Orphans

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36 When nothing else makes sense there are the waves, and in the waves there is Zen—balance and understanding , recognition of problems and the untangling of confusions . There is also the sense that we are just small parts of a much bigger universe. Specks in time and space, insignificant really, except to those who care about us, because to them we are the universe in so many ways. I continue to forget this, however, in my selfishness, my narcissism, my inability to face reality and my endless focus on what I think I need to be whole, happy and content. I have done a disservice to those I love most, the only people I have. But it can be fixed. I will be home again, and I will manage it differently. I will be my best self. I will be love. I will be a wave all my own. And out here, now, right now, as I lazily circle around bouncing from wave to wave, all of that seems possible, and so the question is, how do I hold onto this feeling, nurture it and be who I am capable of being? Also though, how do I calm the voice in my head? The one saying, “I would prefer not to” is lingering and disruptive, and I can’t quite make it go away. I can be better, I will be better, and that is because I will accept all of this as my fate. I will be Sisyphus, and those moments with Shalla and Joey will be my moment of calm and relief just before the boulder rolls back down the hill and I am off again. Still, even as I think this, the voice persists. Does this truly have to be my fate? Do I even know? Might I state my preference for something different and my desire to be O R P H A N S 128 something different? Yes, maybe, how? I am no more confident that I could say something to Morg or John than I was when I could have been honest with Shalla. I may not be capable of being that guy and I have no idea how to become that guy. It’s not something I can even picture, not now, not yet. Luckily, I have time to think about it—I will be in space soon enough. First though, I need to talk to Lebowski, who I snuck past so I could hit the waves running, no pause, and no distractions. I won’t be able to do that twice, not if I want to come back. As I leave the surf, I see Lebowski sitting cross-legged in front of his hut, eyes closed and hands folded in his lap, calm and peaceful. For a moment he looks like he’s floating—his long hair flowing behind him, his beard wispy and trailing away from his face. I creep up to him quietly, not wanting to disturb him, and for a moment I think about just walking by and paying homage when next I’m here. I only make it another step though when Lebowski’s arm shoots out at me like a snake, uncoiling and terrifying , his enormous hand instantly wrapping itself around my ankle in a viselike grip. I am paralyzed with fear: unmoving , unable to move. Lebowski isn’t moving either, just holding me in place, barely breathing, hardly part of this world even, but holding on with all of his strength. I look at his arm and consider kicking it with my other leg. Could I break it if I had to? Maybe, but what if I could, what then? Would I run through the camp and keep running until I had safely gotten away? And say I did, then what, never surf here again, or worse, spend the rest of my days looking over my shoulder even more than I already do? B E N TA N Z E R 129 As if on cue, a black helicopter loops by overhead, dipping and pausing, moving on and circling back around, like a vulture, nearly silent like Lebowski, but menacing, always menacing, like Lebowksi is right now, and maybe always was. Lebowski releases my ankle and turns toward me smiling. “You weren’t going to leave without saying good-bye were you?” Lebowski says smiling. That is a smile isn’t it? I...