My Kind of Town
Don Chapman
>> Waimea Bay The touch
A daring lifeguard on a jet ski, another on a sled towed behind, were racing toward the lifeless form as it bobbed in the backwash, gambling they could reach Chookie Boy Kulolo and escape before the next monster wave rumbled in. It would be close.
Many in the crowd gathered on the beach for The Eddie prayed, but none as fervently as Meg Choy Primitivo. For weeks she'd been mad with suicidal thoughts -- that's why she'd come here, to throw herself into the angry sea.
But the way Chookie Boy surfed touched her, and she wanted to live. And she'd be damned if she was going to let him die for her.
Another wave was rising, about to crest, when the jet ski driven by Rick Williams, reached the unconscious Chookie Boy. The mountain of water behind them began to break. Riding on the sled, Alan Lerner reached out and plucked the body from the sea, and Rick accelerated away toward shore a heartbeat ahead of the wave.
But this wave was not their only danger, for the rogue 45-footer that crushed Chookie Boy, having reached the shore and driven the crowd back up the beach, was now retreating. There was so much water, they were racing away from one wave, racing into another that was all gnarl and foam. The sled was bouncing so much, Alan was struggling to strap Chookie Boy down.
Rick gunned the engine, needing to get through this nasty backup wave before it crested. He did, just barely, and then the jet ski and the sled behind it went airborne. Looking down eight feet, Alan attached the straps to secure Chookie Boy. Rick did an even harder thing, kept his hand steady on the throttle and the engine revving, so when they landed the ski was moving forward.
When the sled landed, the impact forced water out of Chookie Boy's lungs, and as they sped toward the beach Alan began CPR.
Meg was waiting at the waterline, oblivious of all around her, focusing only on Chookie Boy and sending him all her strength and hope. Lifeguards and police were moving the crowd back, making way for the paramedics, but seemed not to notice Meg -- no easy thing with her figure and that black, low-cut swimsuit.
As Rick idled the jet ski Alan and lifeguard Tom Jenning pulled Chookie Boy off the sled onto a stretcher, hurried up the beach and set him down. While cops kept the crowd back, paramedics went to work, forcing water from his lungs. Meg leaned in, apparently part of the official retinue, and with a forefinger touched Chookie Boy's left toe -- he was a goofy-footer -- and he shook as if hit with a jolt of electricity.
Don Chapman is editor of MidWeek.
His serialized novel runs daily in the Star-Bulletin
with weekly summaries on Sunday.
He can be e-mailed at dchapman@midweek.com