The Stranger

Life stunk. Every area of my life was in upheaval. It had been a long, miserable summer.

My parents were in a hard season and I had to walk on eggshells. No matter what I did, it was wrong.  My friendships were fickle and my love life was non-existent.  My diary entries summed up my despair.  My parents didn't love me. My friends didn't love me.  And no boy would ever love me.  I'd be better off dead.

To escape, I spent my days at the beach. One morning, I put on my swimsuit, slipped on my flip-flops, and grabbed my towel, suntan lotion and transistor radio. As I opened the back door, my mother stopped me.

“If the water’s rough, don’t go in.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I closed the door behind me, dismissing her words.

The beach was two blocks away. Instead of following the sidewalk, I took a shortcut, meandering through the yards of the cookie-cutter military houses. When I reached the beach access, I stood at the top of the stairs.

The Pacific ocean's turquoise blue water was dotted with surfers. The waves curled and thundered as they broke.  Whitewash churned and clouded the shore break. The sea spray was thick and salty.   

I spotted my friend in our usual spot and hurried down the steps, holding tight to the rusty handrail as my flip-flops splatted loudly on the metal treads.  When I reached the bottom, I tossed my towel over my shoulder and kicked off my shoes. I walked along the water’s edge, pausing as the water rushed over my feet and shot up my legs. The retreating water sucked the sand from beneath my feet.

I spread out my towel and plopped down beside my friend. When our conversation waned, I turned on the radio, slathered myself in coconut-scented suntan lotion and laid back to soak up the sun rays. The warmth of the sun and the rhythmic sound of crashing waves chased away my worries. It was a perfect beach day.

Soon the pleasant warmth gave way to radiating heat. I sat up and wiped the sweat from by brow.

“Wanna cool off?” my friend asked.

As I glanced at the surf, I remembered what my mother told me. I rationalized that her words were unreasonable since she was afraid of the water. I was—I reminded myself—a good swimmer.

I followed my friend into the water and navigated around the submerged volcanic reef until I was in waist-high water.

A wave approached and, just as I'd done a hundred times before, caught my breath and plunged beneath it.  When I stood, the current tugged at my legs. Another wave approached.  Again, I dipped beneath the swell.  I emerged and planted my feet firmly, only to be knocked off balance by the next wave.  I surfaced and struggled to get my footing, but my strength was no match for the swift retreating current.  Since my head was still above water, I allowed myself to be pulled backward, planning to take advantage of the trough--the momentary break between the waves--to get back on my feet.  I managed to stand, but seconds later, a towering wave crested and hit me like a brick wall, forcing me under, hurling me across the jagged reef and ripping my flesh.  My knees and palms were on fire from the salty water.   

I was dragged backward, catapulted forward and tumbled helplessly. Again and again and again. The pounding waves were relentless. I lost all concept of time and space, only aware of my burning lungs, stinging flesh and lost hope.  Exhausted and defeated, I stopped trying to save myself.        

Despite the turbulent surf, underwater it was eerily calm.  Everything felt surreal, as if I was both watching and experiencing my own drowning.  I felt weightless, yet was weighed down.  My salty tears mixed with salty ocean water.  I was agonizingly remorseful for the grief my disobedience was going to bring my family.

God, is this what it feels like to die? I don’t want to die! I’m only 15!

When the surf rolled me on my back, the sea foam parted and I could see the sun. Its brilliant rays penetrated the depths of the water, flooding me with an unexplainable peace.  My eyes were stinging, but I struggled to keep them open. I wanted to see the sun—I needed to see the sun!

How much longer will dying take, God?

My lungs were burning. I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I closed my eyes.

Seconds later, my eyes flew open as I was gripped by excruciating pain. Every strand of hair on my head was being yanked simultaneously.  Suddenly, I was jerked upward. I gulped precious air and looked into the piercing dark brown eyes of a stranger.

“You’re okay!  Listen to me. We need to go underwater and ride the surf over the reef."

“No!” I screamed.

“Take a deep breath. I promise, I won’t let go of you!”

Another wave was rapidly approaching.

“Please! Don’t make me!” Panicked, I tried to pull out of his grasp.

He slapped me and I gasped. In one swift movement, he circled my waist and plunged us beneath the wave.  He held tight as the wave propelled us across the reef into calm water.

“Can you make it from here?”

I nodded and attempted to stand; my knees buckled.  He took my arm and guided me to the beach. Before I could speak, he turned and ran back to the water and dove into the surf.

I collapsed on my towel, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.  Once I regained my composure, I tried to process what had happened.  I knew I'd underestimated the surf and overestimated my swimming abilities.  Everything happened so quickly, yet it had played out in slow motion.  My friend and I had gotten separated and no one was near when I got caught in the undertow.  So, where'd that man come from?  How did he know I'd gone under?  And who was he?

I scanned the water for my rescuer, but couldn't distinguish him from the dozens of bobbing heads.  I needed to find him.  I needed to thank him.   Eventually, he emerged from the water and approached me.

“You okay?”

I nodded, unable to speak. He gave me a thumbs-up and jogged down the beach toward the main beach access.

I pondered running after him.  Instead, I stayed seated and watched him. Intently.

I’ve never seen him before. Did he just move here? He hasn’t stopped to talk with any of the other Marines. Did he come alone? Who comes to the beach without a towel or shoes? The beach path has sand spurs and the parking lot is paved with crushed oyster shells!

He jogged past the path to the parking lot.

Where’s he going? He’s running toward the restricted area of the beach!

I watched until he became a speck in the distance and then disappeared from sight.

Somehow, I knew I'd never see him again.  I also knew I'd never forget the stranger who appeared out of nowhere.  The stranger who saved my life on that perfect beach day, August 15, 1976.

The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him,

And rescues them.

~ Psalm 37:4