It was an ordinary Tuesday night in the middle of October. The wind carried termites that would land and flop down to the bathroom floor in uncoordinated attempts to exist. Should I put her near some wood? Where'd she come from? That tiny crack in somewhere between the window pane and an infinte horizon. The sun was setting in that gentle orange way when warm winds blow sideways into your face from the opposite direction. Do you ever wonder if the world were a soup, what would it taste like? It seems to have plenty of salt, a bit of a warm gooey core that tinges your esophogus, maybe even a bit of a crunch. That's far enough.
Clocking out at eleven thirty five was no problem. Jaime was going to come over and hang, maybe have some tequila and a few beers. I knew I'd smoke at least three joints, not having anything better to do with my hands or my focus. My indulgence is the weed. What's not to like about it. Before I take a hit, I'm way more angry, almost fever pitch mad about something that happened earlier that night at the restuarant. Something out of my control like two young Romeo Juliet types who can't afford to eat there who saw the Fonduta trending on TikTok so they decided they'd try it. Not enough cash to tip the crusty thirty six year old waiter who definitely used to look good. Now that he's tired, worn like sweater he's worn for the last fifteen years. A bit fratty and pathetic. The hope is was lead to the anger. The hope of great achievement, of a promise to those who dedicate their existence to the crows of purpose the centipedes of resilience and the dolphins of creativity, to these we sing amen and to those that praise that sing shall heaven be their name grace in this land will arrive to those that persist! Heaven be thy father or thy mother or whatever the fuck, but yeah, amen. The hope is what crushes the soul, lifting it towards bright blue glimmering light, yearning upwards tumbling through beams of water distorting gravity.
Jaime and I found ourselves on the shore, glasses of Mezcal clanking with ice cubes grasping for one last kiss. We looked out into the water, or a pitch black wall, or a dense deep dark, one that shadows can sleep in. Then with a crack, blue light illuminated the white water of the wave that broke through the deepest dark. The blue light shot like lightning down the spine of the darker edge of the stealth wave that had disturbed the plankton's final resting ground. When these algae like creatures die, they emit a blue light if disturbed. In a final performance they shine a blue that reflects tints of mint white green but stays a shockingly crisp blue. These are the red tides. During the day, the water will look a charred red, almost brown. Putrid filthy water, murky with carcass. That's how it seems during the day. But at night, the hue's of blue's that it emits will torture your imagination. Why and how is this possible? If this is possible, then what else is possible? And why am I here? Can I do something like this? If not this itself. I want to become this. But before I do anything, I have to run and tell Eve, she lives for this more than I do. When the bioluminescence visits like this, this dense, it only happens it seems once every five years. I told Jaime to wait, I'd be right back. I sprinted in the sand, not wanting to waste a moment of precious time. By now it was twelve forty five and she'd definitely be finished pacing before bedtime truly arrived. If I am lucky, I can still catch here.
I busted through my apartement door, speed dialed, she answered, I said through half breaths, "Bio-", big gasp, "-luminescence". She laughed out of discomfort, "Are you ok?". I gathered more of my air and wharewithall and said, "I'm fine. I went out there with my friend Jaime, there's bioluminescence, I had to sprint back to tell you". She said, "Is it good?". I said, "Oh yeah". There was a pause. She said, "Ok I'm coming". Yes! Evee's coming! I grabbed a Sharpee and a green notecard and wrote, "Evee's, take a shot on the casa, meet us out there! -B". I put the note next to the bottle of Mezcal then took off for the door.
Sprinting back to the water, I knew I'd be getting in there. Probably once with Jaime if he needed convincing and then again with Eve. She loves the bioluminescence. She's told me on multiple occasions. What a rare event. Glowing blue water will visit Los Angeles about once every five years. I dunno, maybe it's more frequent than that and that's all I really know about it. From living this close to the water for fifteen years I can say, it's really only been here twice like this.
Jaime had some reggaeton playing from a pill speaker he had. He was filming the waves with his phone. I ran up to him, "You ready to go in?". He was like, "Really?". I said, "Oh, yeah". We got down into our trunks and ran down the shore. The water was jet black again, no waves had broken in a little while. It was placid so it wasn't necessarily incredibly inviting. I had to turn back to enourage Jaime that we had a small window before more stealth like licorice waves would come back to knock us down a few pegs. He was cautious. I always forget my own sense of comfort with the ocean. Swimming in it daily makes me one impatient beachgoer. The tide tickled between my toes. Waves would be coming. "Jaime", I said, "benga! Neccissitos rapidos." Just then I turned and saw the riveting edges of a big stealth black wave about to crack me in the face. Just then, it tumbled well before me and I saw the explosion of blue, white blue flames of water shooting awake in each of their dying last moments. I took a quick deep breath of the blue magnificence and dove underneath, opening my eyelids to see the shimmering particles swarming them, up close, unapologetic eyes blinking through the plankton's glowing blue bodies. I turned to Jaime. He got blasted by the wave. Nothing better than a righteous hammering to pump back a little missing life back into you.
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