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As I get closer, I recognize her. It’s Brooklyn, and she’s not sunbathing. At least not on purpose. She seems to have fallen asleep face down in the sand, and has somehow rolled away from her towel too.
It’s a good thing the house she rented has a king-sized bed, or else she’d probably fall off.
I wince as I watch the sun mercilessly bake her smooth, pretty skin. Even if she’s wearing sunblock, she’ll have second-degree burns in an hour.
The humane thing to do would be to wake her, but then she’d bite my head off.
No, I need another idea. If I had an umbrella in the car, I’d set it up here, but I don’t. So, risking my balls and sanity, I pick up her towel and cover her with it to prevent further sun exposure.
There. I doubt she’d do something like that for me.
Harry looks at the ocean and whines.
“Yeah, yeah,” I tell him. “We’re going.”
Once Harry is dressed in his canine flotation device, I take my board and we wade into the waves.
Ahh. Only surfing brings me this intense feeling of relaxation mixed with exhilaration, peace with terror, and above all, an almost spiritual sense of freedom. Harry loves it too and has such a blast that he makes me appreciate surfing all the more. I’m also grateful that he’s in my life because he often drags me to do this when I need it the most.
Just as I’m riding a big kahuna, I see Brooklyn approach the water and all my joy evaporates.
Can’t the woman read? The sign says very plainly that the ocean isn’t safe. Even Harry and I have to be careful today, and we’ve been coming to this beach our whole lives—not to mention, he has water-rescue training and I’m a certified lifeguard.
“Don’t!” I shout, but I doubt she can hear me over the surf.
Damn it. She’s stepping into the water. Doesn’t she see?—
Fuck.
The wave that was clearly headed her way knocks her off her feet.
“Help her,” I command Harry and point at her before I leap into action, a burst of adrenaline propelling me toward the shore.
I beat Harry to the scene, but I don’t see Brooklyn on the surface, and when I dive, it’s all muddy sand.
A moment later, Harry barks, his nose pointing to a spot a couple of feet away.
Heart hammering in my chest, I dive there—and there she is.
As quickly as I can, I position my surfboard under her chest to keep her head above water. Moving faster than I thought possible, I get her onto dry sand, then move her so she is splayed on the surfboard, safely away from any waves that might come.
“I’m calling 911!” Bonnie yells from the couch.
I don’t thank Bonnie now, but I will later—at this point, every millisecond counts.
I check to see if Brooklyn’s breathing.
Nothing.
Even as ice spreads through my veins, my training kicks in, and I begin CPR.
At first, there’s no effect.
As I inhale in preparation for another rescue breath, she gasps, then rolls over and vomits ocean water, her eyes wild and scared.
I hold her hair and soothingly stroke her back. As her spasms ease, I help her lie back on the board. She closes her eyes, still breathing raggedly. As I watch her chest move, it feels like I’m relearning to breathe too. I don’t know why I got as tense as I did, probably because this is my first real rescue attempt.
A few seconds later, Brooklyn opens her eyes, looking a bit calmer. She may be okay, but I don’t let myself relax. Looks can be deceiving.
