I stumble out of bed, walking on shaking, uncertain legs towards the deck. I had to get above, to the cold wind and the salty sea. The tiny wooden cabin’s air was stifling, stoking and inflaming the illness that swelled inside of me. I believed that once I managed to reach the outside, in the free fresh air, wind in my hair and cold spray on my face, the queasy sickness would be chased from my body. I stumbled, weakness seeping deep into my legs, my muscles, making the world sway in a blurred vision obscured with black spots. I couldn’t rest here. If I stopped, I knew I would never be able to motivate myself into movement again. Clutching the walls, I would drag myself if that is what it took. I had to make it outside, I couldn’t stop until I could see and feel the surrounding vast sea. On shaking, uncertain legs, I stumbled forward, crawling, dragging myself, gritting my teeth in determination. As I forced myself towards the blue ocean just beyond my vision, I attempted to combat the pain by allowing my mind to rest on other, happier times.
Eighteen years prior, on the white sandy shores of Zuma Beach, an infant watched the rise and fall of the tides with wide, curious eyes. This child, myself, not yet a year old, was captivated by the vast blueness of the ocean before her. Rising from her spot on a gaudy picnic blanket, she walked forward on shaking, uncertain legs. Walking, stumbling, crawling, rising, running towards the unending Pacific. Arriving at her desired destination, chubby baby toes touch the edge of the water, and she squealed in shock at the icy coldness that swelled to envelop her feet. Her mother scooped her up just as a wave would have cruelly crashed upon the child’s small head, sweeping her out further and further into the vast watery abyss.
I reached the deck of the boat; a sickening relief washed over me as I collapsed into a huddled mound of shaking misery. To my dismay, the ship’s captain, in an effort to keep the journey as smooth as possible for the slumbering passengers, was sailing the boat at a snail’s pace. As such, our movement was far too slow to kick up a strong wind or create a spray. Eyes closed, a splitting head ache dominated my reality, as I tried to ignore the rhythmic rise and fall of the boat. I felt like a polar bear in the desert; sweat rising on my skin as I gasped a silent prayer for a strong, cold wind to pierce through my clothes, my hair, my skin. Had the railing of the ship not been so high, I may have jumped into the sea – anything to stop the horribleness of my current condition. Another wave of nausea overtook my body as the ship descended the tides. It felt that death itself was toying with me. As I soaked in my own self-pity, something cackled above my head.
Peeking an eye open, I saw a seagull perched on the railing above me. It stared down with cold, beady black eyes, before cawing a guffaw cackle. Get lost, evil bird, I thought, but had not the strength to back up my internal threat. The bird tilted its head, seemingly delighted by my suffering, before spreading its wings and launching into the heavenly blue world above our heads.
Left alone with nothing but my thoughts, I shut my eyes once more to the pain which seemed to spread through my whole body. Surrounded by the unnatural silence of a world still asleep, even the waves against the boat seemed a surreal silence in respect of my shipmates who still slumbered below. With nothing to do, I allowed my mind to wander.
At seven years old, we lay in wait, eyes anchored on the same white bird ahead. I break a piece from my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, tempting the bird forward. Come closer, we beckon, just a little closer. The bird hops uncertainly, eyeing the bread with greedy desire. Neither I nor my accomplice know what we shall do with the seagull once we caught it; it was the thrill of the chase, the determination of the catch alone which drove us to crouch, half buried, on the sandy shores of Zuma Beach. The bird is startled into flight by a nearby shout:
“Come on guys, I want to play too!”
My baby sister stomped towards us, arms crossed, lower lip quivering in childish exasperation. Dropping the sandwich, I grabbed my friend’s hand, pulling her after me as I ran from my sister. Sand cascaded off of our bodies as we made a bee-line to the sea. The arctic water hit like piercing needles, causing my skin to numb. We waded further and further out to sea. Apprehensive of her developing swimming skills, my sister stopped at ankle-high water, watching with flushed frustration as the two older kids swam out of her reach.
At some point, breaking our connecting hands, I left my friend behind as I kept swimming further out to sea. Filled with a foolhardy confidence in myself and a child’s sense of immortality, I wondered how far I could keep swimming before I was stopped, either by my own weakness or by someone else’s intervention. I reached a group of teenagers huddled in a circle, and looked back to the shore. My friend waved at me to come back, unwilling to swim out and fetch me herself. She stared warily at something behind me which, without having to look, I understood to be the towering crest waves that separated the shore from the open ocean beyond. But there was no need to fear, I reassured myself, those waves were too far away to hurt me. Behind my friend, I saw my sister still standing at the edge of the sea and, even further away, the adults gossiping on their colorful beach chairs. They seemed nothing more than distant specs on the expansive sandy canvas. I felt alone, a tiny body in the unimaginably large and cruel watery blanket that dominates the earth. Reluctantly, I swam back to shore.
Acclimating to my sickness, I opened my eyes. I was still too weak to move, but it was no longer unbearable to keep my eyes open. With my back to the bow of the boat, I had a marvelous view of the frothing ocean bubbling from the boat’s engines. The sleepy waves seemed only able to muster the energy for tiny mounds before falling back to its watery bed. I knew that somewhere in that distant horizon, Los Angeles slumbered, but the massive city was too far away to be visible. Nothing existed but myself, the small boat, and the encompassing blue which swallowed all in its wake.
The sky, which when I had first seen it had been a murky grayish blue with dotted stubborn stars, was now a deepening pale blue with nothing but a lingering crescent moon and a single, hovering seagull occupying it. Despite the emerging light of early morning, the sun was still slumbering out of view. The emptiness was stunning; the quiet a tranquility which I had never before witnessed in my life. Despite the nausea and sickness still demanding my miserable attention, I was overtaken by the calm beauty of the ocean. Pulling my legs up into a fetal position, I allowed the peace to wash over me.
At twelve years old, I gripped the edge of my board as my feet paddled to stay stationary in the ever-moving ocean. Floating in the waves of Zuma Beach, I watched jealously as my younger sister caught a good wave and rode it to shore. Having been unprepared, I floated uneventfully over the wave instead of leaning my weight into it to allow it to carry me back to shore. Letting out an exasperated sigh, I readjusted my board and prepped myself for the next wave, hoping that it would hold the same potential as the one I had missed.
I knew I was in trouble even before the wave hit me. It was far too large and far too powerful. Dwarfed by its massive size, I was experienced enough to know that the rough waves would throw me from my board if I tried to ride it, leaving the possibility of injury. Reacting quickly, I jumped off of my board and attempted to dive under the wave. If I could just get low enough, the surface-level strength of the wave would hopefully relent to the peace of the lower ocean level. But this wave was too powerful. The wave scooped me up, and I was thrown about in the stomach of the wave.
Instinctively, I curled up into a fetal position, using my hands to try and protect my head. It was the only thing that I could do. If I allowed my legs to drift freely, the eager frothy hands that made up the wave would grab and pull at my limbs until injury occurred, or the water would throw stray limbs against the sandy floor, resulting in further injury. It was for similar reasons that my hands clutched desperately to protect my head. While a small assurance against the danger, reducing my body to a tight, controlled ball meant less places where the ocean could assault me.
I was tossed, tumbling, in all directions. No longer could I tell up from down, nor where I was in relation to everything else. Even if I wanted to swim out of the wave, it was impossible; I wouldn’t know which direction to swim. I was lost to the swirling light, the murky brown sandy water, and the salt which filled my mouth, noise, and eyes. I was as helpless as a baby; all I could do was wait for the ocean to thin as it climbed the shore. All the while I was pelted and pulled at from all angles by aggressive sand and water.
Eventually, running out of strength, the ocean spat me up onto the shore. Gasping for breath and coughing up sea water, I barely noticed as my sister ran towards me. Hovering anxiously over me, she twittered nervous words which barely registered in my adrenaline-filled brain.
“I’m fine, don’t worry so much,” I replied, tossing seaweed from my hair. Untangling the string of my board from around my leg, I gripped the board, stood up, and walked back into the ocean.
“What are you waiting for?” I called over my shoulder to my sister, who was still hovering on the edge of the water. “If you wait too long, I’m going to snatch up a wave so good that you’re going to be jealous that you didn’t come!”
Running after me, we left the safe sandy shores of land for the untamed thrill of the sea.
Realizing that if I got to the bow of the ship, I would be the first among my classmates, now my shipmates, to see the island, I started the arduous process of crossing the length of the tiny boat. I still did not have the strength to stand; I did not even have the strength to crawl. I had to climb over scuba gear and frequently take breaks to prevent the world from spinning, my head from pounding, and my stomach from puking. Clawing with fingers and nails, and pushing with my feet, I looked rather pathetic on the rough pale floor. Good thing there was no one around to see me.
Leaning against the front of the ship, I blissfully watched as the flat horizon took on a rugged form, which later transformed into a distant island. Watching Catalina Island now rapidly growing in enormous size, I felt thrilled that I was able to witness the ocean’s transformation from endless emptiness to obstructed by a towering land form.
Our scuba diving trip would last for five days, just off the shores of Pirate’s Cove. The entirety of the time would be spent either on the ship or in the water. We would not set foot on land even once during the trip. From sun up until sun down, our new home would be within Poseidon’s tidal domain. During the trip, I would have similar experiences of being alone in the vast sea, with no one around but the tranquil waves. Each time it occurred, I was struck by a similar reaction of sublime wonder and appreciation for the size of the sea. But this was not known to me traveling on the ship towards the island.
With the sun now visible, the world seemed to awaken around me. More birds cawed and circled above my head, and within the ocean, dolphins jumped up to greet the morning sky. Despite the lingering pain, and my exhaustion from almost an entire night of wakefulness, I felt so grateful for the opportunity to witness the transformation of a world awakening to a new day. I was glad to be there, and if the opportunity ever emerged in the future to repeat this trip, I would, without hesitation, heed the call of the sea and eagerly run out to embrace the vast, elusively empty monster lying in wait on the edge of the rocky terrain of the California coast.
Personal Bio: Holly Schwake grew up in Agoura Hills, California, a suburban area outside of the city of Los Angeles. She will graduate from Northern Arizona University in the year 2021 with an English major and a Japanese minor. She worked as an editor for “in the style of”.
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