... Furious, in his whitey-tighty underwear. He bent over and got the gun from the floor near him. He turned. He pulled up the gun...

Our hero was struck with the first real fear of his life. He saw the gun move from the ground, up and around to point at him. He saw the fury in Brendan's eyes. He saw the ripped shorts on the ground and figured he was about to be killed. Brendan pointed the gun at the younger boys chest and started to squeeze. Our hero saw the trigger finger. It was extended all the way through the trigger-guard. A person that knows anything about guns knows that he's most likely to pull the gun-barrel toward his right, since he held the gun in his right hand.

This was not a piece of information to which our hero had been exposed, however, through what could be called luck, when the 'fight-or-flight' response hit him... It's a fight. And, to engage this threat, our hero's first step was with his right-foot. A sizable step forward, but just enough toward the right, opposite of Brendan's right, that when the startled Brendan pulled the trigger, it passed two times through the younger boys shirt. But missed his skin by nanometers. Our hero landed a full-on right-cross, clean on the older boys jaw. Brendan's eyes went out of focus, and he slumped to the ground.

The younger boy, his eyesight returned by adrenalin to a point where he could see, sat back. He could see the reclining sand that served for so many stories. He could see the gun that sat on the cave floor a couple feet away. He could see the older boy. Laying on his back. A small line of blood running from his nose. An unfortunate trait among the Parish family is that so many of the men were cursed with a 'glass' jaw. One good thump to the melon, and they would sleep for hours. This particular DNA failing would not prove to be a problem for Brendan. Our hero saw the drum-sticks from his pocket. They had fallen out and were a few feet away.

He sat for a little while, thinking how close he came to having his life stolen today. He had a bout of anger. Standing and talking to the unconscious Mr. Parish. “You didn't know I was so fast. Did you?”... Then whispered to himself, Brendan's own words, “ignorance is no excuse.”

The young man reached over and lifted his board, not to the almost comfortable carrying height at his side. No. He lifted the board above his head, and brought it down hard on Brendan's skull. A second time. The third had a sickening squishy-thud and the boy... the young man... knew that the task was completed. He also knew that there was about a-half-inch of water flowing in from the entrance.

Unhurried, our hero sat, and cried for the other boy. The water got a little deeper, after ten minutes or so, he got up, and walked. Leaving the scene behind him without a backward glance, he walked upright toward the entrance and beyond toward the main road. The Moray Eels didn't get a thought as he stepped directly through the tide pools at the opening. His stride not timid. But his tears rolled down his face.

He walked back to the bus depot by the concession stand and had missed the last bus, by ten minutes. He started the long walk home without hesitating.

He cried for the other boy. He cried for the girl who won't have her brother any more. He cried for the parents that are wondering where their son is. He cried so much that he didn't have any more tears, and sobbed a pitiful dry sob for the remaining hours that he walked. It was almost midnight when he finally stepped in the kitchen door. His mother, worried, angry, ready to inflict a punishment that would make a nazi cringe jumped out of her seat and hugged the boy. She could tell right away, that there was something different about him. She asked, “Where's your surfboard?” He didn't answer. He had had his final thoughts of surfing, hours ago.

“Where are your drum-sticks?” she asked He didn't hear her. ____________________________________________________

Time passed.

It has been over fifty years.

He cried many times in his life for the boy who didn't get to cry anymore. This man of regrets has returned to that lonely stretch of beach road, long ago abandoned by tourists. Soon after that, by the city bus routes. And now, except for a few short weeks in the Springtime, headlights are even scarce. But over the years, he has visited. The cove is long gone. That old parking lot was torn up years ago, and an office building put up where it once was located. You can't even make it to the water-front for a couple miles. Even then it's way off the beaten track.

He cried when he could spare a moment to remember. He raised his fist at the night sky over the ocean, and dared the universe to get even already. But no cosmic retribution ever befell him. No catastrophic illness, no car accidents.

Just a man who lived and a boy who didn't. Ignorance is no excuse.