The Greek Shark

“Mother, you can go to California, but, it’s no place for Elizabeth.” My mother’s protest to my grandmother echoed in my mind as the Skylark turned down a beachfront street. The protests were dismissed. My grandmother was funding my education, after all, and she demanded to spend the summer with me in warm sunshine before I left for college.

I shaded my eyes against the bright sun that littered the sky.

“It’s warmer than Ohio,” my grandmother observed. “After we arrive at the house and unpack, you should visit the beach.”

So, of course, I went to the beach. When the woman vocalized something, it was obeyed – no matter how awkward I felt walking on the sand alone in a bathing suit I had never worn before. A two piece. She had bought me a two piece! I felt so exposed.

“Yo, Betty!” a man carrying a surfboard under his arm shouted as he waved his free hand.

Betty? Only my best friend called me that. I paused and looked around to see who else was around. There was no one. “Me?” I asked.

He stopped short a few feet from me. His skin was bronze, and his long hair was bleached blonde from living in the sun. “Yah,” he answered. “Don’t walk alone little gidget. Come hang with us.” He pointed to a group of men and women further up the beach. Some had surfboards. Others bounced a volleyball around. It certainly looked more fun than walking aimlessly around collecting seashells.

“Sure.” I followed him toward the group.

“You’re not from here,” he observed. “Where are you from? What’s your name?”

My hands fidgeted awkwardly while I spoke. “I’m Elizabeth, from Cleveland.”

“Whoa, long way from home. I’m Mickey.” He lifted his free hand with thumb and pinky finger extended. I would soon learn that was a common greeting among the surfers. We reached the group. “Hey everyone, check it out – a betty named Betty.”

A dozen faces turned to me. “Betty?” one of the girls asked. She smirked. “More like kook.” The girls near her laughed at the insult.

“You would know.” The comment came from one of the men sitting slightly outside the group. His eyes drifted up from the board he was waxing to observe me. “Don’t listen to her, Betty. I haven’t seen her on a wave yet.”

The girl narrowed her eyes at the man before walking away with her three friends. Only the guys remained, and they shared a laugh.

“I’ve not been on a wave, ever,” I replied, honestly. “There’s no surf in Cleveland.”

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

I turned my eyes to the waves gently crashing on the shore. The beautiful blue water sparkled under the bright sun. “No. I’m willing to give it a go.”

“She’s your betty, Mickey, go show her.”

Before I could protest being dubbed anyone’s ‘betty’, Mickey was eagerly rushing me out into the water with his board. After a few minutes of instruction, I realized he had no desire of me being ‘his betty’ in a romantic-sense. He was simply excited to teach me in his favorite sport. In no time at all, I was standing on a board and finding my balance.

The man from before, the leader of the group, ran past me with his board. “Come on, Betty,” he called back.

Mickey handed me his board with a nod of approval. I hurried after the leader and hopped on the board to paddle out into the waves.

“You can listen to Mickey talk about surfing all day. You just have to get out there and do it.” He paddled close to me. “Get out to a wave. Stand on your board as it lifts you and ride along the wall of the wave. You have to feel it, Betty.”

I tried. I immediately wiped out. I tried again. I wiped out again. I never rode a wave successfully that day. It did not matter to the group of surfers. I had gone out there and tried. Mickey happily received his board back and rushed into the water. He made it look easy. But not as easy as the leader. He rode the wave walls with ease and cutback to extend his time on the board.

“Brah!” shouted one of the surfers near me as he watched the ride.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Akheilos,” the surfer replied. “He’s the Greek Shark.”

I sat on a nearby piece of driftwood in order to dry off in the sun. Akheilos rode a wave to the shore amongst the cheering ‘brahs’. They clearly looked up to his skills. He held his hand up with thumb and pinky extended to respond to their cheers. But his eyes were on me the whole time. “Betty,” he called out. He dropped his board onto the sand and walked to sit next to me. “You did good out there.”

“I like to think I ‘wiped out’ in style,” I responded.

He laughed. “If you’re going to, might as well do it in style.” He ran his fingers through his soggy, curly brown locks. “You said you’re from Cleveland? How did you end up here?”

“My grandmother insisted coming out here for the summer before I start at Harvard this fall.”

“Harvard?” He grinned. “Impressive.”

“Thank you. They only started accepting women there when I was two. My grandmother decided then that I would be attending school there.” I shrugged my shoulders. “When she decides something, it happens.”

“She sounds like a formidable woman.” He quieted, and his eyes reflected the waves he stared at. Surreptitiously, I studied him. Unlike the blonde surfers around him, his skin was a dark olive complexion and his hair remained dark. His features were clearly Greek – the prominent nose, wide mouth, and thick eyelashes. I had never met a Greek person before, but I studied art history. Michelangelo’s ‘David’ was modeled with Greek features. And now I understood why, they were attractive features. “I’m Akheilos, by the way,” he softly said.

“They told me. The Greek Shark?”

He smiled with a hint of blushing on his cheeks. “That’s what my name means. Living in the waves doesn’t help, I suppose.”

“Is that why you wear that necklace?”

His hand lifted to the pendant that rested on his chest. It was a wood-carving of a shark, polished, held in place by a hemp cord. “I wear the necklace because my formidable grandmother gave it to me before we moved here from Greece.”

“That was nice of her.”

“She told me to not let the American sharks eat me.” He laughed. “It sounds better in Greek.” Abruptly, he stood and walked back to the waves with his board. With the conversation ended, I went back to the beach house for the rest of the day.

The next week created a routine for me. In the mornings, I would grab my suit, go to the beach, and Mickey would share his board with me. Each day, I felt more confident on the waves. And, each day, I would share a five-minute conversation with Akheilos.

By the second week, my grandmother insisted on purchasing a new suit for me as well as a board. There was no arguing with her. “Enjoy yourself,” she told me. “Harvard will be no cake walk.”

When I arrived with my new suit and board, the group cheered me. “Looking good Betty!” Mickey called out from paddling on his board.

I responded with a ‘hang loose’. “Where’s Akheilos?” I asked the guys. “He’s not on the waves.”

“Veronica.” A finger-point up the beach indicated Akheilos walking alongside the mean girl from my first day on the beach. She wrapped her arm through his. I turned away in disgust. My feet automatically ran through the wet sand and into the ocean. My mind could not focus on what I was doing on the waves with my board. All I could picture was Veronica’s arm wrapped around the arm of the Greek Shark. Why did I care? I was the outsider; he was a handsome man – of course he had a beau. It meant nothing that he opened up to me a little each day. Perhaps that was merely his polite way of making small talk.

The waves were choppy, reflecting my attitude. I wiped out in the white water crashing around me. Where was my board? It was so easy to lose a board in this water. Where was the beach? Where was the sun? Another wave crashed over my head. I could not keep my head above water. These waves were pounding me. And where was my board?

Arms wrapped around me and lifted me above the waves. I was lifted on a board, held in place by two strong arms. “Betty? Can you hear me?”

I could hear, but I could not respond.

Warm sand around me. I was on my side. Water exploded out of my mouth, causing me to gasp for the salty, fresh air. “Betty?”

“Yes.” I looked up and saw Akheilos above me. “What happened? My board…”

“Mickey’s got your board. Are you okay? You went under. You were drowning.” My eyes felt heavy. I could not respond.

When they opened, I was in the bed of the rented beach house. My grandmother sat nearby. “Oh, thank the heavens,” she breathed heavily. “You’re awake.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know… how am I here?”

“One of your friends carried you here. He said you were drowning and another of your friend’s saved your life. He was a handsome fellow. Tall with long blonde hair…”

“That’s Mickey.” I was surprised. Mickey carried me home?

“I liked him.” She stood and walked to the door. “Let me go tell your friend you’re awake. He’s been downstairs worried about you.”

Mickey stayed here, worried about me? I soon heard footsteps up the stairs and the door parted open. “Hey Betty.” Akheilos popped his head around the open door. “How are you?”

I pulled the covers up around me. “I thought Mickey carried me here. Why are you here?”

“He carried you here so I could run to get help for you. I’m a faster runner.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And I stayed because I was the one that made you surf. You’re my betty.”

“I thought you told Mickey I was his betty?”

The shark sat on the edge of my bed and reached his hand out to mine. “No. I mean, you’re My Betty.”

I pulled my hand back. “What about Veronica?”

“Veronica?”

“I saw her arm on yours.”

“Oh, yeah, she wants to… she tried… no. I don’t like her. She’s not a good person. I was asking her for a favor… I don’t know a lot of girls here. She refused, out of… jealousy.” The confusion on my face made him clear his throat while trying to find his words. “I wanted her opinion, on a gift, for you. She wouldn’t help. She just wanted, me.” His final word fell flat. “I’m sorry. I had a plan. None of this was the plan.”

My heart slightly softened at his stuttering. “What was the plan?”

“Surf all day. Gather my nerve to talk to you longer than five minutes, walk you home, give you a gift, and ask you to go steady.” He turned away with a sigh. Then he pulled the shark necklace off. “Please, take this. Yes or no, you’ll need protection from sharks when you go to Harvard.”

I accepted his gift, but, before putting it on, I kissed his cheek. “Yes.”

He hugged me tight. Every day we surfed, played volleyball, sang along with a guitar by the campfire, and enjoyed the summer before I faced the sharks at Harvard. And when I reached cold Boston, my mind was already fixed on my next summer in California.