“Now, you can’t just dive into the waves, son. You need to watch them first.” Jared looked out on the horizon, his father’s words ringing in his head. “Calculate the height and width of wave against your own measurements; see where the bubbles begin to surface and when the foam ends its curl; count the time it takes to break upon the sandy shores. Then watch the next wave and repeat. The next wave and do the same. And the next wave and the next wave.”

“Because not every wave is not of the same waters,” he finished his father’s tip out loud. He clutched onto the head of his surfboard tighter. Jared reviewed this lesson every time, word for word, whenever he took went onto the brash beach. It was a prayer.

The speckles of salt burned on Jared’s dry tongue; he never liked the ocean, yet grew up with incurable chapped skin from the dehydration of the ocean waters. However, no one ever noticed the damage upon his considerably tan complexation. Audiences preferred to acknowledge his slick surfboard, stained with blues and greens to blend into the ocean. Jared is practically flying on those waves, like a god or something. They would notice the excellent fit of his board shorts, made to compliment his toned legs. What a handsome and fashionable guy! The perfect way his hair mimicked the curls of the waves he rode. He’s got to be a celebrity, right? Jared scratched his sandy shoulder and left red marks as evidence.

Old eyes watched him quietly before furrowing down and screaming, “Get in those waters boy before I push you in, you son of a bitch!”

Jared strutted forward for the last time.