As the cold air of winter finally arrives, it’s fun to think about what seems like yesterday, last summer. With that as the prologue, here’s a warm summertime suspense story.
The tide was thundering, rolling, pushing towards the shore as only the most powerful force on earth can, other than gravity. Water, it should be respected.
I, however, was determined to immerse myself into the saltwater therapy I had looked forward to all day. I fought my way into that warm ocean water. The wind was at a steady blow adding to the wave action. Wind and water, a mighty combination that has been known to wear down mountains, never mind one small human. But there I was and there they were: the water, the wind and, oh yeah, the windsurfers.
The weather conditions were perfect for the windsurfers. I counted five sails on the horizon in Buzzards Bay outside Mattapoisett Harbor. There were an additional three fast approaching sails heading towards the tiny strip of beach at Ned’s Point and directly towards me. I can only imagine how insignificant, invisible even, I was as I bobbed there in between the swells.
And here they came, the windsurfers with such speed I thought for sure they would land on my tiny head clad in a bright green baseball cap. I struggled and fought swell after massive swell trying to make way for the surfers. The advancing tidal surge kept me treading water and nothing more. Soon the windsurfers surrounded me on all sides before I could move out of the way.
If you’ve ever faced what you’ve believed is an accidental ending of your meniscal and tenuous hold on being alive, then you’ll understand my immense relief at surviving a near beheading.
It was time to move out of their way. But where was I to go and how was I to get there? With the water pushing shoreward and northeast to the contour of the land, I made no headway at all. Failing that, I determined I should go with the flow, away from the lighthouse and head towards the private beach. Surely I’d be out of harm’s way over there.
Moving in that direction was easy, the ocean wanted all in its path to go that way. But I had no sooner removed myself from the windsurfer’s path and into what I had concluded would be safer waters when I realized that the submerged rocks were an entirely new threat.
I was smashed and cast hither and yon across the razor sharp edges of massive unseen monsters covered with barnacles. My ankles were cut, then both knees crashed against those unforgiving surfaces. First one knee then the other, in quick rotation, suffered lacerations and the delicate venerable kneecaps instantly sent out warning shots. I was too shocked to feel fear and too absorbed in trying to figure out how to save myself from possibly far worse injury. My internal dialogue went something like, “OK, you are in trouble now kid. What’s the fix?” I elected to use my bodacious booty, aka, back side, aka, butt, with its layers of padding as that part of my body I could sacrifice for the survival of the total personage. It could take a bouncing across rocks better then my aging knees.
I rode the tide towards shore keeping my feet in front of my body in a seated position, using my arms as rudders to keep from twisting right or left and being pitched face first into the water. I rode that tide all the way in with both knees and one ankle bleeding, but delighted to find only superficial wounds. When I finally was able to stand up, I was in a mere six inches of seawater. I smiled looking skyward then left to right to see if anyone had witnessed my folly. None were found.
I walked the shoreline back to the small public beachhead. Not a single person seemed to notice me at all. I could have drowned and no one would have been the wiser until … but I didn’t drown and I hadn’t broken a bone.
Returning to the water via the public beach I thought, “Windsurfers need to watch out for me, not the other way around.”
As I was meditating on this thought, a windsurfer came dashing at high speed towards my little melon pitching into the chop next to me at the last possible moment. He smiled and said, “I saw you from way out. That hat is bright.” He couldn’t have imagined how hard I had tried to stay out of his way not more than a few minutes earlier. I laughed and thanked him for being careful of swimmers. He said, “Oh, most of us watch out for swimmers here, but not all of us are careful, so don’t be complacent.” Complacent!? Nah, not me.
By Marilou Newell
