Loc:
Manhattan Beach
Crew:
Khang, Klaude, Briana
Conditions:
2-3 FT, warm water, clean, scattered peaks, crowded.
The main reason I had hoped to be done with
all my school projects by Monday was so I could have a couple of days to relax
before my trip to Java. I wanted quality time with Bri, and I didn’t want to
rush packing for the trip, as I didn’t want to forget anything. However, on
Thursday morning, I found myself in a dilemma, trying to squeeze in too much in
my minimum hours left at home.
#
It’s 0515 when I look at my watch. Briana
is knocked out next to me. Rick told me last night to meet him at Rosecrans at
0515 to surf with him and the boys. I could leave right now. Bri’s still in her
REM phase. I could say, “Hun, I’m gonna surf with Rick right now. You don’t
have to get up. Just sleep in.”
0545. I open my eyes, and it’s beginning to
be light out. I had dozed off. I’m sure Rick is still in the water; I could
catch him if I hurry. I get up, take a piss, and brush my teeth. Briana shifts
in bed from the noise that I’m making. I say, “Hun, you don’t have to get up.
Just sleep in. I’m gonna surf. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” I look at my
watch. “I’ll be back by eight.”
Bri’s still curled up under the covers, but
her eyes are open. She says, “I wanna surf.”
#
By 0615, we have the car loaded up, and
we’re driving through El Segundo. Klaude calls and asks where we’re surfing. I
tell him that we might check Porto, but it looks like we’re pushing it to our
other spot further south.
“I’ll go there,” says Klaude. “I want to
surf with you before you leave.”
I drive by Rosecrans. I see a lot of heads.
Rick could be one of them, but there is no free parking. I apologize to Rick in
my mind: Sorry, Rick. I’ll see you when I
get back. Bri and I score VIP parking by the lifeguard station. Perhaps
it’s meant to be that I surf here. The peaks are a little scattered like
yesterday, and the surface conditions are cleaner. Our parking is good, it’s an
earlier start than I had yesterday, so we take our time suiting up.
Rick calls, but the reception is bad. He
says he’s on his way to work and that Rosecrans didn’t look so good, but 45th
looked fun. The call gets dropped, so we send each other a couple of texts from
there.
Choosing a spot to paddle out at is
frustrating because all the groms are paddling out, getting their sessions out
of the way before school starts. Bri and I walk further south at the edge of
the crowd and paddle out there.
The water is warmer than yesterday. Don K.
is avoiding the crowds too. He catches a mooshy right but in the perfect spot.
He gets distance going down the line and ends up all the way on the inside. Bri
struggles a little to make it out. It’s been a while since she’s surfed. While
I’m in Indo, she plans to do some solo surf sessions for the first time. I
catch a right, but the waves are a little fast, running close to shore, so I
don’t get that far.
Don K. paddles by me and says, “Where have
you been surfing lately?”
“I haven’t,” I say. “I’ve been busy with
school, trying to get everything done ahead of time so I could fly to Indo.”
He scrunches his eyebrows up, creating a
row of lines on his forehead, like the rungs on a frame that people handwash
their clothes on. “Indo!” he says. “How long?”
“A month.”
He keeps paddling but looks back and
smiles, saying, “Indo? Lucky. . .”
The waves are less consistent here. It’s
breaking better in front of the tower and even further north, but the MB
Grommets have it on lockdown. I catch a couple more waves, most of them
closeout, but I get one right gouge out a backhand snap, one of those when you
practically stall on the top of the shoulder, single-shot heaven.
Briana catches her first wave. She’s really
late paddling into it. I wait for her board to shoot up in the air, but she
doesn’t purl. I see her standing up from behind, and I cheer for her from my
spot.
Vietnam Vet Mike paddles out as the groms
are leaving, and he scores back-to-back rights. Past him, further north from
the lifeguard tower, I see Khang and Klaude in the lineup. Bri is off to my
south, sitting with a mellower, longboarder crowd. I can call out to her, but I
save my voice. It’s good for her to surf without being under my anal eye.
I give Klaude a hug, shake Khang’s hand,
and Khang’s homeboy from Maui, Sans, is in the water too. There are nice waves,
but others are on them first. Briana slowly works her way towards us. Just
about every wave that I get is a closeout. Bri hangs out with us for a while,
and then she says she has to take a shit, so she catches one in. Just then, the
window opens up. With the tide push off the low tide, the waves start coming in
more peaky and cleaner but still scattered. Sans gets a racy right, pumping and
punting at the end. He doesn’t stick the landing, but he’s getting in the air,
which is more than any of us can say.
“Dayaaaamn,” says Khang, “we need to catch
waves like that!”
Sans finds himself in the perfect spot
again for the best left of the morning. He cranks out about three turns on it.
I’m jealous. I want a wave like that too, but it doesn’t happen. Klaude’s gone
in, and I tell Khang and Sans that I’m going for one more. I also thank Khang
for everything he’s done for me and my brother.
Briana’s in the car, talking on the phone.
After I change, we head to Mandy’s in El Segundo for breakfast. As soon as we
sit down, I get a call from Klaude.
“You’re home?” he asks.
“No, man. We’re at Mandy’s.”
“Ohhhh, I was in the parking lot. I saw
your car parked, so I took my time. I looked over the railing again and you
were gone.”
“Awww.” I tell Briana. She says, “Awww,”
too.
“Tell him to come here,” says Bri.
I ask Klaude to join us, but he says he’s
on his way to work, and he wishes me a good trip.
#
The rest of the day is a blur. I have to be
at the airport by 2230, three hours before my redeye flight. I make a stop at
the bank to grab some money, head out to grab a couple minor supplies at Surf
Concepts, and then I head to the grocery store for some toiletries I’ll need in
Indo.
At home, Briana sorts through a box of my
old boardshorts while I sand the repairs that Rick did to my board. Bubble
wrapping the boards into Klaude’s boardbag takes longer than expected. In the
house, I begin to stuff my suitcase, which is mostly my brother’s stuff. Bri
makes brownies for my flight, and before I know it, I have to get ready to meet
my boys for dinner.
Bri and I are on the freeway by 1810, and
traffic is nearly gridlocked; even the carpool lane is slow. I had delayed
sushi night over the past three weeks, and if things went according to plan,
we’d be halfway there right now, skipping this gridlocked hell.
We reach Zenko Sushi in Mission Viejo by
1930. Sebastian, Dan, Tim, Briana and I are seated right away. Boris is minutes
behind, but we save him a seat. The sad thing is, I want to enjoy myself, but I
can’t. I haven’t even packed my carry-on yet, and I know that I’m missing a few
things that I haven’t accounted for that may still be in the garage. I look at
Bri across the table from me, and she knows that we don’t have much time left
together.
Bri falls asleep on the ride back home.
It’s 2215 when we reach El Segundo. I lower my expectations, telling myself
that two hours before my international flight will suffice. I lock my suitcase
and stuff my carry on. The boards are already in my car. As I’m driving to the
airport with Briana by my side, I plan to park at Tom Bradley International
Terminal and have Bri help me with my bags, but the terminal is chaos. They are
doing construction, and the parking lot is blocked off with cones. My only
option is to park at a distant terminal, but it’s already a quarter past eleven.
I say, “Hun, I don’t think there’s gonna be time for you to follow me in, so
goodbye is gonna have to be right here.” I pull up next to the unloading curb away
from the terminal. I’m a disaster myself, strapping the board bag to my
shoulder, extending the handle to the suitcase, and putting on my carry on. My
hug has to be quick. We kiss. I tell Bri I love her and face Tom Bradley Terminal,
turning around once more to catch a quick glance of my wagon, pulling away from
the curb.
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