Day in the life of a High School Rascal

Andrew O’Riordan

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost, 1916

I sped down Interstate 5 at 11:30 on a Friday night with the music blasting and the bass drowning out all recognizable melody.  Another night of driving around North County and waiting for parties to be broken up was plunging me further into disillusionment with the high school scene. Good friends turned into malicious enemies on nights like these, when the frustrated and hurt feelings of still-innocent teenagers were consoled by street brawls and heavy drinking.  The deliberate way in which I tried to live my life seemed to collapse on every one of these nights.

Saturday morning was better.  The newspaper said that the surf was pumping at 3-6 feet and surf reports were calling for bigger surf on the way.  I called my friend in Del Mar.

“Hey, surf’s up,” I said.  “Let’s go La Jolla.  Hospitals’ll be good.”

I picked him and his brother up and we checked Scripps, but it was packed.  We continued around La Jolla Cove until we got to Hospitals.  It was firing at 6-8, with only a few guys out.  As we zipped up our wetsuits, Dan drove up.

“Looks fun, eh?”.  He gazed towards the horizon.

“It’s big, brah. Bring out your gun.  And don’t kill yourself.”

We waited nervously while Dan got ready and then the four of us walked out on the reef.  The wind was howling offshore and the barrels looked deceptively makeable on the inside section, where it was pitching over shallow and exposed reef.  We waited for a lull between sets, and then jumped off of the reef and paddled manically for the horizon.  All of us made it out and we sat on our boards nervously waiting for the set that would soon come.  

“Eh, Dan, whadja do last night?”

“I hung out with the hottest girl from Encinitas.  I was gonna hook up with her but . . .”.  We heard a whistle from the longboarder on  the outside reef and we all began scratching for the horizon.  The first wave in the set was about six feet, the next seven, and the third wave caught Dan on the inside and threw him against the reef.  I had no time to look as all I could see were bands of huge swell stretching as far as I could see.  I paddled and paddled, each time barely making it over the wave.  After ten minutes of frantic paddling the longboarder and I were the only surfers that had survived the barrage that was still coming.  Suddenly a wave boiled up right in front of the longboarder and he turned towards the shore.  With two strokes he glided into the wave and trimmed into a bottom turn as I hooted wildly on the shoulder.  He rode his wave to the inside beachbreak, leaving me alone at the peak.  The set had subsided but I couldn’t see Dan or my two friends anywhere.  They had probably, hopefully,  been carried to the inside sandbar where they could have taken a wave in.  

These waves were too serious for kids our age, and I only wanted to get to shore and go home.  I knew the consequences of getting caught inside though, and I couldn’t risk paddling in.  I had to take a wave to shore.  I sat there alone with my thoughts and the serenity of the ocean.  I could see all the way from Dana Point to Sunset Cliffs, and behind me Mt. Soledad kept watch over my safety.  I had a clarity of thought that one can only achieve in times of crisis, which in my mind this was.

Certain words came to mind,not the words of the punk rocker poets of my lost generation, but the words of another rebel of another time:  “I sing the body electric!”.  Adrenalin pulsed through me and my senses were acutely focused into riding the next wave that came.  I looked towards shore one more time and spotted my friends pointing and waving at me.  I whirled around in time to see the largest wave yet feathering on my left.  I paddled over next to the peak and began racing with the wave for position.  I paddled hard and the wave picked me up and carried me forward.  I sprung to my feet and wavered triumphantly at the top of the giant.  I flew down in front of the crest and the wind blew at my salty skin.  Carving into a hard bottom turn, I knew this wave was going hit the second reef  where it would double up and barrel.  From where I was now I could straighten out and get washed into the shore or turn and either get completely swallowed and spit out by the monster or swallowed and consumed by the whitewash.  I was operating at this point on my barest instincts; Reason had left me when I dropped into the wave.  So I took the road less traveled.  I angled sideways and sat back on my tail.  The bottom of the wave sucked out and the lip began to throw over my shoulder, then my head, and then I was inside of the wave, looking towards the end of a tunnel of water.  I was transfixed in the barrel.  It was as if I was watching a movie, waiting to see what the outcome would be.  The only difference was that my physical well-being relied on that outcome.  The wave kept throwing over me, and I kept traveling.  The air flow inside of the barrel began to go in all different directions and then it compressed with a sucking sound.  I knew what was coming and I smiled in ecstasy.  The monster launched me out of its stomach along with gallons of water.  I was outside again.

I fell into the water with a stupidly happy look on my face and emerged baptized.  I paddled the rest of the way in and collapsed on the beach from sensory overload.  Dan came over and just looked at me.  He had nothing to say.  Neither did I, so I took my wetsuit off and washed the sand from between my toes.  I tasted the salt on my lips on the ride home and thought about nothing.  

  “How was your day? ”.  My mom was preparing dinner when I reached home.

“Fine.” I said. I went to my room and called the guys I had hung out with the night before.

“Rager tonight in Carlsbad.  Be here at nine.  Late.”  Brevity was never a problem when I talked with my friends.  I ate dinner and showered, but I left the sand on my toes.  I arrived at Chris’s house at 9:30 and all the guys were drinking and smoking cigarettes.

“Wanna smoke?”.  Someone shoved a cigarette at me but I declined.  “You’re gay.”  I didn’t know this guy but I didn’t like him.  

“Let’s go, homeboys.  I’m sick of hanging around a bunch of guys.”  I was sick of it, and so were the others, so we left.

The party was huge.  It was at a farmhouse off of Palomar Airport Rd. and there were kids everywhere.  Kids from Carlsbad High School, La Costa Canyon, Torrey Pines and our Uni crowd were all there.  The house was huge and there were people in every room, smoking, drinking, and making out.  The music was pulsating through the walls and kids everywhere were moving to the rhythm, jumping around the house.  I saw a friend from La Costa and struck up a conversation.

“How you been?”  “Pretty good, how bout yourself.”  “Not bad.” “That’s good.”  Small talk was always hard for me.  Fortunately, a small, scrawny looking kid being thrown across the room and into my friend gave me an excuse to end the conversation.  I went upstairs to find a place to call my girlfriend but all the rooms were occupied by other guys with girlfriends.  I took a walk outside to look at the stars and connect the dots of the constellations.  I came back to the party refreshed.

“Hey, you lookin for a fight, bruddah?”  Some little guy got in my face as I walked back into the house.

“Easy, Tybalt, we’re all bro’s here.”  I brushed him out of the way and took a seat in the corner.

“Whad you call me?”  I ignored his pestering and he went away.

Minutes later he returned with a very big and intimidating group of guys.

“Say, little man.”  One of them was looking at me.  “Whad you say to my friend here?”

I stood up and said nothing, only looking at him.  I considered telling him that I hadn’t said anything, and that I meant no offense.  I would have been safe that way.  But instead I said nothing, leaving the situation in his hands.

He hit me powerfully across the face and I fell to the floor.  I tasted blood now where I had tasted salt before.  The room was silent  I stood up and looked at him, knowing that if I struck back the entire party would erupt into a chaotic brawl.  I also knew that my reputation could be ruined if I didn’t hit back.  Once again my mind was perfectly clear.  I saw directly into his soul and all feelings of malice left me.  I walked to the door, opened it, and left.

“What a loser.”

  “Pussy.” 

“That dude’s gay.” 

“Hey you took that guy out.  One hit and he was down.  You’re cool.”

I drowned out their voices with my car engine and drove away.  I didn’t take Interstate 5 home that Saturday night.  I went on a bumpy, unpaved road and I saw no other cars.  It was a beautiful drive home.