random etchings

Surf

My partner doesn’t know a thing about subtlety. That’s why I wasn’t surprised this morning when I was out, peacefully revving my jet ski up to fly across the bay, and he appeared out of the dawn. He was windsurfing, his ski slicing through the water like he was going to jump me.

I eyed him up and down. Somewhere in that cow inspired ensemble, he had a packet of top secret documents that he was supposed to be passing off to me. I just hoped he wasn’t expecting me to fish them out of his shorts or something—there are some things I just don’t do.

He caught my eye and stuck out his thumb like he was some water borne hitchhiker wanting to climb onboard.

I just rolled my eyes and slowed up a bit. I wasn’t at all eager to let the idiot anywhere near my ride. Last month he borrowed my bike and brought it back in about twenty zillion pieces. He apologized, of course. Even bought me a new bike and leathers to match, but things just seem to happen around him.

He was riding my wake, skimming the wave, getting closer. Finally, he latched a hand on my tail. There was some mechanical noises as his high tech board and sail folded up into a compact mass that he shrugged onto his back.

“Miss me, babe?”

“Like a hangnail.”

He laughed, yelling, “Open her up, we got company.” As he said it, there was a pop and my brand new jet ski was sporting a line of bullet holes. I swore and opened her up as he leaned around to return fire.

As we raced away, I yelled back at him, “Next time, let’s just stick to the plan—you know—for a change in pace.”

He just laughed.