How to Make Friends with the Sea

by Tanya Guerrero

  Not completely.

  It was mostly quiet. I think Miguel knew I had to focus on my feet to keep from getting nauseated. After several minutes, he halted and surveyed the distance. I was afraid to look.

  “You’ll be fine, Pablo. Just take a quick peek. It’s awesome,” said Miguel.

  My eyeballs twitched. And then my gaze panned from the ground to the horizon. The sea was wild, rising and falling into perfect waves. There were at least half a dozen surfers gliding and flying as if they belonged there, as if they were in total control even though I knew they weren’t. It was awesome. But it was also dizzying. I could feel my stomach churning, the puke bubbling and rising.

  “I have to sit.” I flopped on my butt. I didn’t even care that the sand was sticking to the backs of my legs. My head dangled between my knees. I slammed my eyes shut, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

  Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

  Miguel’s hand rubbed my back. “You’re okay. Just breathe,” he said softly.

  And after a minute I was okay. My insides were back to normal and the spinning stopped. I looked over at Miguel. “Thanks.”

  He smiled. “No problem, little man.”

  “There you are!” a voice boomed from nearby.

  “Sam, you scoundrel. We were just coming to find you,” Miguel replied with a chuckle.

  The man with the booming voice popped out of nowhere like one of those jack-in-the-box toys. He was sunburned and mustached and dressed in linen pants, a T-shirt, and a paisley scarf, which was draped around his neck. I couldn’t quite figure out why someone would wear a scarf on the beach. It was weird. Something about him reminded me of the old French films Mamá liked to watch, the ones with guys who drank too many martinis and charmed too many ladies. He and Miguel did one of those manly kinds of embraces, slamming chests and shoulders and clapping each other’s backs. When they pulled apart, the man gestured at me with his thumb and made a corny-looking face. “So, who’s this handsome devil you’re with, mate?” he said with a thick British accent.

  “Sam, this is my buddy Pablo. Pablo, this is Sam, an old friend.”

  Sam stuck his hand out. I didn’t really want to go anywhere near his hairy knuckles but he was a friend of Miguel’s, so I shook his hand, not to seem rude. “Um. It’s nice to meet you,” I muttered.

  “Hey. Where’s Lucky? I was hoping Pablo could meet him,” said Miguel, combing the beach with his eyes.

  Sam laughed. “That troublemaker? He went off somewhere. I can’t get him out of the water these days.” He took a deep breath and then whistled one of those super high-pitched whistles. For a second nobody spoke. But then Sam pointed at the shoreline and said, “There he is!”

  I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to get all dizzy and nauseated again. But I was curious—curious enough to risk puking. I craned my neck past Miguel’s and Sam’s legs. At first all I saw was splashing sea-foam. Then something big and yellow burst from a rolling wave. It was a dog. Sam kept on whistling and the dog leaped and ran through the water.

  For some reason, even though I was staring straight at the sea, my stomach calmed, my nerves relaxed, my puke retreated. It was a miracle. Lucky sprinted down the beach, sand flying everywhere. With every stride, more and more sand stuck to his fur so by the time he reached us he looked as if he were coated in bread crumbs.

  “Hey, boy! Long time no see,” said Miguel.

  Lucky wagged his tail, bouncing between Sam and Miguel. They both petted him, and then he stopped bouncing all of a sudden.

  “Oh no! Duck and cover, mates!” Sam shouted.

  I had no idea what he was talking about.

  Lucky sneezed, and then he shook so hard, his loose skin slid back and forth. By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late. I was covered in wet sand from head to toe.

  Ordinarily I would have been horrified. But something peculiar happened. I laughed. I even giggled. Sam and Miguel were laughing too.

  And Lucky, well, he just stood there with the dopiest dog smile I’d ever seen.

  TWENTY-SIX

  It turned out Lucky was blind. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, other than the fact that his eyes were really, really squinty, there was no way to tell. In fact, Sam said he didn’t even have any eyeballs! It was a congenital defect—he’d been born like that. Just like Chiqui had been born with her cleft lip.

  After brushing off as much of the sand as possible, all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel room, take a hot shower, and decontaminate myself. But Sam had other ideas. He invited us back to his place for a drink, a snack, and a chat. I sort of got swept into the middle, sandwiched between Miguel and Sam with Lucky right behind.

  So off we went.

  Woof! Woof!

  Lucky barked a greeting when we got to Sam’s Surf & Turf, which was a surf shop, café, and hostel all in one. It was one of those hip and homey types of places with lots of comfy seating, shelves with books and magazines, and people who hung out, drank coffee, and smiled a lot. Against the walls was a rainbow display of surfboards, and right smack in the middle of the room was a counter with a shiny espresso machine.

  Miguel and Sam settled on a sofa and started talking about the “good old days,” which to me basically sounded like they were reliving their youth. I couldn’t even understand half the conversation. Sam kept on referring to birds, saying stuff like, “Remember that bird from Manchester? The one with the red hair?” and “Nah, mate. Not that bird. She was certifiably nutters.” It was just plain confusing. Birds didn’t have hair, as far as I knew. And what was “certifiably nutters” supposed to mean anyway?

  After a while I wandered off. Maybe Lucky would be better company. I found him sitting next to the barista guy. He was completely still, except for his tail, which moved back and forth like a wriggly snake. As soon as the barista saw me, he put his finger to his lips and quietly opened a jar labeled DOG TREATS. Moving in slow motion, he carefully placed the treat on Lucky’s nose. I counted five whole seconds before Lucky jerked his head so the treat bounced high into the air.

  Chomp.

  He caught it with his mouth and then spun around doing a sort of celebratory doggie dance. It was pretty much the most awesome thing I’d ever seen.

  “Good job, Lucky! High five!” The barista guy held his hand out; Lucky lifted his paw and slapped it.

  “How does he do that?” I asked.

  The barista guy chuckled. “Lucky is a superhero in disguise. He even saved a kid from drowning a couple of months ago.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah, for real. Have a seat. You want a cookie or something?” he asked.

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said, hopping onto a bar stool. The barista was small and wiry with overgrown hair that was shaved at the sides. His dark skin was covered with a bunch of geometrical tattoos. I couldn’t help tracing the shapes, counting the squares, triangles, and circles.

  He handed me a plate with a ginormous chocolate chip cookie on it. “I’m Heinz, by the way,” he said with a smile.

  “Heinz like the ketchup?” I immediately felt stupid. I mean, how many people had probably asked him the same thing?

  But he only laughed and made a silly face. “Yes, like the ketchup. It was the only German name my mother could think of. You see, my father was from Germany. I never got to meet him, so I guess my mother wanted me to have some sort of connection. But what I really got was a lifetime comparison to ketchup. It kind of sucks, but I’m used to it,” he said.

  I took a bite of my cookie. There was this lump in my throat—the same lump of phlegm that materialized every time I thought about my father. Heinz had reminded me I wasn’t the only one. At least I’d had my father for seven years. Which I supposed was better than none.

  Heinz placed a frosty glass of milk in front of me and then he tossed Lucky another treat. “So, tell me … are you a morning person?” he said.

  Morning person? Why is he even asking?

  “Um. I don�
�t know. Sometimes, I guess.”

  He leaned on the counter real close, as if he were going to let me in on a secret. “Every day Sam lets me take Lucky out on the beach at sunrise. We run and go swimming when nobody is around. It’s nice. Quiet. If you want, I can give you a quick surf lesson.”

  My body stiffened. I glanced at Miguel, wondering if he’d broken his promise.

  Had he told everyone?

  Miguel laughed.

  Sam laughed.

  Were they laughing at me?

  But then I realized they were just laughing at themselves, at their corny jokes and ridiculous stories.

  Phew.

  Stop being so paranoid, Pablo.

  “What do you think? You up for it?”

  I breathed in and out. I tried to forget about the room and all the people in it. Heinz’s tattoos—I focused on them—following the lines and shapes until I felt better. Calmer.

  “But why? It’s not like you know me or anything,” I finally said, fidgeting in my seat.

  Heinz punched me on the shoulder lightly. “Lucky told me he liked you. He’s an awesome judge of character.”

  Lucky flopped on the ground, showing me his belly. I couldn’t help but grin.

  All of a sudden, though, I remembered something. “It’s just, well, there’s one thing … I—I can’t really swim.”

  “It’s all right, man. The lesson starts on the sand. You don’t even need to get wet.”

  “Oh. Right. Um. I guess I’ll think about it … I’ll see what my mom says,” I muttered.

  Ugh. That sounded so babyish.

  “No worries. We’ll be out there tomorrow. Sunrise. If you decide to join us, you know where we’ll be,” he said, holding his fist out to me.

  Miguel appeared. “We better go. Your mom is probably wondering what happened to us.”

  My hand was numb but somehow I managed to curl it into a limp fist. Heinz bumped his knuckles on mine. It was strange but cool. This guy—this totally amazing surfer dude—didn’t think I was weird. At least I didn’t think so.

  I hopped off the stool and followed Miguel to the door. But before leaving, I turned and said, “I’m Pablo, by the way.”

  “Like Picasso?” Heinz answered with a grin.

  “Yeah, like Picasso.”

  * * *

  I was in bed. Dead-tired. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a challenging day—challenging yet amazing. Everything hurt and tingled, including my brain, which wouldn’t turn itself off. I just kept on thinking about the beach, the sea, the sky, and the surfers. I kept on thinking about Lucky and his superhero powers. I kept on thinking about how patient Miguel had been, and how ridiculous Sam’s jokes were, and how Heinz had treated me like any other guy, and how Mamá hadn’t touched any of her calming stones, and how Chiqui had eventually gotten into the pool, refusing to get out until she was as wrinkled as a prune. When I was done thinking about all those things, and I finally thought my mind was calm enough to go to sleep, I started thinking about the next morning—about Heinz and Lucky. I so badly wanted to join them.

  But what if?

  There were always those big, fat what-ifs in the back of my mind.

  What if I hurled?

  What if I made a fool of myself?

  What if I got sunburned?

  What if? What if? What if?

  I just wanted to smash every single one of those what-ifs into smithereens.

  Smash! Smash! Smash!

  When I mentioned it to Mamá, she’d said, “Fantástico, mi amor! It sounds like a wonderful opportunity.” And then Miguel had to chime in, “Heinz is the man. You most definitely have to hang with the man!”

  How could I say no to that?

  I’m not going to chicken out. I’m not going to chicken out.

  “Pabo.”

  I sat up.

  Chiqui was right there gazing at me from the edge of my bed. “Pabo. Mee. Seep,” she whispered.

  Am I hearing things?

  I stared at her all googly-eyed.

  “Pabo. Mee. Seep,” she repeated.

  Chiqui was talking to me. Like really trying to say something. I couldn’t believe it. It was astonishing. Unexpected. Why me? Why not Zeus or Ms. Grace or Mamá?

  I leaned over and whispered, “What?”

  “Pabo. Mee. Seep.” She pointed at the pillow next to mine.

  Ohhh …

  Pablo. Me. Sleep was what she was trying to say.

  I looked over at the other bed. Mamá was passed out with her mouth slightly open. Chiqui must have crawled out from under the covers undetected.

  “Chiqui. Go back to your bed,” I said softly.

  But she stayed put, blinking her puppy-dog eyes at me. “Kuya Pabo. Mee. Seep.”

  I noticed her emphasis on the kuya.

  Big brother.

  Sigh.

  I pulled the covers aside. “Okay. Fine.”

  She crawled in and settled beside me. It was a little too close for comfort. But to be honest, it didn’t bother me that much. I let her situate her body next to mine. Her head was on my pillow. Her warm breath touched my neck every time she exhaled. After a while I could tell she was asleep.

  Whoosh!

  I felt the breeze come in through the open window. The curtains fluttered and for a second I could see the full moon shining over the sea. The water rippled. All those ripples shimmered. And then finally, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep, deep slumber.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I almost chickened out.

  But then, I thought, maybe all I needed was a little moral support. A sidekick to keep me from failing miserably.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Miguel opened the door to his room. His eyelids were heavy. His face was unshaven. Even then, his hair was still perfect, and his T-shirt and pajama bottoms looked as if they were freshly ironed.

  “Hey, Pablo … Up at the crack of dawn, huh?” he said groggily.

  I stepped closer and gave him my most convincing gaze of desperation. “Will you go with me? To meet Heinz? Please?”

  I counted his pearly white teeth, waiting for him to respond.

  One. Two.

  “Do you even have to ask?” he said with a wink.

  * * *

  The sun had barely risen. There were traces of light painting the horizon. The sea was almost visible.

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  My heart was beating against my chest.

  I put on my sunglasses. Fast. They had become a security blanket of sorts. It felt safer with the world dimmer. Less bright meant less scary.

  I wasn’t going to puke.

  I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself.

  I wasn’t going to run away and hide.

  “Check out these coconut trees,” said Miguel, tapping the trunk of a tall and spindly tree. “They’re really underrated, you know. Like, nobody ever talks about how beautiful they are, because, well, they’re not that beautiful. But they’re strong. Stronger than you can ever imagine, Pablo. There could be a typhoon, a tsunami, an earthquake. Everything around them could be destroyed. But they would survive. Unscathed. As if nothing had happened.”

  “Huh.” I stared at the tree, from its base all the way up to its green coconuts, all the way up to the tips of its leaves. “If I were a tree, that’s the tree I’d want to be,” I said.

  Miguel chuckled. “Me too, little man. Me too.”

  We didn’t say much after that. We didn’t need to.

  There were some lounge chairs nearby, so we sat and waited. Miguel watched the sky change colors. Even though I didn’t want to look out in front of me, once in a while, I would peek, catching flashes of muted color through my sunglasses. It was almost like one of Miguel’s tie-dyed shirts. The blues became lighter and lighter toward the water. Hints of purple appeared, and then the sun turned into an orange fireball.

  My stomach was queasy.

  My neck was stiff.

  My arms and legs wer
e prickly.

  “Pablo Picasso! You made it!” Heinz strolled toward us with a neon-green surfboard under his arm.

  “Morning, Heinz,” I replied, trying to sound casual, as if I’d planned on meeting him all along.

  Miguel bumped fists with him. “The man … Nice to see you again, my friend.”

  Lucky zoomed past us. Then he heard our voices and zoomed right back. He rubbed my legs and licked the tips of my fingers. It was kind of gross. No, actually it was really gross. I had this sudden urge to bathe in hand sanitizer. But I inhaled and exhaled, and smiled and laughed and tried to not care so much.

  “You ready?” said Heinz. He situated the surfboard so it was flat on the sand.

  I glanced at Miguel and he gave me a thumbs-up.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  You can do this, Pablo.

  I stood and hobbled over. “I guess.”

  Heinz didn’t seem all that fazed by my lack of confidence. He peeled off his T-shirt and swung his arms around. “Let’s start with some stretching. Just copy what I do,” he instructed.

  I watched him touch his toes, bend his legs, stretch to the right, to the left, and reach for the sky. His brown skin gleamed under the morning sunlight. With all his tattoos, he kind of reminded me of an ancient warrior—strong and tough and fearless. For a second it made me feel like a pip-squeak. Like I was this scared little kid without any hope in sight.

  But then Heinz grinned and Lucky leaped into the surf like it was nothing and Miguel—he was there. For me. The fear and the insecurities, all the reasons holding me back were just in my head. I didn’t have to feel that way. As ridiculous as I might have looked, I went ahead and did exactly what Heinz did. I stumbled. My bones creaked. At one point I got sort of dizzy. I didn’t stop, though. Even when Heinz asked me to lie on the gunky surfboard without my shirt on as he instructed me to push off and stand.

  “All right. You’re getting the hang of it,” he said.