To no response, I reply, "yeah, yeah, is it time to go?"
My mind slightly groggy from anxiety caused nightmares from the night before, I lay in bed and hear a gust of wind approach from the bottom of the valley. In a few seconds it will be rustling the waxy leaves of the sixty foot mango tree above my head. As if stirred to my feet by the wind, with renewed inspiration I pop in my contacts, hastily pull on my pants, and grab my wetsuit.
Silent as a mouse, I tread lightly around the house as to not wake any of the tenants while grabbing a few straggling items left behind - towel, surf wax, and my surfboard. Setting my gear in the back of my friend Josh's rusty truck, I sit down on the wet truck lining. While opening his truck door, he comments, "Don't lean on the tail gate, it might fall off at any minute." Shutting the driver door, the ignition turns over and with a slight belt squeal, we take off.
Just another piece of cargo in the truck bed, I hold my knees in an upright fetal position as I'm wedged between the truck and surfboards like a book stuffed into a librarian's bookshelf. My head swaying back and forth like I'm on a roller coaster ride, the rusty truck weaves up and down, in and out of valleys. From the valley floors to the ridges, my skin switches in and out of goose bumps as the temperature drastically changes.
Holding onto the truck and peering out beyond the cab, my hair lashes out at my face. Smiling, I tell myself, "I'm free as a dog." As if hearing my silent words, the weather retaliates with stinging rain drops. Retreating to the safety of the truck bed I curl back into the fetal position eager to paddle out into the gloomy sunrise.
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