Such is Life
Beach bodies don’t visit this beach, making it the chosen destination for the rest of humanity. It’s a sea of average mixing itself with the actual sea, the Pacific, like sunscreen and water. The light breeze was just enough to cool the skin and just enough to throw grains of sand on the sunbathers. This slight annoyance kept most people on their feet, in the waves, or building sandcastles. Seagulls waited for food, too lazy to fly, but also pestered by the sand. They would fly only when absolutely necessary, often landing by the piles of seaweed where no one wanted to sit. Children played at a volume above the rest, but the waves filled in the lulls. It was a true Aussie summer day: not quite hot enough, too windy, dangerous currents, and people in denial about it all.
Jeremy (Jez, as most called him) didn’t care much for the day, though not because of the conditions. He was scheming ways to make it up to the Mrs. after having too much grog the night before. She really spat the dummy, but he couldn’t tell her that. His scheming was regularly interrupted by the people he watched from behind his sunnies. He couldn’t help but criticise the swimwear, and compare the bodies to his, which he found above average in comparison.
Jez glanced at his Mrs. for a second before noticing a hand waving far beyond the waves. He questioned if he really saw it, after a wave blocked his view. Once the wave crashed he saw nothing there. His heart rate increased while his mind convinced him it was nothing. There were lifeguards around anyways. They would see it, if it was real. He looked around at the lifeguards on the beach and in the tower, but none were concerned. He tried to settle and lay back on his towel, washing his mind and hands of responsibility, but the sun seemed to increase it’s heat to an unbearable degree. After thirty seconds he sat up again to look. Nothing was there. He looked at the lifeguards again, before noticing his wife waving at him. He waved back as if he had always been watching.
The ‘what ifs’ began to multiply within him, as he thought of all the possibilities. What if someone is drowning, and he could’ve saved the day? What if it was nothing? What if they swam back to safety already? What if he panics and tells the lifeguards, only to find out it was nothing, and he’d look like a mug. They’d just say under their breath, ‘on ya mate.’ What if it’s a shark and his wife died too because he didn’t react fast enough? What if he’s still hungover and just seeing things?
He tried to turn away again, and lay on his stomach, but again the sun began to cook him. He tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong, and it’s the lifeguards’ responsibility. Nothing could take his eyes away from that spot, though. He no longer saw his wife waving, the overweight bodies in budgie smugglers, the kids eating sand. He only saw that spot. It called him to his feet. It called him to the lifeguards. It led the words out of his mouth, with panic and urgency.
The lifeguards listened, pulled out their binoculars, began walking towards the water, and even one went out on the jet ski. All of the average people stopped and watched. Even the seagulls began circling above it. All saw him showing where to look. All heard the call from the speakers for all swimmers to exit the water. And all saw the tragic moment when the jet ski driver lifted up the cold lifeless piece of driftwood covered in seaweed from the spot he pointed to.
The lifeguards gave the all clear for everyone to continue swimming. He walked away, sure that he heard the expected ‘on ya mate’. The people watched and pointed at him, while his Mrs. slapped him for the second time that morning about having too much grog. He found himself below average and never again would he try to be a hero. Next time he’ll be like ‘Ol Ned Kelly, saying, ‘Such is life,’ and never trust a light beer again.
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