Lifeguard Jeon

° E I G H T °

Black storm clouds hover over the beach, like dark smudges on a white page, darkening the afternoon sky. Spiky waves crash over the sand where just the day before, bathers sat in the warm sun before a calm ocean.

Irene stays inside working, drinking homemade tea from a red mug she probably made in a pottery class. Her new book is on pteranodon. I look over her shoulder at an article she's reading. Their wing span ranged from twelve feet to eighteen feet.

"It is big as a plane!"

She smiles. "And particular scary because  they have clawed sharp hands and feet" She points to a picture. "Imagine him swooping down searching for prey."

"Are you writing fiction or nonfiction?"

"I haven't decided yet. I have to see where it goes."

I read in the living room for most of the afternoon, but Joy needs to go out so I volunteer. As we passed the lifeguard's chair I look up, half expecting to see him there in spite of the upcoming storm: god of the beach watching over his domain.

But the chair is empty.

I unclip Joy's leash and let her run free.

What does a lifeguard do on his days off? I don't see him hunched over Twitter reaching out to friends. He doesn't seem like the type to have thirteen hundred of them - not that he wouldn't if he posted his picture. I can't imagine what type he is at all. He isn't like anyone I've ever met before. I climb up the side of the chair and sit in his seat to view the world from up high. I want to see the world through his eyes, and know what it feels like to be him. I look around. Did he leave anything behind that will give me hints about who he is?

Nothing.

And everything.

A dark blue plastic bottle. Sunblock, SPF 45. I unscrew the top and I flooded with his sweet, enticing scent - coconut and citrus. I cup my hand and fill it with the milky lotion, rubbing it into my face and neck.

Now I'm like Joy who rolls on things to absorb their smell. I'm cloaked in his scent, his essence, so as I stalk my prey I won't be seen as an outsider. I place the bottle back where I found it and make my way down the side the chair. His chair.

I examine the chipped, white weathered wood like a scientist who studies trees to learn about past events in history and changes in the climate. Only this chair isn't parting with its secrets. It's as inscrutable as he is, high above the ground, confronting the water. It reminds me of a still life about natural forces and isolation. The chair is the only clue of humanity. Like Irene's house, does it have ghosts? What kind of stories would they tell?

Joy barks at me. She's jealous of whatever has stolen my attention. I take a tennis ball out of my pocket and throw it. She runs for it and then races back to me, dropping it at my feet. I toss it again and again. Joy never tires of the game. Just to see what she does, I flip over and walk on my hands. I've studied gymnastics since kindergarten after Eomma took me to the circus. I watched acrobats walking on their hands and doing flips and I came home determined to do it too.

Joy tilts her heard to the side.

"You're not the first one who doesn't know what to make of me." I kept walking on my hands, studying the world turned upside down - the way it feels to me.

° ° ° ° ° 

The sky darkens as we start to walk home. I hear distant thunder and walk faster, ready to break into a run. Joy inhales something in the wind and hurries along with me. She senses danger and doesn't want to get caught either. Moments later there's a deafening clap of thunder. In minutes the heavens come down and we break into a run. A wall of water washes over me and I looked as though I've been swimming in my clothes. Joy turns into a drowned rat and I looked at her and start to laugh. She tries to shake to water off her head so she can see, but she realizes how futile it is. We start to cross the street, but it's nearly impossible to make out whether any cars are coming because everything is shrouded in fog and my eyes are being washed with rain.