Description
“Where did you ever find a surfboard in South Vietnam?” Kathy asked as they walked across the sand toward the ocean.
“They aren’t hard to find,” Craig answered. “A Vietnamese surfer who lives nearby makes and sells them.”
A robust wind fanned her hair back and fluttered the rim of her hat as she watched the rolling waves crashing onshore. All her worries seemed to disappear while glancing up at majestic white clouds passing slowly through the blue sky. Sea birds soared overhead, calling out to each other. Looking behind her, she noticed how the palm trees swayed in the breeze. This is paradise, she thought. No wonder he comes here to escape for a few hours. If I was him, I’d never leave.
Craig helped her spread out a blanket for her to sit on. He then pulled off his uniform, revealing black swimming trunks underneath. Picking up the surfboard, he ran toward the waves, wading in until the water reached his stomach. Once he climbed on the surfboard, he paddled out to wait for the perfect wave to arrive. When it did, he stood up, riding it to the very last second before reaching shore. He waved to her and headed back out. Watching him closely, awed by his amazing surfing skills, she thought she was witnessing an ocean god commanding the tide. Another thought struck her. If we were back home, he might be someone’s California dream.
After about a half hour of riding waves, Craig returned to her. Soaking wet, he dried his suntanned body and then sat next to her.
“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is breathtaking.”
“Whenever I get some time off, I come here. Riding those waves reminds me of home.”
“You’re a very talented surfer,” Kathy complimented him.
“Thanks.”
“When you’re not driving people like me around, what are your other duties here in South Vietnam?”
“Anything my superior office tells me to do, from washing jeeps to driving people around, to office work.”
“Have you ever had to go out into dangerous places?”
“A few times.”
“What’s it like?”
“Quiet, mostly. Too quiet to be honest. It’s like the jungle is haunted, which it kind of is. The Viet Cong act like ghosts until it’s too late.”
“Have you ever been shot at?”
“Once. The bullet missed, hitting the guy next to me.”
“What happened to him?” Watching him glance down at his feet, Kathy sensed that he did not want to answer her question and was both surprised and saddened when he did.
“He died from a bullet wound to his throat,” Craig revealed.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“This is war,” Craig remarked, grinning sadly. “This is where soldiers come to die. Not everyone gets to go home alive or in one piece.”
“I hope you do,” Kathy offered, reaching over to hold his hand.
“I hope so, too,” he responded, keeping his eyes focused on the crashing waves.
