Waves, Spouts, Rays, Jellies, Porpoises & The Waitress

Living near the coast in 1994 through 1995 after the global corporation I was working for relocated me there, I immediately purchased a surf kayak and gear then spent every weekend and holiday out on the gulf enjoying all aspects of it. When tropical storm Alberto roared toward the Florida panhandle, it stirred up the surf nicely, providing eight foot waves all day long. Near the end of the day it clouded up, and although there was no lightning, I rode one last wave to shore just as a waterspout appeared to the west, too close for comfort.

Another memorable late afternoon kayaking excursion on calmer waters provided an unexpectedly clear view down deep beneath me while I floated in complete serenity. After a snack of cold shrimp as the sun set, a fever of golden rays slowly swam just below my spot.

One morning at sunrise, paddling out a half mile put me over an immense smack of jellyfish.

Near the end of my stint living and working near the coast, a final trip out onto the water revealed porpoises also surfing the powerful waves. I had just landed a new job back inland.

I enjoyed the time spent freely plying waters up and down the gulf coast from Galveston to Padre Island and celebrated that last day spent wave surfing at a favorite beachside seafood joint chowing down on a big lobster. The allure of seaside life beckons now and again, but I just don't want to experience the life-disrupting force of a deadly tropical storm or hurricane. Still, there were aspects of coastal life that I did like very much, including very nice company.

No one else was eating at the little seafood joint so the waitress had plenty of time to give me royal treatment, flirting and inviting conversation. Teasing for a big tip, no doubt, but I was enjoying the attention. We somehow got onto the subject of the future and she asked what my longterm life plan was at the moment. After telling her I was moving back inland before the end of the month, she offered a free desert to celebrate. I told her no thank you, that the day was ending as perfectly as possible just as it was. She went away and returned shortly with a battery-powered ring of lights which she put on my hat with a flourish and a big smile. She was young and pretty and seemed to want to talk more, so I ordered another margarita for myself and one for her. She sat down and we talked as the sun set. A few more margaritas as night's breezy darkness wrapped around us left us both feeling very happy. She invited me to go home with her, but I declined, telling her I was married. Which was true.

She asked where my wedding ring was. I lied and told her I didn't wear it when out kayak surfing. The truth was that I had yanked it off and flung it into a vacant expanse of grass near 1212 Loop 12 in Dallas after exiting the car during a heated argument with my wife long ago. I remember that address because as my wife drove away, I recall looking up to see I was just outside Supermart Furniture, oddly advertised by the windmill-armed pitchman Johnny Ross. I also didn't share with her my future plan to divorce. She earned the hefty tip I left for her by quietly accepting that turndown. I still sometimes regret being so damned honest with her. If I had surrendered to urges, I'd have happily kissed every lovely freckle she sported so nicely.