Lifeguard for a Swimmer

I have always considered myself a strong swimmer. Water has never been something that I fear. What is scary about water are the things inside of it; fish, pollution, piers, rocks, other people. Water isn't the enemy, its occupants are.
On Tuesday, after my eight o'clock class had been released, I received a text from my brother Mark saying "wassup". Mark is older than me, but we could easily pass as twins to people who don't know us. Our apartments are right next door to each other, so it is in a way a little one story house separated by a wall. Needless to say, I took this text as code word for, "Hey I'm home. Let's do something." I replied, "Not much. Just eatin some cereal. you?" (We text like we are insanely bored with each other haha but texting rules are different for siblings. If that makes sense). Not even five seconds later, I hear my door open, and in rolls mark.

"What time is your next class?"
"Two."
"You wanna go surfing?"
"Yes!"

It was raining, and the wind whipped the drops against us, stinging our faces. The waves were extremely heavy and coming from several directions that day. We pulled up in Mark's truck listening to Rage Against the Machine and Motley Crue. Mark whips his long brown hair back and forth to the music before looking over at me with a massive, open-mouthed smile. We were so stoked to get to the beach, and after checking out the surf from the parking lot overlooking the sand dunes, I could tell Mark felt obliged to tell me that if it became too much for me, I didn't have to go out. Did he really think I was about to sit in the sand and observe what I could be doing? Ha. NO.

The water looked gray, and was coated in a layer of white foam. The stirred up sand and shells from the shore prevented our ability to see through to the bottom. The only other person within sight of us is the beach patrolman sitting in his truck. Perfect, now I can wipe out and fall as much as I need to without unwanted witnesses. We walked down the beach and did jumping jacks, laughing at each other in an effort to warm up before wrapping our leashes around our ankles and plunging into the water. I imagine it would have been comical to watch us doing this.

The water relieved our shivering skin from the icy rain-filled air. Not a single hole appeared in the sky over our heads to let even a sliver of sunlight to seep down into our pores. The first paddle session out against the waves went surprisingly smooth. I paddled around for a while, and caught one wave (By caught, I mean I stood up for around 2.5 seconds tops before falling). Feeling encouraged, I paddled out again. The drift seemed to have sped up significantly, and the sets were approaching without much space or time between them. I focused on grabbing hand fulls of water and pushing them behind me, all I was concerned about was getting back out to the lineup.

Before I knew it, I was once again in the middle of the ocean sitting on my board. I had made it through another paddling against the choppy waters, but I also realized that I was dangerously close the pier. The same pier I had seen several large fish and jellies lurking underneath just a few days before while fishing. Not to mention a pier with massive cement pillars that would crush every bone in my body if a wave decided to smash me into them. The thing about the ocean is that it does what it wants, and you kind of just have to play the cards you're dealt. In short, I was scared. I was drifting straight into the pier faster than I could swim. I scan the shore and spot Mark running up the beach waving at me, and yelling for me to get out. I had not seen him since we first paddled out until then.

I tried to paddle toward the beach, but before I could reach the sand, a wave well over my head high, knocked me off my board and tossed me like a washing machine. I was held underwater longer than I would have liked. As a swimmer, I can hold my breath for extended amounts of time, but I would like it to be on my own terms where I know I will breath again as soon as I decide to.  It was the kind of thing where I couldn't tell if I was swimming toward the surface or toward the depths of the ocean. I chose the right direction, but as soon as I emerged, another wave crashed into my right ear leaving it ringing, and pulling my body back under. Wave after wave kept coming, relentlessly pounding me. I surfaced a final time and immediately cried out, "Mark help me!" Panic was approaching me. I saw Mark sprinting through the water to me from the beach. He reached me with wide salty eyes asking, "Are you okay? Are you okay?" He didn't hear me cry for him, but he knew. I immediately felt safe with him next to me.
I replied , "Yeah, I didn't realize how close to the pier I was."
"Get on your board, and I'll push you in." He swam through the water right next to me until I could stand again.  I refused to admit it out loud, but Mark knew I had been shaken up. We make it back to his truck with our boards through the wind and rain. He could tell it was time for coffee. He drove us to a local coffee shop off the beach, and bought us both large steaming house brews. We sat down on a plaid couch in the lounge area with bits of shell in our salty saturated hair, and a layer of sand brushed onto our skin. Our shoes were hardly on our feet with the backs bent under the bottoms of our heels. Apparently it is frowned upon to go into a public place without shoes or a shirt on. Mark talked to me soothingly, making sure I was okay. Did I look like I still needed to recover? Is that what it means if your body is shaking?
Sitting there talking to my brother as the rain ran down the window panes, I realized that half the reason I enjoy surfing is because of him. I get so excited when he invites me to go with him. Not solely because it is surfing, but because it is something in his life he wants me to be a part of. It takes me back to a picture of Mark and me as kids holding hands in a Walmart parking lot. Not much as changed. I am always going to need my big brother, and he very well may always end up holding my hand through everything we do, and that's okay. Mark was a lifeguard to me that day. Even swimmers need help through rough waters sometimes.

Mark is the man.