Beach Ride

by Bonnie Bryant

  They ran down to the water’s edge. The aqua waves were breaking about thirty yards from shore. By the time the water reached the beach, it was just a gentle white foam that licked at the girls’ toes while they stood tentatively, waiting for the right moment to enter.

  “It’s so warm!” Carole declared. Every time she’d swum in the ocean, it had been quite chilly, but that wasn’t the case here. It was warm, welcoming, and velvety smooth. She waded out confidently. Sheila was right by her side.

  The water remained very shallow, knee-deep, for quite a while, and then it dropped suddenly to waist-deep. From there, it progressed. The girls walked out until they thought it was about shoulder-deep, but they couldn’t tell for sure because the water never stayed one depth long enough for them to measure. They were near where the waves were breaking, and Carole could feel the powerful surge of the ocean water. It was something.

  “Never turn your back on the ocean!” Sheila said, and she said it just in time, too, because when Carole looked over her shoulder, all she could see was an enormous wave that seemed about to swallow her.

  “Jump!” Sheila called out.

  Carole jumped. She rose about two feet from her own strength and another five with the power of the wave. The surf picked her up, lifted her high, brought her toward the beach, and then set her down gently. She had time only to take a nice deep breath before the returning water began pushing her back, carrying her toward the next incoming wave.

  It was like Space Mountain, Big Thunder Mountain, and the Mad Tea Party all rolled into one, only there was no waiting time, because right away another wave was coming. Carole jumped the next wave and then watched Sheila bodysurf toward shore.

  “That looks like fun,” she called to her cousin.

  “It is!” Sheila replied, and then gave Carole a few tips on how to do it. When Carole was ready to give it a try, Sheila pointed out a good wave.

  Carole faced the beach and felt the powerful push-pull of the ocean behind her. She looked over her shoulder at the coming wave.

  “Now!” Sheila yelled.

  Carole pushed off from the bottom, rising high into the curl of the wave. She could feel the swell of water pushing her upward and toward the shore. She put her arms out straight in front of herself and pointed her toes as Sheila had instructed, thinking that the more she resembled a surfboard, the better off she’d be.

  The wave propelled her forward at an incredible speed. She was completely surrounded by it and trapped in its power, rushing toward the shore. Then, just as she began to slow down, the crest of the wave caught up with her, folded itself over her, and wrapped itself around her. At the last possible second, Carole remembered one more piece of Sheila’s advice and took a deep breath. The wave came crashing down on her, pulled her deeper into the water, and drew her back away from the shore. A second later she felt herself pop up to the surface. She lifted her head, cleared her eyes of the salt water, and began laughing.

  It was almost as much fun as horseback riding!

  “Isn’t it fabulous?” Sheila asked.

  “Absolutely,” agreed Carole. “As long as you don’t mind getting sand in everything.”

  Sheila laughed. “It’s a small price to pay for something that’s this much fun. It’s even better with a flutterboard—wait here while I go get it. Don’t do any surfing without me. I’ll be right back.”

  Carole didn’t mind waiting. She played in the waves, jumping over them and diving into them until Sheila could get back with the board. Sheila had to go quite a distance, too. Their picnic area seemed to have moved about fifty yards down the beach.

  Carole swam outward toward the place where the waves began to crest. She wanted to be ready to use the flutterboard as soon as Sheila got back with it. A nice-sized wave came. Carole jumped up into it and enjoyed the frothy lathering she got as the crest passed her by. The wave had broken so quickly that she hadn’t had time to take the breath she’d needed, and she found herself with a snootful of salt water. She coughed and tried to clear out her nose. Then she rubbed at her eyes, now tearing because of the salty water.

  She was so busy with the problems the last wave had caused, she never saw the next wave when it came. Only instinct caused her to take a deep breath when it hit.

  In an instant Carole was completely submerged in the surf. This time, instead of propelling her upward and toward the shore, it pulled her down, tugging fiercely at her feet, dragging her down to the sandy bottom.

  Carole had never felt a force like this. There was no fighting it. It was mightier than a team of horses, stronger than anything she’d ever known. Her hair swarmed around her, tugged every which way by the water. Her body scraped the bottom, and where the sand had once seemed silky, it now abraded her skin. And her lungs screamed for air.

  Carole didn’t know how far she traveled or how long she stayed underwater, but when the water above her lightened, she knew she was near the surface and could finally use her arms to help. She struggled, swimming and fighting against the powerful force. She kicked, remembering her own horse’s powerful legs as he flew over the highest jumps.

  “Up, Starlight, up!” she urged herself. And then she popped to the surface and gasped, coughing and sputtering.

  At first she was so relieved to be breathing that she didn’t realize she still seemed to have no control over her destiny. She was out beyond the line where the waves broke, and she was being pulled farther away from the shore at every second. She could breathe all right, but she could feel the water pulling at her feet, as if it felt cheated and wanted to swallow her up again. The next time it might be for good. Carole was too exhausted to win another battle against the ocean.

  Sheila. Where was Sheila?

  Carole squinted. Her cousin had just picked up the flutterboard and was returning to the ocean. Carole waved for help.

  Sheila waved back.

  Carole cried for help.

  Sheila waved, obviously completely unaware that Carole was in trouble.

  “Help!”

  Sheila held up the flutterboard to show that she had it.

  Carole wasn’t going to get help from Sheila. What could her cousin do, anyway? If she came out into this water, then the two of them might be killed.

  Carole tried swimming. It took all her might to get her feet up out of the deep water and begin kicking. She moved her arms. Carole was a good swimmer. She’d been swimming all her life. But she’d never been swimming like this. With each stroke it was harder to lift her arms and kick her feet. With each stroke she was farther from shore.

  Sheila waded into the water and looked at Carole again. Then she saw what was happening. Carole wasn’t playing in the waves. Carole was in a riptide, and she was being carried out into the ocean—out where the liners and gas tankers were, out where there was nothing but water and danger and, for swimmers—she didn’t even want to think about it. This was trouble. Big time.

  “Help!” Sheila cried. The nearby picnickers had gone, and the lifeguard tower was still empty. They were alone and Carole was in great danger.

  Sheila looked around desperately. All she saw was the peaceful beach where they’d had their picnic and where their horses were now enjoying the shade of the coconut palm. Maverick looked up when she looked up at him. His ears flicked and his nostrils flared as if he understood there was danger.

  Maverick, her beloved pony. He could help. He was the only possible answer.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Sheila dropped the flutterboard and ran to the palm tree. She unhitched the knot in Maverick’s lead rope and leapt onto his back.

  “Let’s go, boy,” she said. He went.

  Carole continued to struggle against the water. Every inch of her body told her she must not allow herself to be dragged out into the ocean. She kicked, she used her arms, she kept moving, and she kept going farther out.

  Suddenly there was a tug at her feet as the water seemed to suck her under again. She filled her lungs with air just befor
e she went under. Again, she was relentlessly pulled by the force of the water, down and out she went. She was swirled around as if by water going down a drain. Then, as suddenly as she’d gone down, she popped up. She gasped for air and looked around. The beach was very far away now, the few figures mere dots on the pure white sand. There was one that was bigger, though.

  Carole looked carefully. She couldn’t see very well because of the glare, and she was becoming so tired that she couldn’t hold her arm up to shade her eyes for more than a few seconds.

  It wasn’t a person she saw entering the water. It was more than a person; it was a horse, a horse she’d seen before, but she couldn’t remember where. And the rider—she knew the rider. Definitely. But who was it? The water tugged again, then. Carole took another deep breath and prepared for another terrifying ride to the deep.

  Maverick entered the water fearlessly, trotting straight into the powerful surf just as Sheila told him to do. He didn’t flinch when the water was at his knees or splashing on his chest. Sheila gripped tightly and prepared for the onslaught as they approached the area where the surf might grab at them, too. She spoke to her pony with her legs and he answered with his heart and all his strength. Soon he was bounding into the surf, jumping up against the oncoming waves just as Sheila and Carole had been doing only a few minutes ago. This time, however, it wasn’t for fun. It was for real.

  Sheila sat up tall on the pony’s back. Where was Carole? She shaded her eyes to look and, at first, couldn’t see anything of her cousin.

  She looked to the right where the undertow had carried them. Then she looked out. In the distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, Carole bobbed helplessly.

  While Maverick moved forward toward Carole, Sheila considered the circumstances. She knew what was going on, but Carole did not. This was a riptide: an incredibly strong surface current that was pulling Carole down into the ocean and away from the shore. There was no way a single swimmer could defeat the force of the riptide. Fighting it would surely only lead to exhaustion, and exhaustion led to a place Sheila didn’t want to think about.

  The only way to defeat the riptide was to get out of its force. Since it could be a mile or more long, straight away from the beach, the only option was to move parallel to the beach, beyond the section affected by the riptide. Somehow Sheila had to convince Carole to stop swimming toward the beach and start swimming parallel to it.

  Carole saw her then. She knew who that was. It was her cousin Sheila and Sheila was riding a horse. It was her horse. It was—she couldn’t remember the horse’s name. He had a name, she was sure, but she couldn’t remember. She’d remember if only she could swim toward them. She wanted to reach them. She lifted one arm, put it in front of her, and kicked weakly. It wasn’t an arm, though, really. It was some sort of very heavy attachment to her body. It just fell back into the water and hung limply by her side.

  The girl was waving. The girl—Sheila—was waving. Carole wanted to wave back, but her arm weighed too much. Why did that girl want to wave? She wasn’t waving hello. She was waving go away. Carole was going away. Far away. Carole began thinking about her mother then. She hadn’t seen her in a long time. Something had happened to her, hadn’t it? Carole struggled to remember. She missed her mother. Where was she? Was she far away? Carole didn’t think so, but she couldn’t remember. The water tugged at her feet again. It was cold, but so was she.

  Sheila could tell that Carole didn’t know what she wanted her to do. Carole just had to swim sideways. It was the only way—unless Maverick could get to her, and then all three of them would go sideways together.

  She shifted Maverick’s direction then. They had to go down the beach beyond where Carole was now. They would have to be beyond the force of the riptide and make Carole swim toward them. She hurried the horse, who obeyed every command. When the water got too deep for him to stand and walk, he simply swam, strongly, bravely, and she rode on his back.

  “Carole!” she called. “Swim to your left!” Carole couldn’t hear her.

  With every stride, Maverick brought her closer to Carole. Sheila didn’t know what would happen if she and Maverick got caught in the riptide, but she knew what would happen if they didn’t reach Carole, so there didn’t seem to be any choice. They persisted. The pony never complained, never faltered. He snorted to get the water out of his nose, and he swam and swam and swam.

  Suddenly Carole didn’t feel any more pulling. The torturous tugging stopped. She was vaguely aware of the motion of the ocean around her, rocking, reassuring water everywhere. But no more tugging. Carole rolled over on her back. She laid her head on the water and looked up at the blue sky above. Her arms rose and so did her legs. She closed her eyes. She was very tired. She should sleep now, she thought. Yes, sleep.

  Sheila saw Carole then. Her eyes were closed. She was floating on her back, rising and falling with the swell of the ocean. Sheila didn’t know what was happening, but she knew that, one way or another, Carole was no longer being held by the riptide. It meant that it might be safe to swim near her now.

  “Over there, boy,” she told Maverick, and aimed the pony toward where Carole was.

  “Carole! Are you okay? Carole!”

  There was no answer. Then Carole lifted one hand just a little bit as if to wave to Sheila. It seemed a very odd gesture, but it was a gesture and assured Sheila that Carole was alive.

  It took another few minutes for the pony and rider to reach Carole. Although Sheila and Maverick were both themselves exhausted by the swim, Sheila knew they had more reserve strength than Carole, who seemed barely aware of where she was.

  Sheila checked her balance, leaned over, and grabbed one of Carole’s arms.

  “Come on up here, girl,” Sheila said, trying to sound as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

  “Wake me later,” Carole said. “Later. I’ll sleep now.” She closed her eyes then, almost defiantly.

  Sheila pulled. She pulled hard, drawing her cousin up out of the water. Carole was certainly not capable of sitting on Maverick on her own, and Sheila couldn’t put Carole across the pony’s back because she might fall off, and even if she didn’t, her face would then be hanging in the water.

  She finally got Carole onto the pony’s back in front of her. Carole slumped forward. Sheila didn’t know how well she’d stay there, but it was the best she could do. It was time to begin the long journey back to the beach.

  Carole felt the pony’s mane in her face. She didn’t know what horse it was, but it was a nice horse. It smelled of the ocean, but it smelled of horse, too. That was a good smell.

  “Nice horse,” she mumbled. She closed her eyes. It was a good horse. It needed a hug. She’d been doing a lot of hugging lately. This creature seemed to need a hug more than anybody else. She hugged.

  Sheila didn’t know why it was that Carole was holding on so tight to Maverick’s neck, but she knew that it was keeping Carole from falling off and into the ocean, so it was fine with her.

  Maverick seemed to understand that he had to get back to shore. Sheila knew he couldn’t have much energy left, nor did she. She didn’t want to think what might happen if they didn’t reach land soon.

  One of the first rules of riding was that you should always look where you wanted your horse to go. On dry land a horse might misunderstand the slight changes in balance caused by a turned head and shift his own direction. Sheila didn’t know if it was the same in the water, but that seemed logical. She stared at the shore ahead, now nearing. She was only barely aware of their progress as they rode and swam through the line of surf that now helped to carry them to safety. Maverick pushed himself up and rode on the force of the waves, grasping for footing each time the ocean set them back down again, each time a little closer to shore.

  Sheila saw people gather there, people who hadn’t been there before, people who had come to watch and people who had come to help. She thought she saw some men wading into the surf with life preservers and ropes. She thoug
ht she saw an ambulance. Then she thought she saw her father. And there was Uncle Mitch.

  Maybe not. She was too tired now to be sure. She knew only that she and her pony and her cousin were going toward the shore. They were going to get there.

  Maverick’s feet struck sand. He was walking now, not swimming. He struggled with the weight of the two girls on his back; he struggled with his own exhaustion. He took more steps. He paused. Without any signal from Sheila, he walked forward toward the beach, the dry sand, toward safety.

  Sheila heard voices. She saw hands reaching for her and for Carole. She felt Maverick snort weakly and then stumble.

  That was the last thing she remembered.

  LISA PUT THE last breakfast dish in the dishwasher, rolled the racks in, and shut the door. Then she wiped the sink dry. It wasn’t until she noticed that she was doing the wiping with her own shirttail that it occurred to her that her mind was not totally occupied with washing the breakfast dishes. A glance back in the dishwasher confirmed her suspicions. She’d put the tea kettle in there, too!

  She rescued the tea kettle, put it back on the stove, turned out the kitchen light, and retreated to her room. It was school vacation for her, but it wasn’t vacation for her parents. They’d both gone to work and she was alone in the house. She thought she might do some work on her science report that was due in three weeks, but try as she might to concentrate on electricity, all she could think about was Alice Jackson.

  Lisa closed her book and climbed onto her bed. That was where she did her best thinking, especially if her dog, Dolly, joined her. She invited her up. Dolly was only too happy to oblige. The Lhasa apso jumped right onto the bed and settled herself onto Lisa’s lap. Lisa patted her and thought. She found she could do those two things at the same time.

  She and Stevie had only been trying to help Alice. Lisa certainly would be grateful to friends who tried to do that for her. She was sure Stevie and Carole would be, too. So why wasn’t Alice? What was there to be angry about? Friends were supposed to help. She and Stevie were just being friends. Why couldn’t Alice appreciate that?