Leaves in the Tide

Jetty Beach is captivating this time of year. I come every morning, no matter the weather. Today, the wind blows over the water, bringing a handful of surfers to catch the perfect wave. Little black dots gather in small groups, anticipation building. I dig my hand through the rough sand and let it slip through my fingertips. My dog eared copy of Wuthering Heights lays on my satchel, long forgotten. My gaze stays focused on the little glops gliding back and forth along the crystal surface and being swallowed whole. I cringe, watching a particularly hard crash. The man is thrown into the air and disappears under the surface. (He’s one that I’ve seen here before, almost every morning (around the same time). He’s a pro at this, I’ve never seen him wipe out that hard. His board pops up, but he doesn’t. I gasp and run down the coarse beach until it begins to squish between my toes and water tickles my ankles. My dark tan corduroy pants stick to my shins. My worried eyes scour the water, looking for any signs of the surfer. That crash looked fatal, I’m really glad I never got his name, or I would be screaming it from the top of my lungs. Instead, I keep my composure, the tips of my thumbs tap the tips of my pointer fingers, then my ring fingers, then middle, and finally pinky over and over again. “Come on,” I grumble. My jaw begins to ache from clenching down so hard. “Come on,” my soft voice is trembling. Messy, black hair fights to stay above water. Three other surfers drag him up and over his board, laying him on his back. One of them smacks the man as he sits up and his shoulders hunch and shake. I glare at him, I don’t care if he can’t see me. If that was a joke, that was not funny. I turn on my heel and stomp back up the beach and towards my belongings. “Who does he think he is?” I question, still mad at him for scaring everyone, most importantly me, like that. I thought he died. I shove my book and journal into my bag on top of my shoes and throw it over my shoulder. A frustrated silent scream fights its way past my teeth, coming out in an odd mix between a sigh and a groan. I’m not sure why it upset me so much, but saliva starts to pool in my mouth, and sweat coats my skin. I need to get out of here. My heart pounds loudly against my chest, blocking out the sounds of the waves crashing behind me and footsteps as someone runs after me as I storm up the beach. “Hey!” A deep voice calls from behind me, “hey, wait up!” I turn my head. Familiar dark brown hair is making it’s way towards me very quickly. I slow to a stop, my mouth pressed into an annoyed line. This better be important. I’m not sure I want to know the guy after he pulled a sick and twisted stunt like that. “Can I help you?” My voice comes out harsher than I intended it to, I clear my throat and try again, “Yes?” Up close, I can actually take him in. His 5’6 fit frame is covered in tight blue and black thermal swimwear. The only parts of his tan skin that showed were his face, hands, and feet. His short black hair sticks to his face, and the base of his neck as salty water drips from it’s ends. A lump forms, and I swallow it down. I’ve been staring at him. For an uncomfortably long time. “You just looked upset. Is everything alright?” His eyes are narrow and resemble smoky quartz as they sparkle with the evening sun. I try to talk, but my voice box betrays me. I sew my lips shut. He chuckles and reaches his hand out. His hand is veiny and strong, and my tongue whips out, tasting my bottom lip. I hesitantly take it in mine. My hand looks frail next to his. The freckle on my right hand pops against my light skin, and he gently swipes his thumb over it. A shock flows through me, warming my insides. “I’m Laith. Laith Michaels,” He smiles like a school boy, “see what I did there?” his voice deepens and is barely above a whisper. I lean in to be able to actually hear him, “I’m like James Bond,” a pause, “but cooler.” I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth, trying to regain my composure.But it does very little to help. A laugh bubbles up through me, shaking my shoulders, “Eliot. Eliot Forrester.” We drop our hands to our sides, and I take a step back. I look down at my vintage brown watch, 4:00pm. Wow, it’s getting late, I need to get to the shop, I’m going to be late. Thirty minutes, I have thirty minutes. My eyes wander up again, “you know you really shouldn’t joke like that, especially in the water.” Worry coats my voice like honey, thickening it. He smiles a crooked smile at me, “Awe,” he mocks playfully, “are you saying you were worried about little ol’ me?” His hand splayed across his chest dramatically. I roll my eyes and nod. Admitting that, I really was worried about him. He really knows how to put on a show. Maybe he should get into acting. “What,” his eyebrows quirks, “you don’t like the water?” I shake my head in disagreement, my thick, ashy brown hair falls into my eyes, “I love the water, I just understand it and respect it enough to know that you shouldn’t mess around in it like that.” He should know better, being a surfer and all. The ocean can be very selfish. It will take and take until you have nothing left to give. I can feel the energy around me shift into something darker. I pinch my thigh, bringing me back to the moment. Laith looks at me, his eyebrows pinching together. It feels as though he’s looking into me. Not at me or through me, but truly deep into my being, seeing something no one else can see. I tilt my head slightly, trying to figure out what he was thinking. I can feel it. He knows exactly what happened. He can feel it. He saw it. I feel blood drip on my cheeks under his gaze. “What?” “Where’d you just go?” His voice strong and steady, filled with curiosity. “What? Nowhere,” my face scrunches. I really hope that doesn’t happen again. “So,” I change the subject, refusing to explain that with a stranger, “what do you say? Be more careful in the water?” His dazzling smile is back in full force, “Dance with the waves, move with the sea. Let the rhythm off the water set your soul free,’ Do you know who said that?” I had never heard of it in my life, and I tell him that, “Christy Ann Martine. I’m just following her lead.” “I hardly think that pretending you drowned and scaring everyone around you is what she meant by that,” Laith shrugs his shoulder, tilting his head from side to side. “There isn’t anything I could tell you to convince you that that,” I gesture to the water, “was not at all what Chrity Anne Martine meant when she said that?” He shakes his head, and frustration builds slightly inside me, “Well, Mr. Micheals, I have places to be,” My eyes slide to my wrist, 4:13! “I really have to go, goodbye. It was nice to meet you.” I pat his back and rush up the beach towards the road. Laith rushes beside me, “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” He keeps pace with me, looking over at me every few steps. I look at him, my watch, and choose to ignore him. I can’t be late. I can’t be late. I can’t be late. “Hey,” he gently grabs my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. “Slow down.” Tigers eye meets adventurine, our lips just breaths apart, “what’s got you in such a rush?” His words come out like a whisper, my eyes watching the way his lips part and curve with every word. A sign falls from my lips, “The… The coffee shop.” The fact that there are at least a dozen coffee shops in this town slips my mind. “I have to go,” this comes out more as a question, I stand, stuck in place. “Let me come with you,” his voice almost childlike. I nod, and we start walking towards the shop. “So, why are you in such a hurry?” I shrug, I’m still not sure how to explain to people that if I dont keep to my schedule, something bad might happen. Anytime I’ve ever faltered, something horrible went wrong. He doesn’t skip a beat in switching paths on the conversation. “So, what coffee shop are we headed to? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we have a few of them around here.” I look sideways, admiring the arches of his face, “The Little Owl. I go there every day to write. I’m working on getting my second book published, but it’s very slow going. I’ve been in a rut lately.” Laith stumbles slightly, and I put my arm out, the palm of my hand resting on his back. “Are you okay?” His eyes lock on the sandy sidewalk beneath us, “yeah,” a nervous laugh passes his lips, “I’m a little bit clumsy.” That much is obvious. “Can I tell you a secret?” I say, of course, “The “stunt”” he lifts his hands and makes quotations as he says ‘stunt’, “wasn’t actually a stunt.” Cherries blossom across his face, neck, and ears. I give him a sideways glance, urging him to continue. “Well, I was trying to fix my footing and well,” he pauses and scratches his neck, “you saw how that went.” He cannot be serious. I’ve watched him almost every morning. He’s far too good to mess up on something so small. “I know,” he sounds defeated, “I’m so dumb.” “Don’t call yourself dumb,” my voice comes out comforting but stern, like a parent gently lecturing their child. His voice is sweet, as he says, okay. “You should never put yourself down. Brigham Young said ‘If you have a bad thought about yourself, tell it to go to hell because that's exactly where it came from.’ Those thoughts you have of yourself are not true at all, so don't speak them.” He nods, but his arms still stay crossed, and his lip pokes out slightly. I look at my watch, 4:20. I chuckle to myself slightly, suddenly I wish I was at home with a joint in my hand instead of here. We are one block away. That should take me roughly 2 and a half minutes and 200 steps give or take. I will make it. I have time. I hope. I take a deep breath, reach for Laith’s hand, and stop. He turns towards me, his eyes watering slightly. Before I have time to think a single coherent thought, I reach up and hold his face, “You are smart, you are handsome, and you are enough,” tears fall from his eyes. Instinctually, my thumbs swipe under his eyes. “”Hey, hey, hey,” I coo, trying to soothe him the best I can. “It’s okay, Laith, we’ll get there.” It startles me how quickly he went from being perfectly happy to crying. I'll have to discuss that with him sometime. Suddenly, a thought pops into my head, “I’m not upset with you. If that’s what you think.” I think I put the puzzle together. I sounded disappointed, I was stern, and he shut down. “Oh.” My heart sinks. He started to cry harder, I was right in my assumption. “It’s okay, I’m not upset at all. I just don’t want you to talk down to yourself because that stays with you forever.” He nods, and I rub his shoulder, further solidifying the fact that I’m not upset. I raise my wrist, 4:25, we need to hurry. “Okay, Laith, we have to get going, I can’t be late.” Another nod, and we are off.