i'm captain of this sinking boat // sailor

A month had passed since the accident, yet I still had to wear the damn cast.

“We believe it’s almost healed, Arty,” the doctor had said the day before during his check-up. “But your case is something different. It’s rare to see the bone puncture the skin, especially from something like surfing. I still wouldn’t surf for another week or two, just to be on the safe side.”

I’d be damned if I was kept out of the water for another day, though.

I woke up today confident with my act of defiance, but I had some skepticism. When mom was still around, we would often go to the pool instead of the ocean; it was easier to keep a hold of me, according to her. One day when she wasn’t watching, I’d decided to prove the signs littering the edge of the pool wrong. You could definitely dive into seven feet deep water. I was posed and in position, but when I pushed off, one of my feet had gotten caught in a jagged hole in the siding. I banged my leg up pretty good, and I would’ve drowned if it wasn’t for mom.

Being rendered nearly useless made me stir-crazy sitting inside my house all day. Once I could walk around without crutches, but still had on a cast, I would make trips to the pool when mom was at work. I’d usually just dip my good foot into the water or dunk my head in, but that quickly turned into me getting into the shallow end and floating around. Needless to say, it took a ridiculously long time for the bones to realign after that, and I did get a minor infection.

That memory wasn’t very significant, nor was I as worried if I would mess up my body. I knew that it was already wasting away with the morphling settling in my veins. I guess it was just wondering what my mother would say if she saw me walking out the door with a board tucked under my arm. It was hard, days like this, wondering about her. As of late, I’d been wondering if my step-father, if you could call him that, had ever gotten physical with her like he had me. I hoped she never had to feel the pain I had- the snap of a wrist, ribs caving in, nails dug inches deep in skin.

I pushed the memory into the back of my mind, not wanting to think such terrible thoughts. I took a deep breath and plunged into my closet as if it was the water that would soon be engulfing me. I pushed through the typical suits, ones with sleeves that wouldn’t fit over my cast or ones that would trap too much heat in the hot July weather. I swiped a pair of light blue board shorts and a matching short-sleeved rash guard. I slipped the shirt carefully over my head and tugged the board shorts to my hips. I headed out to the garage around the back of the house. I grabbed my new board, a plain beige one, to shave time by not having to scrape off any old wax and then swirled a base coat and top coat of wax on.

I tucked the board under my right arm, leaving my plastered left arm to hang limply at my side. The walk to the beach from my home was a short one-five minutes at most. The sand was void of life; everyone was probably inside hoping to avoid the next inevitable downpour. Admittedly, there were several clouds lining the hazy sky, and the water was a bit choppy; the weather made my frivolous decision even worse. I had nothing to lose, though, so I waded into the water.

Somewhere between an hour and two the clouds began to rush in and darken, and I decided it was time to head out. My cast had gotten a bit soggy in the mix, but I could still lift my left arm without any complaints. I wasn’t really sure how much I should do with my left arm until the cast dried out, so I pinned the board underneath my right arm. As I trudged up the beach, I spotted a lone figure sitting closer to the thicket of sea oats than the water. As I got closer, I noted it was a girl that was around my age. I was immediately concerned; there was no good reason for her to come out here with the weather like this. Was she injured? Had she possibly been washed ashore? She looked dry as far as I could see, and there was no blood trailing up or down the coast. I settled on the idea that the ocean must have some special spot in her heart, just like it did mine.

I was sure I hadn’t met her before; I hadn’t met many girls for that matter, actually. I’d probably give off some bad vibe if I plopped down in the sand next to her. The few friends I had had told me I was a bit intimidating. ”You’re like 6’5”"-really I’m like 5’10”-”and your hair is a fucking mess man. Why is it so damn long?” It wasn’t that long really. It didn’t even hit the bottom of my neck. Either way, I was a bit conscious of my appearance and began to rake my hair into some neat form and tried not to look like the scraggly addict I am.

I gently put my board down a good yard or two away from the girl and took a few cautious steps towards her, praying to Ripred she wouldn’t be frightened. If anything, I should be the frightened one; it looked like it was about to pour and I hadn’t even brought, like, a dry shirt or something to wrap around my cast and this girl was just sitting here. My thoughts jumbled together in an incoherent mess and I tried not to look like I was about to freak out.

”Uh, hi. Are you alright? The clouds look like they’re about to burst, so, uh, I don’t know about staying here much longer.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and paused, not sure if the girl would care for an introduction. It couldn’t hurt, though, right?

“I’m Arty.”