Hi Everyone, here is the new version of my site, will be like the old page but now with original content. Here's an excerpt from my book, Kicking Out, enjoy! All rights reserved to Noah Dundas, copyright 2011
Coming
Right At Me
“Yaaaarrrppp!”
First time I saw Lucas, he was coming right at
me. Sitting on the old wood fence that helped protect tourists from a salt
watery grave I was down at our old surfing spot, Sandstones. Back then I was
the new kid in town, taller than everyone else.
A giant.
And Lucas, flew up on his old rusted ten speed
bike, northwest wind making him go even faster at me, like he belonged. Behind
him the red brick lighthouse swayed in the waves of heat coming off the cliff.
Down hard on the hand lever for his brake, back tire did a perfect 180 slide.
Stopped just inches from the white wall tire of my own bike. Thick cloud of
cliff dust flew up and tiny pebbles hit my legs.
Whole thing looked like when you’re surfing and
turning hard off the bottom, the nose of your board points you to the top of
the wave. You ride the rush of speed up as your board glides you over the curling
lip. Throwing your back leg out, you slide back down the face sideways.
A 180 tail slide is what most people call it.
A “Yaaaarrrpp.”
is what Lucas called it.
Way he did it on land was he timed the so that
he was coming right at you on the Y,
throwing the back tire into a slide for the aaaaa,
stopping on the first couple rr’s, dismounting
on the R and standing up straight on
the last P.
That first day I learned that most things Lucas
did, he did them so he own them. Patented and named by Lucas Incorporated.
Front tire still spinning, Lucas leaned himself
up against the fence next to me. Wrapped around most of his forehead was a pair
of blade sunglasses. The rectangle shaped mirrors shielded his eyes. In the
tinted orange, looking back at me only smaller –there was me. Elijah, used to
be Skye Davis. Hippie freak, born on a commune and weaned on spirulina. When I started school my giant big dad showed
me one of his few moments of mercy and let me change my name. I chose Elijah,
Jewish prophet, but not because of religion. I liked the story. The ability of
the meek to rise above. Me being the
only kid with no mother, raised by the hands that still scare my Benadryl
soaked dreams. I needed a little
inspiring.
A breath down past the beat of my heart,
inching up my throat.
Lucas not looking at me. Behind the reflected-me the wharf stretched
out long, sucking clouds from an orange tinted sky.
“How’z it Helgie?” the sunglasses said.
Helgie,
Helgz, Gremmie, Grom, Menehunie; all words for younger surfers. Words that put you in your place. Lucas’ first words, a raspy insult.
The longness of me. Gorilla-long arms and legs,
bare for Lucas to see. Past that fear, I sucked down and blew out a big ocean
breath.
“Waves are kinda shitty,” I said, “blown
out.”
The smaller me in the blue wrap-arounds not
looking at me.
“Know when low tide is?” I asked.
His sunglasses searched below. The water -layers
of green, gray, and blue- slapped cold against the cliff. Throwing my shoulders
back straight, I looked over at Lucas standing. Taller by a fraction of an
inch, he had to be a couple years older, part of the younger-but-older-than-me
crew.
“Way the water’s still boiling up over Table
Rock.” he said. “means the tide’s still too high,”
Lucas pointed about fifteen feet from the cliff
where the ocean sent up tiny ripples towards the surface like when you throw a
rock into a still lake. The sleeve of his jacket pulled up high on his wrist
and I could see that even living this far north, his skin was tan, tanner than
my own Casper style, the kind that stays brown even with minimal exposure.
“It’s just starting to drain back out now,” he
said, “so low tide ain’t till a couple more hours.”
Typical of North Coast summertime fog days, a few
rays of light rained down on our backs. Above Lucas’s sunglasses his black hair
was cropped a quarter inch above the scalp with so much gel in it that his hair
glowed light back at me.
Still looking
straight out to sea.
“Haven’t
seen you around,” Lucas said. “Where you from?”
Pulled the front end of my cruiser up. Let the
fat white wall drop to the cliff. Tires bounced dust clouds, a chalky white
that floated away in the wind. Breathing in, clouds. Just like me and how I had
been most of my life with my parents. Me, salt air blown down the coast. Moved
here and there, divided, traded, stolen, switched back and forth. An object to
be obtained at the expense of the other. At the expense of me. Blown from here
to there, a tumbleweed getting somewhere besides where I've been. On the
lookout for somewhere I could stick.
“Well,” I
said, “been livin down in Tola.”
Out on the rocks bare of other sea lions a
gigantic sea lion barked. Splashing below, the smaller ones swam in slow moving
circles, their fins sticking up sideways, waving to the pelicans diving for
lunch.
The
ocean, my one escape from everything. From as far back as its safe to start
remembering, the ocean was always there, inviting me to join. A place away from
the family that didn't exist. A special world that sheltered me from the pain
of the mother that left me alone and the father that hurt.
Where the cliff ends and the cold blue ocean
forms a world pulled by the moon.
Safe.
Except for situations like this.
“But we,” my breath in, “moved over here a
little while back.”
Past my adams apple, my heart beat louder with
always being the outsider. Heavy beating. It inched its way to my throat Throat
so tight I could barely swallow. Parched, in need of water.
The sleeves of my hoodie rode up past the
wrists of my too long arms. I pulled long on the sleeves and cleared my heart
from my throat.
Sea lions barked louder. My throat heart. In
the no talking silence, the piss shit smell of the sea lions was strong.
Breathing out, the baked-in smell of no swell for weeks floated in between the
space between me looking at Lucas not looking at me. The space where I hoped to
stick.
His face a snarl, forehead formed lines that
arched triangles of skin above his sunglasses.
“So wha,” Lucas said. “You’re an L.A. alien
then. Cuz everything south of here is L.A.!”
Lucas’ barked words an indictment more than a
clarification of facts.
Cruiser back and forth between. My nervous legs.
Past the fear of the immediate situation I was busy thinking of what to say.
“Guess so.”
Acid in my stomach. Breathe, something hard to
get behind my mumbling words.
“But we
moved over here at the beginning of summer, its just that the waves have been
pretty flat, so I haven’t surfed much yet. But,” I lied, “I’ll be going to North
Pacific Junior High when school starts up.”
My gorilla-long arms. Pulled longer on the
short of my sleeve. In the tinted orange glare I looked for a reaction.
“Whateve’s,” Lucas said. “Got’s to make tracks.”
Backing up, Lucas turned his ten speed around in
the same fashion he dismounted, a clean swift slide out of the back tire. Facing
the lighthouse, red chips of paint hung rusty, threatening to abandon the frame
slowly until there was nothing left but the flat back tire.
“Maybe,” Lucas said. “I’ll see you in the
water.”
“Wha
brah,” I said. “You going out?”
The rush of blue against the cliff beat a
steady cold rhythm. In the stillness of no waves I searched for a reason to
submit myself to the first three stages of hypothermia.
“Naw,” Lucas said. “I got shit to do, but maybe
later when pop’s gets off work me and him will go up north.”
Below his orange shield the end of his nose was
burned pink under tan with little bits of skin that stuck up crusty white.
Below his nose, little black hairs were starting to form a fuzzy black outline
around his mouth.
“Listened to the buoys earlier,” he said. “There’s
some good sized surf hitting just north of here.”
Sunglasses tilted his head out towards the end
of horizon where the forever long ocean, sky and clouds curved back down into
the invisible edge of the world. Where everything turns back down into ocean,
back down into home.
“See the lines out there, way they’re sweeping
past the ends of the bay like that means the swell too west for here,” he said.
“So when Pops gets off, me and him will go up north.”
Smile on Lucas’ face, long and wide, cracked
like he had just admitted the existence of an exclusive club. But then his
smile was gone and he was seriousness delivered in a deep firm voice.
“So as I don’t have to pound you,” Lucas said.
“Don’t ever call me brah again, the name’s Stanger, Stanger of the North Bay to
you.”
Arm on the railing of the fence, he started
rocking back forth like he was going to slingshot himself from the railing.
“Anyways Helgz,” Lucas said turning into the
wind, “got’s to make tracks.”
Using both feet he pushed off. After the first
few rusted pumps had carried him closer to the lighthouse he looked back over
his shoulder towards me.
“Maybe we‘ll swing back by here later and check
it,” Lucas said. Pumped a couple times and looked back over his shoulder. “And
if you’re still here maybe you‘ll get real lucky and Pops will take you with
us.”
Lucas’s laugh, loud and hollow as the giant bull
male sea lion out on the rock. The rusty pumps of his bike rode off into the
fog until I couldn’t see or hear him anymore.
Didn’t go out then or later. Didn’t see Lucas, Stanger
of the North Bay, either. Foot resting up on the stretch of waist-high wood fence, I waited there. Pulse of the ocean overtook me, swaying me back and
forth as seals waved to pelicans.
No comments:
Post a Comment