My Calamity

I tried to focus on something else.

No matter how hard I tried though, my mind always reverted to the image of Patrick, hair wet, grey eyes sparkling under the sun, hopping up on his board and riding the wave easily, or how his hand felt on the small of my back as he guided me to a standing position on my board.

No matter how hard I tried to stay focused on the surfing, and surfing only, my mind always chugged back to Patrick. Patrick this. And Patrick that. It was obvious to me that I needed to stop hanging around him. It was inevitable; the more time I spent with him, the more I knew the feelings weren't going away.

We spent most of the afternoon going over techniques and riding the small waves closer to shore. Patrick said I wouldn't be ready to do the big stuff for a while. No matter, I felt invigorated with just the short ride on an even shorter wave.

Patrick was amazing on the water, not that I should have been surprised. His body obviously said he did this often, and his form proved so. I didn't want to stare, but whenever he went out to the deep end to ride a big one, I couldn't help but stare. The muscles in his arm would pull taut as he gripped the board, and when he jumped up his white swim trunks would fall on his hips, revealing the protruding bones.

His leg muscles would propel in and out, as if someone was pumping them, and he'd commit to the wave, riding it out to the end in a perfect stature. Admittedly, I was jealous of him, and his perfect posture. I couldn't jump up on my board without falling off two seconds afterwards.

Sometimes I thought it was all mental, that because I thought I would fall, I'd always end up falling off. But even when I was confident that I'd perform perfectly, I still fell off. Either way, I concluded, I would always look like a klutz when trying to surf.

A moment later, Patrick was beside, his board between his legs, a lopsided smile on his face. "Stare much?"

I turned my head to give him a cross look, catching the cockiness in his eyes, and then reached out and pushed him off his board. He resurfaced a second later, a playful glint in his eyes. My victory smile dropped immediately, and I braced myself, knowing he was going to knock me into the water, my eyes shutting tight.

When it didn't come, I opened one eye unsurely, and found Patrick on the side of my board, his hands clenching the edge. I braced myself again, to be tipped back, but then he pressed it down, so I fell towards him slightly. Before I could react, he pulled the board down and I fell into him, knocking both of us under water. His arms instinctively wrapped around me as the waves crashed on us, digging us deeper.

It felt amazing to be in Patrick's arms.

But then I was out, rising to the top where the water had settled. My nose was buzzing, water riding around inside it. I rubbed at my nose haphazardly, coughing out the water. Patrick resurfaced in front of me a moment later, and I lowered my eyes into a glare.

He laughed, the sound booming, and my glare hardened. "It's not funny," I snapped, crinkling my nose, trying to ignore the feeling of the water in it.

"Your nose is all red," Patrick said with a laugh, climbing back onto his board. "Rudolf."

I climbed back onto my board, shifting into a laying position on it. "Shut up."

"You're the one that pushed me in first," Patrick said, falling back on his own board. "Rudolf."

"Stop calling me that!"

"No, I don't think I will," he paused, "Rudolf."

Despite myself, I found myself grinning up at the sky, secretly relishing in the nickname. I didn't want to be affected this way by Patrick, but I found that I was, and I couldn't change that. Not now, at least.

We talked endlessly, about things that really needn't be talked about. Most of my conversations with people involved College, and where I was going, what I wanted to do with life. With Patrick, it was about the moment. What was I doing with life?

"Your answers are so vague," he'd told me after a while of questioning.

I'd laughed lightly and shrugged my shoulders, blowing it off for nothing. I wasn't used to people wanting to know things about me. With me, I tried to keep the spotlight on the other person. That's what I did with my mother's friends, and they loved me. People loved to have other people interested in them, it was a known fact.

The rain had started sometime in the middle of our conversation, but was now coming down heavily, re-soaking us. The water had turned a murky blue color, the sky a dark grey, similar to Patrick's eyes. The waves were picking up, crashing down on us, and then picking us back up, dragging us out to the deeper end.

"We should probably head in," Patrick said over the sound of the rain pounding on our boards. I pushed back my drenched hair, and sat up. The waves were crashing down heavier, perfect for surfing.

"Wait, I think I wanna' try one more time," I told him, folding myself out on the board. I weaved my arms through the water, wrestling with the waves to get out farther.

"Penelope, I don't think that's a good idea!" Patrick called as I continued making my way out there. My heart was thrashing at its bone cage as I got closer. I closed my eyes momentarily before jumping to my feet. For a moment, I thought I was going to fall over, but I didn't.

My posture was perfect, my feet firmly planted on the board. Instinctively, my arms went out as I road the wave. It wasn't a very big wave, not like the ones farther out but it was the biggest one I'd road all day. Patrick was a little ways away, sitting on his board, his legs on either side staring at me in awe.

My glory was short-lived though, because the next thing I knew I was hurtling through the water, being discarded from my board. Automatically, I cried out only to have my mouth filled with salty water. My eyes shut, and I thrashed about trying to get to the surface but the water kept tumbling on me.

It felt a lot like love.

One moment I was on top of the world, floating, feeling invincible.

And the next I was falling, crashing, consigned to oblivion.