Read up on preceding events in previous episode: ‘Settling In‘.
“Where have Ollie and Tiery gone?”
“Bar”
“Is that wise?”
“Dunno, but Tierry said he was thirsty. And Ollie, the wise-ass, said today is going to be Control C then Control V, in regards to yesterday…”
I sat up and scanned the beach to see if I could spot the duo. No luck. I rubbed my eyes to wake up after dozing off for a few minutes. The sound of the waves softly breaking on the beach, a pleasant white-noise lullaby. Joe sat cross-legged on his surfboard watching the waves intently. He caught me looking at him and beamed: “It’s really something else out here. The waves are pumping. You don’t even need to get lucky. It’s firing non-stop. Just non-stop. Look at it go. Consistent intervals, all waves clean as you could wish, back to back sets. One perfect barrel after another. Just magical… ”
“So why don’t you go back out there?”
“Don’t underestimate their beauty. It’s powerful stuff. My second wave got the better of me. I took off to early and it catapulted me right into the tumble-dryer for fucks sake. Head-first into the whitewash. That beast held me down a lot longer than I am comfortable with. But hey! Just mother nature showing me what’s what. No pick-nick, that’s for sure. And then you have them locals of course. Not keen on tourist stealing their waves. I had to peddle way out there”, Joe pointed to the west, some two hundred feet away from the large group of other surfers in the line-up, “before I felt like I was out of their zone. Don’t want to go and make trouble on the first.”
“Is it that big of a deal, really?”
“Can be, yeah”, Joe shrugged and took another sip from his bottle of beer which he had buried in the sand between his feet. “You’re really stepping into a community. These guys are here every day. Every day. They all know one another. So they pick me, tourist-gringo, straight out of the bunch. It’s not as if I blend in very well, now do I?” Joe grinned. “Don’t matter, I will see if I can have chat with one of them lads. Who knows. Maybe the right guy can get me in to have a go with the big boys one of these days. That would be epic.”
“So why don’t you go back out there now? I mean, if the waves are also pretty solid there on the outside?”
“Amigo, chill! I am on vacay too, you know. No need to get overworked. And look! Here come the refreshments”.
Indeed, Tierry was heading our way. Ollie tried to keep up with him, but was slowed down by the loose sand, trapping his flip-flops. I had to keep myself from laughing. Tierry carried a plastic cooling bag, packed with ice and bottles of Corona.
“What’s this?!”
” Cold Cerveza’s for the Wrecking-Crew!” Tierry smiled. “Is this hipster-proof or what?!” He dropped the bag at our feet. The fluorescent blue plastic paraded the silver logo of one of the clubs on the beach. “They sell these at that place with the fake palm-trees. Some cunning marketing don’t you agree? Everyone is buying them.”
I scanned the beach to spot at least a couple dozen other bright blue cooling bags in use by their new owners.
“It’s too hot!” Ollie panted. He had made it into our little encampment and collapsed onto his towel. His red face was covered in sweat mixed with patches of not properly smeared-out sunblock. “I might go for a little nap.”
“You do that Mr. Wizard. We’ll be on the lookout to make sure nobody nicks your Game-Boy.”
“Nice work T, did you get some limes by any chance?!” Joe had already snatched up a bottle and tossed the twist-off cap back into the cooler.
“Sure did!”
“You serious?!”
“Oh yeah, here, catch!” Tierry dug three limes out of the pocket of his board shorts and threw them towards Joe. To free his hands, Joe quickly clutched his beer between his teeth trying to catch them. To my surprise he succeeded, but reaching for the third lime, which was almost out of his reach, he lost his balance and fell off his surfboard.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
We he got back up, his face and beard were covered in beer, but somehow he’d manage to save half of the contents of his bottle.
“Nice save, cowboy.”
“Cheers.” Joe used his thumb to clean the sand of the brim of his Corona bottle and took a large sip. Then he fumbled through his bag, found a small pocket-knife and started dicing up the limes on his surfboard.
I took a moment to observe my travel-companions. Ollie lay on his back, his baseball cap protecting his already toasted face from the sun. His headphones produced a shrill upbeat thumping noise, probably some weird Japanese pop-band that none of us would’ve ever heard of. Tierry had sat down cross-legged with his backpack in front of him, supporting his e-reader. Every couple of minutes he would meticulously reach out to his beer and without looking up he’d take a considered sip after which he, again without turning his eyes from the page, would stick the bottle into the sand again. As I watched him, peacefully immersed in his book, I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath and felt the last shred of yesterday’s hangover of slide of my shoulders. Tierrys serene attitude almost contagious, affecting all those around him.
Joe was gazing out into the ocean, lost in thought. To many he was a man known for his enthusiasm and high spirit, yet I knew there was more to him than just meets the eye. In the years we’d been friends I’d often caught him zoned out, falling quiet, a shade if sadness looming over him. Life had not been easy on Joe. His mother was no longer in the picture. He was brought up by his father. A difficult man. And that was putting it mildly. They had been moving around the larger part of his childhood. In every town that they’d settled, it wouldn’t be long before his father fell out with either his employer or the community. He was quick with a snarl, had a very bad temper and was capable of burning his bridges within the blink of an eye. Everything he built, he broke down just as easily. Of course the drinking didn’t help…
Because of the disruptive nature of their nomadic life, Joe learned how to make friends quickly. He became a real people-pleaser. And even today, despite his disheartening looks, he was a true artist when it came to reading and influencing social dynamics, seamlessly charming his way into peoples lives. Ironically however, he was not one to let people get too close. His childhood history of repeatedly having to say goodbyes, was something he carried with him. Clinging to him like a shadow, always looming in the background like a guillotine for newfound relations and friendships. The lack of dependent friends or a loving home to get back to, had started taking its toll. After enduring his fathers abuse for the last time, he had crawled up from the floor, gave the man a jaw-shattering elbow in the head and ran upstairs. He had stuffed his most valuable belongings in a duffel-bag, grabbed his guitar and rushed out. He pulled the front-door shut behind him for the very last time. He was only seventeen.
Seeking to escape the effects of the suffocating household and introduced with a new and wild sense of freedom, the young Joe plunged himself into a vicarious lifestyle. The seemingly alluring world of drugs, sex and rock and roll opening its doors to him. Driven by escapism he tried hard to detach from his childhood, to break the shackles of a broken youth. Looking to seize ownership of his own life again. Longing for new experiences, he started living a bold life. Falling nine times to get up ten. The toxic combination of experimental drug-use and battling anxiety had him jojo-ing between states of euphoria and desperation. It taught him things. It taught him about himself. I knew many of his tattoos were representations of his stories. Different chapters of his life.
Roaming between different cities, continuously on the move he held every job imaginable. From working as a smithy’s assistant to going on tour with a rock & roll band as a roadie. During the second tour, he volunteered when one of the guitar-players broke his hand, to join the band for some time. He had worked as a roustabout in one of the roughest drilling rigs in the gulf of Mexico and spend time slaving in the kitchen as a sous-chef. Spending his adolescent years in various countries he became a man of the world. His adventurous nature taking him to whatever place sparked his interest. He developed a great passion for surfing along the way. Wherever he went he packed light. When people asked him why, he always answered with a smile: “Because my memories and experience is all I need. And there’s no suitcase in the world big enough that would be able to carry them all”. Whenever a conversation ram dry, Joe was the one to cut through the dullness with one of his many stories. Because stories he knew plenty. And not all of them were pretty stories though, I knew. Where you find sex and drugs, you often find crime and violence. He got roughed-up more than once by sticking with the wrong people longer than some deemed wise. Fortunately the years seasoned him and he grew more and more comfortable with taking on the bearings of his moral compass. He started showing his trough colors, his gentle heart shining through. Finally he settled down in Modesto. This is where we met him.
“Earth to Joe..?” Joe shook his head and seemed to return back to the beach. “Thanks amigo, seems I got carried away a bit there.”
It’s so much better
When everyone is in
Are you in?
It’s so much easier
When sea-foam green is in fashion
You-oooh, You-oooh
Are you in?
Are you in? – Incubus
