The Wave: Prompt

Waves at Play

“Quick! Grab her!” Mom’s frantic shout barely registered through the crash and sloosh of the waves. They moved with her breath, filling her with joy.

Betsy felt her tiny form scooped up and deposited a ‘safe distance’ up the beach before she realized what was happening. Crushed to her father’s chest, she felt the frenzied pounding of his heart. What just happened?

One minute she was listening to the laughter in the waves as they invited her to play. Then, this. Clutched in her father’s arms, she felt his fear enfold her.

Betsy’s little eighteen-month-old legs had taken her too close to the water. Or so she felt, as Mom’s shout sliced through the soothing symphony of lapping surf and circling gulls. The cry startled Betsy and, apparently, frightened Dad into rescuing her from…what exactly?

“She almost got wet! Those are new shoes! You said you’d watch her! What were you thinking?” the words flowed past Betsy as she stared over her father’s shoulder into the light sparkling on the water. Somehow Betsy knew her father’s heart couldn’t be beating that fast about shoes. The new, white lace-up booties, her grandmother called baby shoes. Did shoes have babies? Betsy started to giggle. Her mother was not pleased.

“Sweetheart, you need to stay away from the water. It’s too cold now, and you have to stay dry.” Mom wrapped a blanket around Betsy’s shoulders, separating her from the blustery, exciting wind.

But the waves want to play, thought Betsy, as her reasoning brain tried to figure out what made Mommy afraid. ALL the waves, want us to play.

She was old enough to swim by herself now, as long as someone was nearby. The ‘buddy system’ Dad called it. It was his choice to bring the family to the beach for a vacation, and Betsy could feel his joy as they braved the rough and tumble of the surf together. Mom stayed high up on the white sand, digging a hole and covering it with a towel, so she could bury her pregnant tummy and lie down on top of it. She couldn’t do that in a regular bed anymore.

Betsy wondered if her soon-to-be little-brother liked being buried that way, and if he could hear the birds and the water from inside the sand. Maybe the sand had other noises. Maybe clams and things spoke to him. She wondered if he would love the beach when he grew up because he’d slept inside it.

Betsy watched those thoughts run through her head, watched Dad playing ‘dive’ with her little sister, tossing her into the waves from his strong shoulders again and again. Their laughter followed her as she ventured deeper into the sea.

Betsy kept going, pushing her toes against the sandy bottom as the water splashed higher and higher. She kept one ear tuned for the inevitable whistle and shout, “Too far!” But today everyone was busy, and if she just went a bit further…

She felt her feet go out from under her as the bottom dropped off. Deep water. Another don’t go there place. Kicking hard, she pushed herself onto her board. From here she could see the strongest waves, even lying down. Paddling and kicking, she met the first crest and let it carry her. Embraced and flying, she traveled with it. Delight flooded her as she met the shallows, trudged back out against the surf, and paddled into position, finding the lift and joy of the cresting ride again and again and again.

Finally, arms and legs heavy, she lay on her board to rest. Looking down, she could see the sandy bottom not too far beneath her, a single manta ray scudding along through sun-dappled currents. No thought, no emotion, only the sun, the wind and the waves. Stillness. Enfolded solitude. Salt-water-heaven.

Then she heard it, the piercing whistle that told her Dad was looking for her and she’d better show up, pronto. Betsy sat up and waved in the direction of the family beach camp. Realizing she’d drifted quite a way, she began to paddle. Delicious sun-and-water weariness took over, relaxing her into the shore-ward swells. “Let us do the work,” they seemed to say. Once the sand came up to meet her, she shakily stood into the water’s edge and walked toward ‘family camp,’ with its spread towels, sunscreen, and sandwiches.

Mom’s intense look and pursed lips smacked of ‘I told you so,’ but it was her Dad who spoke. “You got pretty far out there.” Betsy nodded, grabbing her water bottle and dropping onto a towel. “Was that a good idea?”

Betsy nodded again, holding onto the glow inside her. Dad ‘s quizzical gaze and Mom’s distracted worry faded as sun and wind took over. “Let us warm you,” they whispered to her goose-bumped arms and legs. Knowing that sunscreen was better applied without the mixture of salt and sand she was wearing, Betsy grinned drowsily, and let the dreamtime take her.

“Put some of this…” Mom began, stopping short when Dad raised a finger to his lips.

“Let her sleep, she’s knackered.” His whisper followed Betsy as she soared into the waves.

“Will you surf your dreams or their fears?” the wisdom of the dreamtime queried.

The choice is ever ours. May we surf well and wisely.

~ Namaste ~