Day 28

There was a part of Zeph that wondered if there was ever going to be a time he didn't feel like a complete outcast. He was constantly reminded that this was, more often than not, self-imposed, and it certainly was in this case. Instead of getting to know the other surfers, he was sitting on the roof of the hotel he was staying at, looking out over Waikiki Beach as the sun melted into the western horizon, painting Hawaii in rich, warm colors. The encroaching night had cooled the islands a little, prompting Zeph to get an old and baggy hooded sweater from his luggage before he came up to the roof. He was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be up there, but no one had stopped him.

Zeph looked over his shoulder when he heard someone approaching behind him and clearing their throat. He relaxed when he recognized who it was. "Hey, Dietrich," he said.

"Zeph." Dietrich pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind?"

"No, go ahead."

Dietrich put a cigarette in his mouth, and broke the silence with a soft metallic click from his lighter. He drew in a breath, then exhaled slowly before sitting next to Zeph. "I had a feeling I would find you up here."

"What, did you think I'd be down at the bar with everyone else?" Zeph asked.

"No, of course not. You're more civilized than that, and I know you have a lot on your mind."

Zeph nodded a little, then gave a heavy sigh. "Everyone else has tattoos and there's this one guy showing off his damn shark-bite scar that he's oh-so proud of because all the idiot girls think it's attractive. I don't get how anyone can be proud of that."

"A lack of personal depth," Dietrich said. "No matter. Reality may very well bite him soon, and it will be far worse than any shark."

"Neither of us are proud of our scars."

Dietrich exhaled another breath of smoke. "You could so easily spin your tale of defeating the pirate spirit back in New Zealand to something grandiose and self-serving."

"Of course I'm not. I nearly died, mate. I'm not turning that into a heroic story, and it's my own stupid fault that it happened anyway."

"Your heart was in the right place. Could such an endeavor have been handled differently, yes, but I do not think it is worth spending the time on thinking about what could have been done. It happened. We cannot change that."

"I know. I'm just… I don't want people twisting my story if I tell them the truth. They're all going to see my scars tomorrow during the contest, and I've already told myself several times that I need to stop being rude to everyone whenever they ask personal questions. That's easier said than done, though." Zeph glanced at Dietrich. "You get that, right?"

"I do. I covered up and lied about the scars on my wrists for years."

"What made you stop?"

"A lot of things. The passage of time, fulfilling my prophecy, gaining more control over my depression, no longer caring about what others thought of me."

"Well, the contest is tomorrow, so 'the passage of time' won't work."

"No. I will say that for someone as… unfiltered as you are, you care more about what others think of you than you would probably care to admit."

Zeph shrugged. "I care what you think. I care what Lysander and Jules and his old man think. That's about it."

Dietrich smiled a little. "There is a delicate balance when it comes to caring about what others think of you. On one hand, you do not want to be so uncaring that you begin to treat others poorly. On the other, you do not want to be so focused on cultivating the perfect image that your mental health suffers, and you lose sight of who you really are."

"That makes sense." Zeph went quiet. "I know I won in South Africa last year, but I don't know if I can repeat that."

"This is also your first major tournament since the incident with the ghost."

"Yeah. I missed a whole bunch because of my recovery, and I'm sure word of that spread around. Maybe. I don't think I'm a big enough name for people to care." Zeph looked down at his lap. "Maybe that's for the best."

"You may be surprised. There may be some people who noticed. After all, you won in Piha and South Africa, and you qualified to come here to Hawaii. I am sure that put you on someone's radar."

"You're probably right—well, you're right about everything."

"No, I have been wrong about some things."

"You've been right about everything in regards to me. You haven't hesitated to call me out on my crap or spell out the things in my head in a way I can understand."

"You were damn near impossible to read when I met you last year, but it did get easier as time went on."

Zeph nodded. "I guess I'm just… nervous about tomorrow. I wouldn't be if I didn't look like I let a tiger use my torso as a scratching post."

"I think you would still be a bit nervous. After all, this is one of the most popular surfing destinations in the world. A lot of people, perhaps even prominent people within the sport, will be watching."

"I know, but I'm not sure I can impress them. I'll show them what I can do and let them decide."

"I hope you have more confidence than this in the morning," Dietrich said. "This is reminding me of what you told me about Gold Coast, and you remember what happened then. You let your anger and frustration take over, and you lost."

Zeph didn't respond, unsure of what to say.

Dietrich took a draw on his cigarette, and exhaled slowly. "Tell me, Zeph, what are you thinking? Because it sounds to me like you have no passion for the tournament tomorrow. Are you going to stand in the way of your own chances at winning?"

"I don't know how to get myself out of the way."

"It is easier said than done. I can say that from experience. But, it can be done. What do you want from this, Zeph?"

"Well, I do want to win. I just don't know if I can."

"Do you know how to surf?"

"Of course I do. What kind of a stupid question is—"

"Can you surf well?"

"Yeah."

"Have you won in the past?"

"Yeah. What are you—"

"Do you take the time to hone your skills and learn new ones in the process?"

"Yeah."

"Focus on your ability to surf. That is why you are here. You are not here to talk about scars or past failings. None of that will matter when you are out on the water."

Zeph bit his lip before sighing. "You're right."

Dietrich gave him a slight grin, then reached over to ruffle Zeph's hair. "I try. How about we head downstairs and join the others for dinner? You are not supposed to be up here anyway."

"Alright. We'll go." Zeph didn't stand until Dietrich finished his cigarette. The two left the roof, and made their way down to the top floor of the hotel, searching for the elevator or stairway to get to the lobby. They were alone in the elevator for a few floors before other guests got on. Zeph tried to follow Dietrich's example and stand straight, making an effort to not look uncomfortable. He was amazed that Dietrich had gone through so much in his life, yet the skinny German was someone to be admired. Dietrich could have so easily become bitter, spiteful, and miserable. But, he wasn't.

This tournament was certainly going to be a different one for Zeph. He actually had more than two people watching him. There was Dietrich, Lysander, Moffitt, Jules, and Anah. It wasn't much, especially compared to the guys who brought whole entourages of swooning girls, but Zeph didn't care. His friends were genuine. That was all that mattered to him.

The beach was already filling up and getting loud, as surfers were looking for a good spot on the lineup. After claiming his spot, Zeph turned to Lysander. "Can you hold my stuff, mate?"

"Sure." Lysander took Zeph's wand. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah." Zeph pulled off his shirt. "I'll be alright."

Lysander glanced at the single massive scar on the right side of Zeph's abdomen, and the much smaller, neater one on the left side of his chest, denoting where a tube had been inserted to drain a pneumothorax caused by badly broken ribs. Lysander pursed his lips while shrugging. "They don't look that bad."

"You're a crappy liar, you know that?" Zeph said.

"I'm not lying, mate."

"Oi, I told Dietrich last night that I look like a tiger used me as a scratching post."

"No, you don't. Unless you're picturing the tiger only used one claw."

"Whatever. I don't care."

"You're a bad liar, too, mate. You do care."

Zeph glared at him. "It's not going to matter once I'm out on the water."

"At least you let the wounds actually close before you tried surfing again."

Dietrich cleared his throat. "Gentlemen. If we are going to discuss this, I suggest that it wait until later. We should go find a place to sit, Lysander."

"Right. Sorry, sir," Lysander said. He turned back to Zeph. "Good luck out there."

"Thanks." Zeph stayed still, leaning his surfboard against himself. "Lysander?"

"What?" Lysander looked over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for snapping. I'm just…"

"Nervous?"

"Yeah."

Lysander gave him two thumbs up. "You got this, mate. We're all rooting for you."

Zeph managed to smile a little. "Thanks." He looked back at the people gathered to watch, focusing on his friends. A small part of him wished things were different, that his parents had been a little more supportive. He still hadn't worked up the courage to reopen communication, nor did he want to be the one to do so. In his fit of rage toward them, he said he would never come crawling back to them, among other nasty things. He worried about what their response would be if he tried to talk to them. Would they mock him? Tell him he proved his weakness by coming back? On the other hand, perhaps they would welcome him back, say they missed him, admit their mistakes. He knew he would be comfortable admitting his mistakes if his parents would show the same maturity.

Zeph watched his competition after pulling himself from his thoughts. He studied their moves, their strengths, and their weaknesses. He glanced over his shoulder when he was called to go out, then turned back to face the water. He dashed out until he was able to set his board on the surface of the water, then climbed on, laying on his stomach and paddling out to meet an oncoming wave. The waves at Sunset Beach back in Port Waikato didn't get as big as they did in Hawaii. There was more room for fancy maneuvers here, more room to weave up and down the vast curve of the wave, more room to be just a little bit daring.

He hoped it would be enough.

There was so much more than just winning that he wanted. He wanted to put the cash portion toward a house. He wanted the respect. He wanted to keep coming to places like this, to experience their surf. He wasn't after fame or glory. That would come second. He was after stability. The moments in which he was surfing atop a wave, able to look ahead at the skyline of Waikiki and the rest of Honolulu, were simply beautiful. He was after the sensations associated with surfing—the movement of water beneath his board, the spray of the sea in his face, the rise of the first wave, and even the dropping in the pit of his stomach whenever he managed to catch air and fall back onto the water.

It was on his last ride at that tournament that he decided to take a risk, and do a move he had wanted to do since seeing it referenced in books and magazines. The soul arch was considered difficult, but something deep inside was telling Zeph to give it a try. He was facing the beach now, so when he arched his back, arms outstretched and head tilted up to the sky, the scars on his torso were in full view of everyone. The moment didn't last long, but it felt like it had last minutes. Zeph grinned before ending his soul arch and resuming his ride, finishing strong and riding back to the beach.

He was greeted enthusiastically by Lysander, Dietrich, Moffitt, Jules, and Anah, all praising him and telling him that his performance had been incredible.

"Alright, alright, you don't have to flatter me," Zeph said. "I wasn't that good, mates."

"You've gotten a hell of a lot better since you started working with Dryden, though," Lysander said. He took his friend in a playful headlock to tousle his wet hair. "Come on, you did great! There's no way you'll lose."

"What was that move you did at the end there?" Jules asked. "That looked cool."

"The soul arch? That's not a move for beginners, mate," Zeph replied. "I can try and teach you, though."

"That'd be amazing. You looked like you really knew what you were doing."

"To be honest, I didn't really feel like I knew what I was doing."

"Something called on you to do it," Dietrich said.

"It's not a big deal."

"A difficult move can make or break your score. You mustered the confidence to do it despite your anxiety over your scars."

Zeph sighed, then nodded. "You're right. Thanks, Dietrich." He handed his surfboard off to Jules in order to give the skinny German a hug.

"Wait," Moffitt said. "You complain every time Gunther tries to hug you after he's been playing with the garden hose or in Tully's pool, but you're letting a soaking wet Zeph hug you?"

"Gunther does it because he knows I do not like it," Dietrich said.

"Still." Moffitt folded his arms over his chest.

"Zeph is being genuine in his affection."

That was certainly the truth, though a heavy feeling flooded Zeph's chest as his mind turned to his parents once again. The thrill of surfing had faded. The tide had pulled out, revealing a beach littered with his unresolved dilemmas. He tried not to sigh while he was still on Dietrich, as Zeph wasn't in the mood to discuss anything. He just wanted to hear the results of the contest.

The time they had to wait for the results was some of the most anxious in Zeph's life, not counting when he was waiting to have his chest tube removed while he was in the hospital after his injuries. He tried not to pace, and was occasionally reminded by Dietrich to take deep breaths. His heart sank when the judges began reading off the top ten surfers, and so far, he hadn't heard his name. I didn't make it. His shoulders sagged.

But, the only reason his name wasn't listed from tenth to second place was because he had come in first. He promptly collapsed to his knees in the sand, only to be lifted up by the crowd, including his competitors. The beach suddenly came alive with cheers and shouts. He was thrown into the air a few times, and surrounded by cameras.

When the celebrating finally ended, Zeph realized no one brought up his scars. In the quiet of his hotel room, he put his prize check in his luggage, glad that it would get him one step closer to his goals. He thought back to the competition, how it was so unlike what he was expecting. Could talking to my parents again go the same way? Maybe they'll just be happy to see me again. Maybe. He drew in a breath, then turned when he heard someone knocking on the door. He unlocked the door, and opened it to see Dietrich. "Hey. What do you need?"

"I came to ask if you are ready for dinner," Dietrich said.

"Yeah. Just not somewhere close to the beach. I don't want people hassling me for autographs while I'm eating," Zeph replied.

"Not to worry. Moffitt wants to try Japanese cuisine. We found a place a few blocks away that will hopefully be quiet."

"Sounds good." Zeph tapped his luggage lock with his wand twice, then stood, putting his wand in his belt. He paused while getting his room key. "Dietrich?"

"Yes?"

"I was thinking… no one really said anything to me about my scars at the contest."

"I noticed."

"So, I got worried over nothing. I was kinda thinking the same thing about, you know, talking with my parents again. I told them I'd never go crawling back to them, so I thought if I try talking to them, they'll point out what I said and just… mock me. Maybe that won't be the case."

"In every attempt to reform a connection with estranged family, there is a risk of things not going well."

Zeph nodded. "You think it's worth the risk?"

"Do you think it is worth the risk?"

Zeph sat at the edge of his bed. "I'm leaning toward it. I want to fix things."

Dietrich leaned against the doorway. He then stepped inside, and closed the door. "May I ask something?"

"Sure."

"Are you going to tell them about what happened with the spirit at the beach in Northland, and your resulting injuries?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you could have lost your life. As a parent myself, I would be distraught if something like that happened to my child."

"You actually care about your kid, though."

"I would hope that your parents still care about you."

"I hope so, too. I'm worried they cut me off completely, and… now they act like I never existed. Or that I'm already dead."

"Perhaps they have not considered the possibility of you dying."

Zeph shrugged. "They knew I was close friends with Lysander. They probably assumed that I'd go live with him, so there was nothing to worry about."

"So, now you can have them confront reality, and show them that they could have lost you permanently. Either they will rethink their feelings about you, or not. All you have to do is present this information. If they reject it and still do not want to speak with you, it is not your fault. You are the one extending the olive branch. It is their choice whether or not they want to accept it."

"Once again, you're right. I should do this. I'm not sure when, but… could you be there?"

Dietrich nodded. "I will. Just call and let me know when you are ready."

"Thanks." Zeph stood. "Alright. I'm actually hungry. Let's go eat."

Dinner consisted of Moffitt rattling off trivia about Japanese styles of cooking right up until he got his first taste of wasabi. The others were trying hard not to laugh at his expression, though for Zeph, it was nice to relax and spend time with them. When things became quiet later that night, his mind turned back to what he was going to do when he returned home to New Zealand. He wasn't yet ready to reopen communication with his parents, but at least when he was, he had people who were willing to stand by him the whole way through.