"Oh, here you are, There's nothing left to say, You're not supposed to be that way"

The waves crash against the pristine white sand. Shades of turquoise, royal blue, cobalt, and navy combine together yet remain separate as the water recoils back to the sea. A breeze breaks the tropical humidity. Like me, the palm trees are seemingly drawn to the water.

Sandy Beach, Oahu, Hawaii (not my picture)

Having just stripped down to my bright patterned tankini and lathered up with multiple brands and types of sunblock, I strut to the water that might be calling my name. There’s an extra swagger in my step – I’m in Hawaii, it’s my first full day of vacation, and I’ve lost twenty pounds. The sand is soft and warm against my feet, but I hardly notice it as I’m on a mission to get into that picturesque and clichéd Pacific Ocean. Each step closer, I imagine the refreshing seawater tickling my toes, welcoming my feet, and embracing my body. I can’t get there fast enough. My march quickens.

I’m virtually there. Five feet. Paradise is so close. I can almost …

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a twenty-something-year-old fit and tanned guy running full speed toward the water. He’s carrying a mysterious black item, but I focus on his sandy blonde hair, yellow t-shirt, and Baywatch-style red shorts.

I wonder about the emergency. I nearly turn my attention back to the sea when I notice he’s waving his arms. He’s coming at me. He abruptly stops and holds up the black item asking if we’re -- my boyfriend and me -- familiar with the beach. Naïvely, I reply no, but realize, for the first time, everyone in the water is holding a surf board.

With an urgent tone, he says “flippers are required to go into the water. Everyone out there has flippers.”

Huh.

My expression must have been that of quizzical because he explains, “This is not a recreational swimming beach. I know the sign says this is Sandy Beach, but the nickname is ‘Break Neck Beach.’ It’s the second most dangerous beach in the United States.”

He elaborates adding the rip currents and shore breaks are extreme. Even though it’s shallow right here, there’s a sharp drop to eight or ten feet, which is what creates the strong rip currents. Spinal and neck injuries are common, almost expected, and after the water throws someone around, it tosses them against those rocks over there. He points to the cluster of jagged and rigid black rocks popping out of the sea. The average rescue takes forty-five to sixty minutes, enunciating the quantity of time. He exhales a deep sigh and I imagine he's reliving one of those saves.

Oh.

I look out at the water with a longing, disbelief, and disappointment, eager to just put my big toe in the water.

He offers a disheartening grimace, but assures us there are much safer beaches for recreational swimming just a few miles down the road. His face relaxes a smidge when he realizes I’ve accepted defeat.