And, it came from every direction. It all started at dawn. I saw Bob's car in the parking lot at Matanzas. It wasn't even 6:30am, yet. Hell, I couldn't sleep. Even with Sean's superb math tutorials, and his supreme sacrifice of missing The Office to help me, I was a basket case, worrying about whether I would be able to pass the dreaded test today.
So, there was Bob's car. It would be just him and me out there, and I only wished for clean and glassy and rideable. I took the day off since I had to go to Jacksonville to take "the test." Why go to work only to have to leave after an hour? Why go to work when there are waves and offshore winds? You tell me.
Squinting, I can see Bob down on the beach. I am not too far behind him. He is just walking out into the water. I walk down to where the posts have been planted in the sand, the ones that warn not to drive any further. The birds are nesting. I put down my backpack, and out I go.
It is glassy, and it is green, and there are waves. Not quite as big as yesterday, but better, as I would soon find out. I paddled out, watching Bob take a right, then fade left, milking it for everything it was worth. The water felt cool. I scream. Bob sees me and waves hello. When I get out to him, we are all smiles. "Get one of these LEFTS," he says, his eyes sparkling. "You won't believe it!" He is ever enthusiastic, and never takes any of this for granted. I like that. We both understand the madness that is our joy.
We catch a few, we trade boards for awhile. The waves seem to be getting better. The waves are infrequent, but when they come, they bowl up and reel off. I feel like, finally, I am surfing again. We talk about things, the test, and Bob gives me a pep talk. I appreciate this. He understands. No waves come during this talk. It is almost magical. Then it comes to me, this rogue wave, unlike the others. Bob says "GO!" and I paddle hard as it lurches up, a full-on wall of water moving to shore with a determination unlike the others. I take off, and the line just stands up, ruler edged, just waiting for me. It was hilarious, how I alternately hooted and laughed. Bob said later that he heard every bit of it, and was laughing, too. He said the wave didn't have a drop out of place. It was a metaphor for the moment, he later said. For all my worry about how I would do, it was like the universe said right then, "Are you going to fall on your face, give up, resigned to failure? No! You will ride the wave with everything in you!" And that is what I did. Even though I probably needed the Firewire for that one, the Randy French did fine. I was a crazy person paddling back out there. I didn't have to say a thing. Bob knew.
When the others began to paddle out, awhile after that, the moment shifted, the tide turned, and it was very different. We had had the magical window, and after two hours, sanity was restored. I had forgotten about the test for awhile. But, back on land, reality awaited. It was time to head off to Jacksonville.
I arrived an hour before the test was scheduled to start, nervous about finding the test center, nervous about everything. When I got there, they let me go ahead and start the test, since it was all on computer, anyway. The two guys behind the counter were over it. What a crappy job that was, repeating rules and telling you to put all your stuff (including your watch, please) in the tiny fake wood veneer lockers, day in and day out in that dreary strip mall office with the solitary, dusty, fake plant. The one guy took pity on me. He knew my type. Scared little hamster, he was probably thinking. I went to him with all my whispered, anxiety-filled questions. He was real nice to me. I had to use the restroom a record number of times.
The essay was easy. Write a story about someone you had a first impression about that turned out to be wrong. Can I write a novel about this? I think I did. The reading was a cinch, done in twenty minutes. The english was a breeze. Done. They had to save the worst for last. My neck had been gradually seizing up with every passing moment, waiting for the screen to pop up that said MATHEMATICS EXAMINATION. It would be 100 minutes of pure hell.
This too shall pass, Karen told me yesterday.
When the first question popped up, I panicked. What? I didn't study that! Next question... what? The next one had me nearly in tears. I felt the elephant sitting on my chest. Don't cry, don't cry. FOCUS! Oh, God, but... I can't do this one, either! CRAP HOLY HELL THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER. Okay. Breathe. Next one, hey, a word problem I can do. Sorta. And, so it went, for the entire 100 minutes. I resigned myself to failing. There was no way I could ever have passed it, I despaired.
But, wait. The girl was so unconcerned as she lifted my results off the printer. I, on the other hand, was not even breathing. I was afraid to even look. "Nancy," she said, handing them to me with a deadpan expression. Didn't she understand how this meant everything?
And there is was, each sheet; Pass, Pass, Pass, and Pass. I was so shocked, I drifted up to her to ask if it was really true, had I really passed math? "Yep," she said, the faintest hint of a smile fluttering across her face. I turned to the door, walked out into the sunny afternoon, and blubbered like a baby. Tears, yes. But, they were tears of unfathomable ... joy.
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