The words were still swirling around in her head just below the surface. Sylvie had tried unsuccessfully all day to banish them from her mind so this afternoon she had come to the ocean, hoping that the waves could rinse them away.
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She didn't usually swim at her local beach. It had a deep gutter running along the shoreline and a vicious shore dump. An uncharacteristic patch of still water told her that there was a rip as well. But after what had happened yesterday, she wasn't going back to the surf club to swim.
A cool, overcast day meant that the beach was especially quiet. An older couple was sitting under a striped umbrella on beach chairs reading books and looked like they had settled in despite the weather. Sylvie was glad of their presence. Her training had made her feel confident in the surf, but it was still reassuring that someone might see her if she got into trouble.
She pulled her long t-shirt up and over her head and dropped it in a pile with her towel and thongs and headed in. She waded through the shore break until the sand disappeared from beneath her then dolphined up into the first big swell. It lifted her up onto its crest for a moment, her head and shoulders emerging, her long, curly hair now sleekly moulded to her head and back, then left her behind as it curled and broke.
Right away Sylvie felt the undertow pulling at her legs. She looked at the couple on the beach and determined that she would keep their umbrella in her sights as she swam parallel to the beach. It was tough going against the current, but the physicality of swimming was what she needed to process her feelings about yesterday.
Glenys, one of the long serving club members, had only been doing her job when she'd asked Sylvie to try on a club rash shirt. The trainees would all need one when they began doing lifesaving duties. She realised that Glenys probably hadn't even noticed the group of boys mucking about just outside the clubhouse door. Sylvie pulled the shirt over her head and just managed to get it over her chest, but it was clearly too small. Glenys was fussing around with the hem trying to pull it down over Sylvie's hips and didn't seem to notice the snickers coming in from outside or the words, said just loud enough for Sylvie's ears: Don't think they come in whale size, followed by a loud burst of shared laughter. Sylvie was relieved at least to have her back to them. She pretended she hadn't heard the comment, but her cheeks were burning, and she felt paralysed.
Glenys was asking her something, but she didn't take it in. She couldn't even open her mouth to form a sentence. She stood there stiffly, all her senses strained, waiting for the next barb to be fired. It wasn't until she heard the boys leave to go for a surf that she managed to respond and then the words that came out weren't what she had wanted to say. She told Glenys that she didn't need a rash shirt after all. She'd decided not to keep going.
She pretended she hadn't heard the comment, but her cheeks were burning,
Those words that had wounded her so much yesterday now floated around her on the waves. She held the image of a whale in her mind and let it flow into her body. She could feel its power in her legs as they torpedoed her through the water. She dived down deep, keeping the air in her lungs until she reached the bottom, then let it bubble out her mouth as she pushed back up to surface to breathe more in. It felt joyous, moving through the water like that. She dived and surfaced again, revelling in her streamlined grace.
The second time she came up for air, her head came up against a wall of skin. She pushed herself backwards away from it, kicking her legs out in front of her and saw that it was the man from the beach. He was flailing his arms around wildly, barely managing to keep his head up. Sylvie breast stroked towards him, thinking she would tell him how to get himself in, but he grabbed at her arm and tried to use her to hold himself up. Sylvie had to kick him away from her to break his grip.
"You can't grab at me! You'll drag us both under," Sylvie warned. "It's ok, I'll get you back in. I know what to do. Just stay calm." She swam behind him and looped her arm across his chest, so that he was facing away from her and began to side-stroke towards the beach. She swam slowly but efficiently, working her way diagonally across the rip, bringing them gradually closer to the shore. The man's wife was standing in the breakers anxiously watching. She waded in to help them when they had nearly reached the shore break. A wave carried them the last few metres then dropped all three of them in a tangled heap of limbs on the sand.
They managed to crawl further up the beach where they sat in the wash of the waves, getting their breath back. When Sylvie looked up at the man, he seemed to really see her for the first time, his face a mixture of embarrassment and shock.
"Oh love . . . thank you. I'm a silly old sod for going in today. I saw you and you made it look so easy." He shook his head in disbelief, "A young thing like you, so strong."
Sylvie thought about what she'd done. She looked down at her strong, sand covered legs and smiled.
"Yeah, I'm going to be a life saver."
***
Kaye Leighton, the author of this piece, is a finalist in the 2022 Newcastle Herald Short Story Competition. Read the full list of finalists in this year's Herald Short Story Competition by visiting the Newcastle Herald website.
