Rare Steak
i.
He dove into the monstrous wave only moments before it cracked onto shore. I observed from afar, the frothy final moments of each swell ate my feet. Ten seconds passed and he popped back out of the sea, readying himself again to attack the water. I wondered what he saw while he was holding his breath. I wanted to slide under the violence too but my mother told me not to and I promised I wouldn’t. My cold bare feet slapped against the sandmud as I ran toward the sea to get a closer look. I really didn’t mean to dive. But then the perfect wave formed and I sprang into it. For a moment I thought I’d succeeded, just like him. But then I started spinning. My foot caught rock and sliced open from toe to heel. I was swallowing salty water. Ten seconds became twenty. Then the panic ceased. I felt a cold burn run across my skin and the chaos grinded shut. When I started to move again my limbs were stiff. The sand-mud was gone and my steaming body collapsed onto hard ice. I craned upwards. Through the sun’s fierce glare I saw white tusks and matted woolen fur heaving breath toward me.
ii.
The chowder sucked. It didn’t taste like anything. Each time my family visited home we celebrated with a meal at the same ocean-view diner. My dad always ordered rare steak. He offered me a piece and I took it reluctantly. It turned out it wasn’t just the chowder – the steak tasted like melted plastic and was equally difficult to chew. So I got it over with and quickly swallowed Satan’s recipe. Then I started gurgling. My dad got confused as I stood up and pointed to my dying throat. Someone was pushing hard into my abdomen. The eighth thrust, ninth, nothing. What a shitty steak. On the tenth my ribs cracked. Then I felt my bones melt into powder, followed by my teeth and skin. My insides dried up, too. All of my tension and fear turned to dust as well. My star stuff blew over into the chowder and probably made it taste much better.
iii.
The swine flu was beginning to exit my body through snot and sweat. My family left me in the house to secrete – they were trying to avoid a similar fate on our visit home. The beach was metres away but I hadn’t seen it yet. Today, my feverish body had a burst of blue-red advil-tylenol energy. I walked confidently down the sandy steps my Grandfather built towards the beach. I brushed sand flies off of my legs and touched the salty froth. I got closer to the edge where the stink of seagulls was enough to smack me back into my flu-ish state. Then the horizon started dotting – I wouldn’t make it back. I stumbled towards the steps so that my body wouldn’t be taken by the tide. I crawled onto a landing where garden snakes lurked, and just before my face struck the sandy wood, a stab of pain hit my shoulder blade. Then another. Sharp little needles all over my back and the stench of seagulls burning down my nose, eyes, and throat. I began to rise with them. Down on my beach I saw a gangly girl collapsed in the hard sun. It didn’t matter. I flew up past the seagulls who warned me to stop. I got higher and higher. I could see the curve of my Earth. Higher and higher still. I could see the edge of the sky. And then I felt the heat and saw my feathers falling below me. I was melting and plunging. I smacked against the water. I was cold and choking. My fever broke.
Published in UC Review