No lifeguard on duty

All day it had been hot.

The beach was crowded, sticky, stifling—like most places with too many people. You wandered through the day in a daze, agreeing with your companions and drinking ale as blonde as the seabirds perched on the pier. Some of the heat had evaporated with the evening, but your brow was still damp as the dusk sunk into a deep blue. One of your companions, Grant, complained that you should have bought the good-looking brunette at the bar a second round. She smiled at you and made good conversation, and her hair moved over her shoulders like sea foam across the ocean’s surface. You didn’t tell Grant what happened when you turned away for only a moment—how she had gone, how a seabird sat in her place. It cocked its head at you and squawked queerly. You could have sworn you recognized its eyes.

Your reflection stares up at you from black water.

“The waves are looking good,” you say to it.

William, at your left, fiddles with his glasses as he replies, “Low tide is in an hour.”

Your reflection nods.

“Then we have an hour.”

So the four of you—Aiden was there, too— walked back to the car and unpacked the boards and wetsuits. You checked the receipt in the window and regretted paying full price for parking now that there was plenty of street parking. The four of you changed there in the parking lot. Most of the tourists had left with the sun and you hadn’t noticed any police on patrol.

Grant prided himself on his freight car build; not like Aiden, who still wore a youth’s extra-large. Grant made a show of flexing his arms in the tightened black fabric. Aiden made a joke and no one laughed. You ignored them both, wanting to spend as little time exposed as possible. You kept your eyes fixed on your reflection in the passenger-side window. It changed quickly and wordlessly. William stowed his glasses in the back seat. You realized, quite unexpectedly, that in this light, he looked like a disembodied head with hands. He caught you staring at him and he frowned. Your eyes darted away. You knew he couldn’t recognize you without his glasses, but still you felt foolish. When everyone was suited you went down to the water.

“The waves are looking good,” you say again.

A few yards away stands a white guard tower. Printed on a sign hanging in the door, you read: NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY.

The surf is good, like you said, and clean. It sustains the weight of your bodies well. You aren’t the best surfer in the group—-that is Grant or perhaps William; definitely not Aiden—-but you don’t mind. The cold rush of tangy saltwater crashing over you is a welcome relief from the lingering heat of the day. You feel the alcohol inside you and feel good.

William is the first thing you see upon breaching the water’s surface. He stands on the shore, his board attached to a long ankle, bobbing in the tide. He motions with his arms, so you wave back. But as you tread water you understand that he is not waving-- he’s warning. The sky has become swollen in purples and blacks. You hear the crack of thunder lash a distant sky. Soon the rain will make it impossible to surf well. As you look for Grant and Aiden, you feel the first drops begin to fall. The petite shape of Aiden washes ashore. But what of Grant? Your thoughts began to spiral as you bob amid the salted rain. What would you tell Grant's girlfriend? Your mind wracks for what you would say. Did Grant even have a girlfriend? You suddenly can't remember. Did you?

As you tread water, your foot brushes against a slimy and strange shape which terror imagines must be Grant. But it can't be him, for at that moment Grant washes ashore alongside Aiden and William. The waves have overpowered him and he struggles to stand on wobbly legs. You have never seen him like that, like a newborn calf. William and Aiden are calling to you, but you can’t make out what they’re saying through the wind sizzling in your ears. You think to swim closer to read their lips. But you find that the more you paddle, the further the beach becomes, as if someone is dragging you in the opposite direction. The rain becomes oppressive; the saltwater stings your vision like fresh tears. Your muscles ache as you swim harder. Soon the beach is the size of an oyster shell and your companions three pearls.

Yet, even as you struggle, you are still close enough to the shore to observe what follows. Another figure emerges from the surf. He moves in slow, fluid motions, undisturbed by the waves crashing over him. Your companions stir in recognition. The figure proceeds from the water and continues towards your companions. They are no longer calling to you. They beckon towards him. Recognition strikes you, too, and your body goes cold.

You watch the four of them gather their boards under their arms and dash to the safety of your car. You watch Grant say something to you which makes you laugh. You watch yourself shake rain and sea salt out of your hair as you peel out of your wetsuit and put on fresh clothes. You recognize every angle of your body. You try to call out to your companions, but all that comes from your throat is a soft, guttural sound with no words. The only one who seems to hear you is the one on the shore, who looks back and scans the waves. Your eyes lock for just a moment before Grant says something which snatches your attention away. You gurgle helplessly. You are close enough to see the headlights of your car wink on. Then the rain envelops your car, your companions, and, finally, you.

You are getting tired now. You’ve lost track of the shore. The rain has cleared and you can see the moon breaking through the clouds. It is black and whole. You are at the point of exhaustion. A seagull lands alongside you. It stares at you as if in recognition. As your body succumbs to the ocean’s amniotic embrace, you feel the familiar push of something slimy and strange against your foot.