Grayson

by Lynne Cox

  The swells were growing from one to two feet, and as I swam I felt like I was bouncing on a trampoline on my stomach. Spray off the waves was splashing into my mouth and I was choking on water.

  Grayson swam right up to me, within an inch, and he let me touch him. His skin felt rubbery, like a mushroom, and not at all slimy. It gave a little when I touched it. I reached on top and felt his dimples and then I slid my hand under him and smiled. I held the baby whale in my hand. And I felt the life within him, much the same as I had when I held the tiny grunion, but Grayson’s life force was so much bigger.

  He trusted me enough to let me touch him. We were from two different worlds—two different beings, with two different lives, and yet somehow we understood each other.

  “Everything will be okay, Grayson, don’t worry, we will figure this out,” I promised.

  We swam side by side toward shore. And I felt a new energy. Grayson was swimming easier too. And I was catching his slipstream, riding the tiny waves sliding off his long deep gray body.

  In the distance, I saw the Long Beach Lifeguard boat traveling toward us at full speed.

  nine

  The lifeguards motored alongside us. The older lifeguard with the dark brown hair came up from the cabin onto the deck and said, “Glad you decided to head back to shore. We’ve been keeping an eye on you, but with the change in weather and all the boat traffic, it’s getting dangerous to be swimming out here without a boat.”

  He asked me if I’d seen any sign of Grayson’s mother. He had some good news. A crew on a commercial fishing boat about twenty miles north of us had spotted a pod of five gray whales swimming off the rocky Palos Verdes Peninsula. They didn’t think the pod included our mother whale, but it was a sign that there were other whales in the area. And that gave us hope, and enabled us to inspire each other.

  Steve was doing exactly that. I could hear him speaking on the radio on the lifeguard boat. He was excitedly talking with a fisherman who had been casting his line into the water about a half mile south of us, inside the entrance to Huntington Harbor. The fisherman thought he had seen a whale spouting under the bridge near the mudflats.

  He couldn’t be sure. It could have been a pelican diving into the water to grab a fish. Whales didn’t usually swim inside Huntington Harbor.

  But there was a chance it was Grayson’s mother and so we decided to wait near the end of the pier by the bait shop, hoping that Grayson would stay with us.

  The wind was increasing from the southwest and the gray-blue ocean was erupting into a mass of rolling one-foot waves. The lifeguards moved their boat beside us to buffer the bounce of the chop.

  By the time we reached the pier, a group of fishermen and parents with their kids were leaning on the pier railings, looking south, scanning the water for a spout or any movement, but it was hard to see anything with the waves and glare off the water.

  Two fishing boats joined us, and Carl drove over in his small motorboat. They scanned the water with professional eyes, intently studying the ocean for a sign.

  In the background, now and then, people were speaking to one another on the ships’ radios.

  Steve’s voice came through clearer than the others. He said, “A fisherman on the southern jetty thinks he saw something big swimming around the harbor entrance. He thinks it might be her moving in our direction.”

  In a minute all the people standing on the pier moved to the left side. Some bent way over the railings to see farther into the distance, while others slowly scanned the water, looking for anything moving our way.

  Grayson was restless. He was swimming back and forth like a person pacing. He was breathing faster and shorter. Was he trying to be heard through his breaths? The sound traveled at least half a mile into the air. Maybe he was pacing because he was cold and he was swimming back and forth to stay warm. He had far more body fat than I did and his was far denser than mine. I felt cold deep in my muscles. I was shivering. But I was afraid to get out of the water. If I did, it might affect Grayson badly.

  From all the experience I had in open-water swimming I knew that it was an incredible lift to swim with someone else. Just having someone beside me made me feel better. At times when I was lagging, having someone there gave me the confidence to continue; it really made all the difference in the world. I didn’t want to climb out of the water because I was afraid that Grayson would think I had abandoned him. He might leave before we ever found his mother.

  Sensing his unease, I suggested to the lifeguards that we swim to the southern jetty to see if Grayson’s mother was there.

  The lifeguards thought it would be better if we stayed put. They thought that if the mother whale was near the southern jetty she was probably retracing her footprints. She would most likely return to the place where she thought she had lost him.

  I floated on my back and kicked my feet to generate heat. I couldn’t get warm. I tried to think of what else we could do. I rolled on my stomach and watched Grayson swim through the rumpled, silvery green water. He was swimming slower than before. He seemed to be more agitated. His movements were more erratic.

  I’ve got to do something, I told myself, but I didn’t know what. Just waiting there and watching him wasn’t accomplishing anything, but swimming around in circles wasn’t accomplishing much either. Maybe if I think very hard his mother will hear me. Maybe she won’t know my words but will sense my brain waves. Maybe she will hear my feelings with her sonar. Maybe she will hear me calling her through the water. Sound waves travel faster through the water than they do through air. Maybe brain waves can travel faster and longer through the water. Please, come this way, over here! I shouted with my mind.

  Grayson was breathing faster. He was pacing back and forth, as if he expected something to happen.

  How much longer would he be patient? How much longer would he stay with us?

  “Please hear me, Grayson’s mother, somewhere out there. If it’s you swimming near the Huntington Beach jetty, please swim this way: Grayson is here. Your son is here.”

  I took a breath and put my face into the water. What would we do if we couldn’t find her? We couldn’t abandon him. But I couldn’t bring him home. Who could take care of him? He had to have his mother’s milk. What else could he eat?

  He was swimming so slowly toward shore again.

  Do whales get hypothermia? Do they cool down? Could they die from the cold? Could he shiver and generate heat? Maybe he was sick and growing sicker. Maybe he had been left behind because he couldn’t keep up.

  “Please swim this way. Please swim toward Seal Beach. Please swim to the pier.”

  I thought as hard as I could. I didn’t know if it would work. I didn’t know if anyone could ever know. But I had to try something. You don’t have to hear the words to know someone cares about you. You don’t need to hear the words to know someone believes in you. You don’t need to hear the words to know someone loves you. You feel it; you know it.

  Maybe there was a way she would hear me if I just thought more strongly.

  I think Grayson heard me. I think he heard my emotions and felt them too. He floated on the surface near me as if waiting for me to signal what we were supposed to do next.

  I projected my thoughts: Be patient. Wait. Nothing is all good or all bad. As a problem develops, so does the solution. Rest here. I will tread water beside you. You will be okay. I know it. I feel it. It will all work out.

  Tilting my head back and looking up, I noticed that more people were standing on the pier. See all of them up there, Grayson. They’re here for you.

  It was as if Grayson understood. He looked up. He saw them and he grunted softly.

  The people on the pier pressed against the railings, leaning toward the sea.

  They were willing his mother to appear. I hoped she could feel the good vibrations coming from all of the people on the pier. Something was drawing them out there; something made them want to help.

  My heart beat faster. I felt somethin
g change.

  And then I heard a mother’s voice from the pier, telling her sons that everyone was out there looking for the mother whale. She warned her youngest son, who was about five years old with blond hair and wearing a dark red sweatshirt, not to stand too close to the edge. His older brother, wearing a bright blue sweatshirt, was standing on the other side of his mother.

  The little boy in red stepped in front of his mother. He was so close to the edge that I thought he was going to slip under the railing and fall, but his brother caught his hand, and without even noticing, the younger brother said in a sad high-pitched voice, “Did the baby whale lose his mommy? Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know,” his brother said.

  “Why did she leave him?”

  The older brother said, “I don’t know where she went, but let’s look for her. Maybe we can find her.”

  “Okay,” said the younger one, slipping his hand into his mother’s and seriously staring across the ocean along with his big brother.

  And it happened.

  We hoped, believed, tried, worked, learned, and tried again, and then suddenly it happened in a single moment, all that we hoped for and even a little more.

  The sea’s surface was changing. An underwater current was colliding with the chop and the waves were growing larger, but only in a wide straight line.

  “Look over there! I think I see something!” the little boy shouted excitedly.

  It had to be. It just had to be.

  “I think I see her! I think I see his mommy!” a strawberry blond little girl shouted in a high joyful voice.

  People were leaning so far over, trying to see what the little girl saw, that I hoped the wooden railings would hold the weight.

  Then someone was shouting, “I think I see her too. Over there!”

  People were craning their necks, shielding their eyes with their hands.

  Someone else shouted, “Yes. There she is!”

  “There she blows!” A fountain of white spray shot out of the water ten feet into the air.

  People were laughing, shouting, pointing, clapping, cheering, and squeezing against the south-facing side of the pier. Parents were lifting kids on their shoulders, and older kids were ducking under and weaving in between the adults to get a better view.

  There she was, one of earth’s most amazing creatures. Swimming toward us.

  Grayson took a few quick breaths and dove, and I stuck my head underwater.

  There were sounds coming from the distance, sounds I’d never heard before. They were large, intense, so big I could feel them rumbling through the water.

  Then there was nothing. No sound. No feeling. Nothing. Just the rushing sounds of my bubbles rolling out of my mouth, past my ears.

  I looked for Grayson. He was gone. Had he found her? Had he swum away with her?

  Then I heard his mother: She was talking and she had a beautiful voice—a voice that made me laugh and smile.

  She was singing, her clicking and chirping strung together. She paused and made a series of sounds, high sounds and low ones and probably so many more at frequencies that were too low for any of us to hear.

  There was a pause. And then I heard a second voice. It had to be Grayson. It was. It was Grayson. He had found her! He was clicking and grunting.

  What was he saying to her? What was she saying to him? Was he explaining that he had been looking for her for most of the morning? That he was scared, but that some humans had stayed with him and helped him find her?

  They had found each other. That was all that really mattered.

  Surfacing, I looked up at Steve. He was beaming. For the first time since I met him, Steve was so emotional he couldn’t speak. He smiled and shook his head and pressed his index finger into the corner of his eye to brush away a tear.

  Grayson and his mother surfaced near the lifeguard boat. Everyone on the pier and in the boats was smiling, laughing, pointing, exclaiming about the beauty of the whales and the magic of seeing the mother and son swimming together.

  Grayson and his mother dove and surfaced ten feet from me. I made sure not to move between mother and son, but they swam over to me.

  Grayson’s mother was enormous, at least forty-five feet long—longer, I think, than the lifeguard boat. She swam slowly past me. I felt tiny beside her. I held my breath and felt powerful energy emanating from her body. Was she speaking to me? Was she using low frequencies, sounds that were too low for me to hear but that I could feel? I treaded water and looked closer.

  She had patches of white barnacles on her sides, dimples on her upper jaw, and more barnacles along her chin. There were three long grooves along her throat that allowed her throat to expand when she fed, and I caught a glimpse of her pink tongue. It was longer than my arm and probably weighed more than a ton. She had baleen plates in her mouth. She used these to filter food—amphipods, mollusks, squid, and other little marine animals—out of the water once she reached the Arctic waters and started feeding again.

  She turned and swam to within five feet of me. She was massive and it was amazing; she could move so slowly and she was able to gauge her speed and her size. She knew how close she could get without swimming down something as small as me.

  She circled back and swam even closer. I was thrilled to see this magnificent being beside me. She was so big the wave coming off her body pushed me back, but I was compelled to pull closer to her.

  She dove deep under me, and I felt the water quickening. I realized she had been swimming under me when we were at the jetty earlier that morning. That’s where she’d lost Grayson. She did what any mother would do; she doubled back and retraced the route she had taken with Grayson that morning. She must have panicked, trying to find her baby in the ocean. She took a massive breath of air and spouted. Her poof echoed through the pier and her fountain of water was caught by the wind. It showered the people in the boats and they laughed with delight, in awe at her size and sweet nature.

  She slipped through the water as if the ocean were part of her being. As if they were one and the same. And as she swam, she made me think of Grayson, how he was a beautiful swimmer too. And how he must have learned from her. In that moment I realized how amazing life is, how filled with unexpected wonders, and how fortunate I was to be in the ocean that day.

  With one lift and push of her tremendous fluke the mother slid through the water. Her footprints were enormous, maybe seven or eight feet wide. I watched Grayson follow her. His footprints were perhaps two feet wide.

  She suddenly swam right under me. I took a breath and looked down. All I could see was the gray top of her head. She was only three feet below. I reached and could almost touch her. All in the same moment, I was fascinated, thrilled, and scared beyond belief. I had never swum with anything as big as her in my life. My heart was pounding in my chest.

  With two or three thrusts of her fluke she was swimming fast, moving at four or five knots, but she was so big it took three seconds for her head, back, and fluke to pass under my body. She turned abruptly and swam very slowly two feet from me. She was right beside me. For a moment, I touched her cheek. It felt rubbery and rough where there were barnacles. She tilted her head and she was looking into my eyes. There was a glimmer of light in her big brown eye. I felt a connection between us, just as I had with Grayson. She looked at me. I looked at her. We held each other’s gaze.

  It seemed like she was saying thank you—at least that’s what I felt. I was so elated, hoping, barely able to believe that she was really there.

  She swam one more time around us in a circle with Grayson nestled against her side. She seemed to be showing us that she had Grayson now, and everything was going to be all right.

  She gently nudged Grayson and he swam closer beside her, up near her head. He made a soft grunting sound. She replied. He said something else; now, looking back, I think it was goodbye.

  As strongly as I could think, as strongly as I could feel, I thought and felt, Farewell, Grayson; farew
ell, Grayson’s mom. In a very short time you have shown me things I would never have discovered on my own. You have taught me how to listen and feel and understand without using words. Even if words could reach to eternity there would not be enough to express the way I feel about you.

  They swam under the boats and under me, and I just hoped they could feel what I felt for them: You’re going far away, but you will always be in my heart and in my dreams. When I think of you I will smile and always remember this day.

  ten

  Grayson and his mother spouted, and the sun caught their heart-shaped spray just right. There were two rainbows in the spray, side by side, one big and one little. I could see how happy they were to be together again, how excited Grayson was, and how much his mother cared for him.

  They swam beyond the lifeguard boat north toward the jetty. Grayson rode in his mother’s wide and strong slipstream, and the lifeguards followed in their boat.

  Grayson was gone. It was all that I had hoped for. All that I’d spent hours believing could happen. I watched him swimming into the silvery water, cutting effortlessly across the cross currents, growing smaller and smaller by the minute as the sea expanded behind him. I knew I might never see him again. But I knew that there were experiences in a lifetime that no matter where you are, no matter what else happens, you carry them with you forever.

  Steve’s arms were resting on the pier railing, and his hand was cupped over his eyes to shield them from the blinding glare. He looked down at me and nodded confidently; his mustache curled when he smiled. He knew Grayson would be okay now. He looked happy one moment and sad the next as emotions spiraled around in him.

  “What a wonderful morning,” I said.

  Steve laughed deeply and nodded a few times. He brushed a tear off his cheek, as emotions surged through him.

  I felt a new love and respect for him, for his willingness to stop and help the whales, and for his belief that we could find Grayson’s mother. He never doubted it and he never gave up.

  We watched the whales until they disappeared behind the jetty. As they did, the small group on the pier cheered, and children sitting high on their parents’ shoulders waved goodbye to Grayson and his mother.