Lautering in Beer Land!

She saw it, in the reflection of his sunglasses. Rising behind her as they were bobbing around in the water. Now! Now! Now! He shouted and pushed her into the wave. She felt the wave catch and suddenly she was rocketing toward the beach.

They had been at this for a while. Bobbing. Rocketing. Falling. Swimming out past the break; repeat. Her legs were rashed from the board wax and she felt the bruises forming from falling into the ocean. Simple flesh wounds wouldn’t stop her from getting back up and trying again. She was determined to stand.

She had met him the day before. He came into the brewery for open mic night. Everyone came to the brewery for open mic night. He said he was a surf instructor. Asked her if she wanted a lesson. He was outside her hostel on his motorbike the next morning, way earlier than he needed to be. Jump on he said, let’s get out of town.

They got to the beach just as the tide was changing. They had hours until the surf would be right. You got a smoke he asked? Of course she did. After, he brought back a breakfast of beers and tostones con queso from the little stand near the water. They sat on wooden beach chairs, watching the tide come in, listening to the sounds of the waves and feeling the sun’s warmth as it slowly climbed across the clear, blue sky. It’s time, he said after a while, let’s go out before the women’s surf camp comes.

This time, the velocity of the wave pressing the board through the water was familiar to her. Now, she went for it. She popped up. And this time, she didn’t fall. She wobbled a bit at first, quickly learning the wave. Once she settled into her goofy footing though, she took a moment to enjoy the rush that filled her body. As she got closer to the shore, she heard loud cheering. She looked beyond the water in front of her, to the beach. The women’s surf camp had arrived.