TUCKER
There’s a freakin’ huge wave forming behind me.
The water ripples around my board become more violent as I plant my feet square firmly on the board. In just a few seconds, I’m going to have to veer hard.
“Don’t try it,” I hear my training buddy Jimmy T. shout from the beach.
Jimmy had said there was a storm brewing and decided to get out of the water. I, however, am the best surfer in the country, and soon I’ll prove to the rest of the world why I’m the best there is at what I do.
As the water starts to curl, I veer into the wave, but not so hard that I go through it or it crushes me.
I can do this. I can do anything. Out here I am a King. I can fly closer to the sun than anyone.
The wave folds me like a human-shaped pretzel and within seconds, I’m submerged underwater.
I try to regain my composure, but I’m too deep. I can’t figure out which way is up. I try to look around, but the surging waves won’t let me straighten myself.
I want to take a deep breath and calm myself but that’s now impossible.
I try to think, but my mind races as the current plays with me. The ocean doesn’t care about people. And it definitely doesn’t care about me needing to breathe.
With panic setting in, I see a glimmer of light. For a moment I think I’m dying, but then it hits me. The sun. That means that way is up.
I swim fiercely to the surface, and the moment my head breaks free, I gulp down so much air my lungs feel like they’re going to pop.
“Ack,” I spit, as I swim towards my board to paddle back to the beach.
I can see Jimmy standing at the shore with his arms out in the air like a pissed off eagle. Dude is going to chew me the fuck out the moment I step foot on dry land.
“Dude, what the fuck were you-”
“Save it Nana, I know. I shouldn’t have tried to ride it. I’m sorry you thought I was gonna die. I’m fine, though, really. See? I’m Captain Invincible.”
Jimmy is normally the chilliest dude in the world. He’s a dopehead, and they’re always chill. If he’s this pissed, I must have really shaken him up.
“My man, you can’t be doing shit like this. Are you high again?”
“No.”
The sense of euphoric, and the feeling nothing can ever hurt me implies differently. But I don’t think about that now.
“You sure? Cause even I don’t do shit before I get on the board. You gotta have your whits about you otherwise … otherwise that happens.”
I stab my board into the sand. “Jimmy, relax. I had it all under control. I’m the best in the country, remember? I know what I can and can’t do.”
“Uh-hmm. If you say so…”
Eventually Jimmy calms down, or at least hides that he’s pissed with me, and I head back home to unwind. I dump my board outside, enter, and head straight for the shower to get the smell of sea salt off me.
Doubt is a terrible thing. Doubt starts wars. It holds up back. It stops us reaching our full potential. But for the first time in my life, it crept in.
I turn the water on -- hot enough to smelt ingots -- and hop in the shower.
What. The actual fuck. Was all that?
I close my eyes and as the water hits me, I’m transported back to the wave. I can feel the world closing in around me. Smothering me. Stopping me from moving.
I know, deep down, that the wave was a bad idea, but I went for it anyway.
I know I’m not smart, but I’m not stupid either.
And I’m smart enough to know I’m not smart.
So why the hell did I charge full blast into a wave I had no hope of recovering from?
Why didn’t I hug my board? What am I trying to prove to myself?
I open my eyes up once more. I know what it is, and I don’t know how to process it.
I’m Tucker Braddock. A complete mess up who only cares about getting high, getting laid, and getting waves. And Amber. Amber, Amber, Amber.
She’s all I can think about. Those perfect tits, that wicked smile, the fact she’s interesting.
Do you know how hard it is to find someone who’s actually interesting to talk with?
To find someone who you legit wanna spend your time with.
Not just fucking but hanging out. I want to see her and tell her about the wave.
While she’s fully clothed. In normal clothes.
Nothing slutty. I could look at her in baggy T-shirt and sweatpants and just talk.
Fuck, I’m even pissed at myself for not being able to spend the day with her and not saying what I wanted to.
So why, oh why, would I bend into the wave? Because I’m Tucker Braddock. I face danger head-on. The only thing harder than my drink is my dick. Fuck that sounds lame now. Who even am I anymore if I’m not out partying, getting high and throwing out girls’ numbers?
Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. I’m practically fucking Ryan!
I get out of the shower and dry myself before crashing onto my bed like a wave that’s about to engulf an idiot dudebro surfer trying to prove something to himself.
I think about jerking off, it’s a good stress relief after all. But as I unlock my phone, and load up that website, the women there all look so … fake. Like they’re not real people.
A moment passes before I think about the way Amber would grab my dick with both hands and that’s more than enough to get me off.
What have I become? Laying in bed, questioning life, thinking about a girl?
I have zero idea what it’s like to be a teenage girl, but I’m pretty sure this is it.
I reach for the glass of water on my nightstand and pop a Xanny out of the packet.
Within seconds, it’s gone, washed down by the water I should really change when I get a chance.
Normally, this is where I’d sink back down in bed knowing a wave of squishy foam is about to take over my body.
But not this time. I feel nothing. No desire to slump back down and let the hypnotic relaxation take me over.
I question why I even took one. Is it a habit?
Did I just instinctively reach for a tablet?
Hey now, let’s not get too deep here. Those are questions I can think about some other time.
Right now, I need to get my head back on straight.
I’m Tucker Braddock. I don’t need to be this preoccupied.
I am a living God. I’m the cool guy everyone wants to hang with.
I’m… Alone. Doubt really does start wars.
I spent the rest of the day moping, unsure what or even who I was anymore. I did contemplate spending the night in, gaming and shouting at people over the Internet but that didn’t seem all that appealing.
What I needed was to get out and get laid. I’d blown things up with Amber so maybe someone else could help take my mind off all this and get me back to who I should be.
With that in mind, I caked myself with the expensive cologne I’d saved for the right day and headed out.
There’s a bar not far from my house -- Excellence. It’s never nearly as packed as the main hubs so that’s perfect for picking up girls who aren’t planning on staying out all night.
I catch a cab over there that absolutely reeked of dead piss. It’s like piss, only left for about a week so it starts to decompose. Dead piss. It’s totally a thing.
I get out of the cab and hand the guy a little extra. Cab dudes don’t make nearly as much as they should, so tipping is important. That’s another lesson I got from my dad.
As the cab clapped off into the distance, I hit the door to Excellence.
Although a lower-end joint, the lights are always blinding from the moment you step foot through the door. Blues, reds, and yellows all pierce a beam right into the retina. If you aren’t properly awake when you enter, the lights sure do make you notice.
Although it’s bright, there’s also a darkness to the bar thanks to the black walls. It feels like something out of a half-composed dream, with music loud enough to be heard and danced to, but not so loud that you couldn’t hear someone get into a fight.
I park my butt right at the bar and order a drink.
“What can I get you?” asks the barman, who seems a little old to be working here.
“Whiskey double, ice, the good stuff as well. None of the cheap $20 a bottle stuff.”
“Sure thing.”
As the barman pours my drink neatly into a cooled glass, I survey the room.
Here’s the thing people don’t tell you about girls. They LOVE having sex. It’s a real shock when you find that out, but it’s true. Women loved getting laid. Most love clitoral orgasms more than sex itself, and like guys, there’s girls out there looking purely for sex.
I can remember getting taught about sex like it’s this magical thing between grown-ups, like it’s a business contract or something. Truth is, people wanna fuck, because fucking is great regardless of which sex or gender you are.
So, what are my options? The first lady I spy is a good 10 or so years older than me. I’ve done the cougar thing before, and it’s fun being with someone more experienced, it really is, but I’m after a quick in-and-out to take my mind off Amber and her perfect … Ah. Focus.
The next woman sports great ass and designer clothes. She’s hot, a solid eight, but she’s got an indent on her left finger where a ring was moments before. That tells me not to even attempt to go there.
I take a sip of my drink.
“You here by yourself?” a soft voice says to the right of me.
I spin on my chair to face her. Bingo.
“Yeah, my bros were meant to come out but the driver’s car broke down, so it looks like I’m all alone for the night.”
Here’s the thing about pick up lines. Both parties know the other person is lying. When we first meet someone, we always pretend to be a much better, more interesting person with a story. That’s just how we’re wired. You can either get hung up about it, or just accept it for what it is.
“Oh no, that’s a shame. You won’t believe this, but a similar thing happened to me. We were meant to be going out after this, but my friends just canceled at the last minute.”
“I’m Tucker,” I say, extending my hand. “Can I get you a drink?” I know the answer.
“I’ll have a Pi?a, thanks. And it’s Nicole.”
Nicole is, well, she isn't Amber, but maybe that is what I need. Someone completely different to remind me why I don’t do entanglements.
I order Nicole and myself drinks and slide the glass over to her.
“So,” I say with no clear direction. “What do you, errm, do?”
I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m good at this. The best at this. But I can’t even muster the effort to make a half-assed conversation.
“I’m a hair stylist. What about you?”
I’m a rich surfer, is what I should say. Chicks love that. They love a man with money, and surfing means you’ve got abs.
“Oh, you know. Still trying to figure that one out.” The silence can be heard across the street.
“Uh-hmm. Well, yeah, my mom’s just text me and she’s on her way to pick me up. You have a nice night, errm…
“Tucker.”
“Yeah.”
And like that, she’s gone, leaving me alone with my whiskey and a head full of thoughts.
I know the line about her mom was bullshit. It’s a similar line I’ve used. It didn’t bother me, but it did get me thinking about my mom. And my dad.
I lost them both when I was young, and they were my biggest supporters.
Can I get a surfboard?
Sure, son.
Can I get surfing lessons?
Sure, champ, have fun.
Then they were just … gone. Just like Amber, they left me. Alone.
“FUUUUUUCK,” I couldn’t help saying it out loud.
“You okay, buddy?” the barman enquired.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am actually. Here, keep the change.”
I almost bolt from my stool and head outside. Alone. All alone.
Drugs, alcohol, one nighters -- sometimes we do the opposite to avoid what we’re scared of. I’m sure there’s a meme about this, but you can’t be alone if you never let anyone get close to you.
I don’t know what the future holds. No one does.
But I do know what’s in the present. And that’s a girl I wanna spend my time with.
All I want right now is Amber, so why am I out here trying to hook up with someone who won’t be anywhere near as perfect?
It’s because I’m scared. I’m scared of losing someone I care about again.
But what’s the alternative? Keep being a parody of myself and get myself killed? If it’s not a rogue wave, the amount of drugs I pump into myself is enough to take down a stud of horses.
You know what? Fuck it. I’m a stallion baby and I need my… Mare? Is that it? A female horse? Yeah, let’s never use that outside my head. I’m sure Sebastian would roll his eyes if he could hear me.
With a new focus I pull out my phone and do the thing I should have done when I first got home: Text Amber to say I want to see her again.