Surfboard party for her
I had my first ride, my first surf and she shouted at me, go away, back off. I came to close and she feared the soft top could hit her. In my imagination, I turned easily off to my right, continuing my ride to some bigger waves. In reality, I jumped from that board, ignorant of joy or worry, hey, I had my first surf, that’s an applause. But she was angry, and I better went away, looking for a new challenge in the ever changing landscape of waves and waves.
Within minutes I completed another ride, now I was definitely a pro, and then I went out again, and dropped, and then dropped again, and then never catched a wave for the remaining afternoon. I felt powerless, my arms were like butter, and then I checked my palms, bloody open and burning from that salty soup.
I will never know how I got that but they burned badly, and I speculate, that I must have hold the board very firmly when jumping over the waves, rubbing the skin slowly away. That day I had enough, no power, two wins, many losses and a happy girl friend. She smiled all the way back to our backpacker hostel, telling me stories about her surfboard party, and I kept my mouth, looking at my hands, at my two burning hands, at my two wins.