We were in the water riding whatever it would offer. There were some good waves, but most were small and a little weak at this point, but the wind was shifting and the tide was coming in. Not that it mattered. As a clerk in a Huntington Beach surfshop had said to us, “It’s okay. Just get in the water. The waves will come.”
I was surfing with Terry, my oldest surf buddy. We had met in seminary, and had once served together as hospital chaplains. He had been a talented priest, but had left ordained ministry to work on Wall Street some years before. We had planned a brief surf trip for earlier in the year, but I was delayed by a death in the family, and Terry had…well, he had just been through some things, too.
Terry: What was the flight like?
Me: There were only five people on the whole plane.
Terry: Weird.
Me: And the stewardesses…
Terry: Flight attendants.
Me: …flight attendants were kind of odd. They watched us like we were going to do something.
Terry: Yeah, I think I know that look. Everyone on the street seems to have it now. In the office, the employees stop talking when a plane flies overhead. Doesn’t matter if they’re talking to someone in front of them or a customer on the phone, the whole place goes silent.
Me: How’s that going?
Terry: We lost a lot of computer files…well, all of the files, paper and electronic. I mean, we lost the whole building. But we’re going to have the temporary office in Long Island for awhile. Maybe forever. I can’t take the subway to work anymore, but I drive in with the surfboard on top of the car. I can get in the water at the end of the day. At least for another few weeks. Then, who knows...? Here comes a set.
It was a good set of waves, too. Terry always takes the first one and I take the second one. There is no reason for it other than he thinks the first one is better and I think it’s the second. For the rest of the day, we didn’t speak as the waves came in as they always do, one after the other, and we concentrated on getting the best rides we could.
Finally, when the water temperature was beginning to make our feet and legs too numb to stand, we sat on the sand and talked about how, once we could move, we should get a couple of cups of hot chocolate from a street vendor who knew just what to sell to hypothermic surfers. Maybe a few cups.
Terry: You know what I found in my sock drawer?
Me: Socks?
Terry: Yeah, and my collar.
Me: Your clergy collar? Plastic or linen?
Terry: It was that nasty starched linen we had to wear back then. I got asked to help out at [a parish near Wall Street]. They’re still doing burials.
Me: I heard. How long’s it been since…?
Terry: Since I wore a collar, or since I ran a liturgy?
Me: Both.
Terry: Awhile. Seems like a time to get back into it.
Me: The Church or the water?
Terry: The Church. Then the water. God help me, but after dealing with The Church again, I’ll really need the water.
And thus, a small private prayer of mine was answered.
Excerpt from Reading Water, all rights reserved ©2011