Verbal

Alexis Boddy is a 25 year-old literature student with writing aspirations. She has been penning short stories for years but has only recently worked up the courage to attempt publication. She lives in London with her fiance and their three dogs.

The Green Room

They call it the green room. It’s a minuscule moment that every surfer is consumed with. It’s a place you take with you. It’s that moment when the crest of the wave falls and curls around you like turquoise fire. Your whole world becomes green.

I wake up at five am these days. I used to sleep in before. He would cook me breakfast and bring it to me on a red plastic tray. I’d listen to the heavy London traffic outside and wriggle down in bed, cocooning myself in the soft white sheets. He would do the crossword and ask for my help. He dominated everything I was. I haven’t seen him in six months. He was arrogant on that last day, masking his superiority with apologies and acrid humility.

The Pacific mornings are sticky and vivid. Everything seems more open here, like a fully inflated lung. I peel off my t-shirt and stand naked by the open window, looking out across the beach. It’s still fairly dark outside but I can see some indistinct figures massaging their surfboards with wax, huddled over in the half-light, staring at the black ocean. I feel the wind lift the sweat off my back and I shiver. Today is the day. The sun is coming up and I can hear more people arriving. I can smell the petrol from their cars and hear them untying roof racks. I walk across the apartment and grab my bikini. It’s still damp and the thudding, dank aroma hits the back of my throat. The material is cold and it snaps against my skin, clinging like a brightly coloured barnacle. I shiver again and watch the blonde hairs on my arm lift upwards.

I scrape my hair back off my face. Most of it is encrusted with salt but I don’t care. I had it all cut off when I moved here, it seems ridiculous to have long hair now. I can’t remember the last time I smelled shampoo or conditioner or anything other than the sea. It possesses me now. It is an obsession worth the obsession.

I stuff a banana in my mouth and down the rest of the orange juice, straight from the carton. I like to eat standing up, something about it feels invigorating, like I never have to stop for anything any more. I swing my arms in giant circles and feel the blood begin to pump through me. I grab my board roughly and head for the beach.

The kid is waiting outside for me. I call him a kid but he must be around twenty-one. He’s beautiful. He reminds me of a Greek sculpture, like Adonis or Apollo. His hair falls down in blonde ringlets and he peeps at me through the yellow spirals with dark blue eyes. His eyes match the air. At this time of day, everything looks submerged, like the detritus at the bottom of a fish tank. ‘Blue morning, blue mountain’ he says, smiling at me.

I say nothing and walk onto the sand. I sometimes think I scare him. The sand is slow and cumbersome, we kneel in it and wax our boards in silence. The sand makes me uncomfortable. I sometimes worry that I’ll drown on the beach before I drown in the water. I watch the sea, try to gauge its mood.

And then we’re off, running towards the water. I’m going as fast as I can but I feel like I’m sinking in all this yellow dust. The kid is much faster than me and I focus on him. I watch his back muscles as he runs, they ripple from side to side like fleshy waves and I suddenly run faster, like I’m chasing him. He looks back at me and yells something incoherent. My calf muscles burn as we run, I feel like they might rupture before I even reach the water. I try not to think, I try to switch my brain off but it’s buzzing with energy and heat and the sea.

We finally reach the water and it feels cool against my feet. I want to drop to my knees and let the waves lap over me but I know I have to keep moving. The sand is squishy between my toes and I think of pedicures in beauty salons.

I throw my board in front of me and leap on to it. Paddle, paddle, paddle, way out to the back. Up and down, rise and fall. Paddle, paddle, paddle, don’t stop. I push the board under a wave and everything is quiet. The silence is palpable, it permeates my whole body and when I surface the noise is astounding. I fill my lungs with air and paddle onwards.

We reach the back. There’s a line of people straddling boards, waiting for their perfect wave. We all sit in awed silence.

Then I see my wave coming, third one from the front and I can see it all so clearly, in a moment of clairvoyant elation. I can see the wave come over me. I can reach out and touch the shimmering walls of the green room, the water droplets dance across my fingers like tiny fireflies. I feel like I’m encrusted in a giant emerald, held for millions of years. I can see it all and it’s about to happen. It’s about to happen now.