Maverick

The water was that pale blue.... that pale blue that the sky would turn just as dawn was coming into view on a cloudy day. It was warm, warm as per usual, but there was a breeze that would chill everything down for a moment. The water swelled and capped bringing about waves that would crash onto the barren sandy shore.
I was sitting.... toes digging into the sand, my hair stringy and damp from the surf, lips salty. My board stood upright beside me. I tilted my head back closed my eyes smelled in that familiar air and listened to the gulls.
Heaven.... heaven at the end of the earth... my earth.... my world. This is where my life starts and ends. Its where I took my first breath.... and fought for my last. This is the final swell of the biggest wave.
I turned around and picked up my board, wiping the sand off of my bikini bottoms and shedding my surf top off replacing it with a t-shirt. Barefoot, I walked back home which was only 4 blocks from the beach.
Walking on concrete made me uncomfortable. My feet were designed for the sand, tinnie particles small enough to be cushy and grainy beneath my toes. Concrete was a single grain of hard and mechanical  nothing. I turned another corner walking into the alleyway of my street. I always walked extra slow after morning surfs. There was no rush... none at all.
The house.... the wooden and partially concrete structure that was blue, green, yellow and red. Full of colour that had faded away from the sand weathering it down. The structure once so youthful now lies dilapidated, full of character from all the years of living, fighting, loving and just being.
Walking up the steps, small creeks made my presence known... sneaking out was a challenge. Reaching the top I turned the door knob, quietly entered into the tinnie home and laid my board against the wall next to the door.
It always takes me a while to turn around. Who knew the significance of turning 180 degrees could be. To me it meant I officially left my perfect world, entering into the real one.... the one I despairingly wanted to be temporary. That 180..... I slowly turned around, tapping my fingers against my thigh, tweaking the anxiety.
In front of me..... same as usual I guess.... beer bottles, full ash trays, burnt out blunts and remnants of fluff. The kitchen... technically also the living room, only being separated by an island, is somewhat messy. Nothing a little bit of dish washing couldn't handle.
I sighed and started moving towards the kitchen, when a few beer bottles clanked and I looked to my left. There was a person on my couch..... this isn't unusual. I sighed and walked over to a small hallway and turned right entering into a room. He was lying on the bed in his swimming trunks snoring. I sighed and looked at the time.... he was late for work.... as per usual.
I turned around not even bothering getting him up..... he should be able to do that one thing on his own. He, is my brother. My elder, supposedly the responsible one, but as per usual that is not the case with me. Nope..... never.
Every morning he wakes and bakes, heads off to work, comes back toasts himself up and invites a shit tonne of random people over and drinks the night away.
"He's grieving", everyone tells me. My response to that is a sigh and I make that 180 to his limp body dragging him into his bed, wedging a pillow against his back so he wouldn't choke on his vomit.
Grieving..... what kind of shit is that. Grieving..... he's the primary caregiver he's not aloud to be weak. No.
Me? Grieving? I won't even let those two words appear in the same sentence.
I walked into the kitchen/living room and started to clean up.... I needed to go to school... No... I need to clean up, and feed him and make sure he doesn't OD like last week.
The lump on the couch started to groan. I walked to the sink and pulled a bucket out from underneath it. Moving into the living room I placed the bucket by the lumps head and picked up all the beer bottles around him. I threw them out and emptied out the ash trays. A few minutes went by and the lump groaned again.
I looked over to him and quietly watched him. Who was this groaning lump?
My attention went back to the dishes and the weird looking stain that was on the tea towel. What was that?
A few hours passed, the house was clean and the lump was still rolling around and groaning. I checked on him and he was fine.... I really need to go to school...... I went into my room, across from his and got changed.
Putting on my shorts was a challenge. The bruises went up the back of my legs tracing the bar lines of the led pipe. I took off my bikini top, cradling my side.... the same bar lines on my side.
I walked over to my mirror and looked at the black, blue and yellow indents in my skin. I shivered. They were still here.... from that night.... had it only been 2 weeks?
I looked closer.... someone is in my bed..... they are staring at me. In an instant I made that 180 grabbed my shirt and tried not to scream. If I woke him up this would all end.
The man stared at me...... he was grinning.... slowly. I put my shirt on and didn't say a word, he giggled and lay back down. I stared at him, what the hell? He kept laughing, I crinkled my nose. What is his problem.
Men like him were always eyeing me..... I guess it's men like him who hold the led pipe while I cradle my mothers bludgeoned head. Its men like him who eye me.... It's men like him who snort their weight in white powder and hold the led pipe.... it's men like him who take people from you because they cant have what they want.
I heard a creek from behind me and there he was.... the groaning lump on the couch.... standing in the door way with the same grinning as the other man.
My heart barely moved. My face neutral. I walked toward the doorway, eyes on the lump in front of me. He was still grinning. He wouldn't move. He kept grinning and slowly gave me an up and down. When he looked back up his face was far more serious.
Our faces were close, eyes remained on each other....
I wasn't afraid anymore. There was nothing to be afraid for. My life had been taken from me by a man like him... holding the red and silver, led pipe. Men like him ripped me off of her and hitting me until I couldn't move. Men like him crushed my leg the more I kicked and screamed. Men like him.... aren't men.... monsters like him exist... not under the bed but walking with and around you.... feeling your bloody legs and pulling at your sticky clothes smashing your head into the mechanical concrete grain.
There was a groan.
This time not from the lump but my brother and in an instant the lump stepped back and I ran.
I ran out the door, no shoes, out in the alley way and out on the street.
I ran until every limb slammed into each other and I fell.
Every limb.... slammed into each other... I fell.... two feet from my world.
I couldn't even make it to my world.
Every limb.... slammed into each other and the crunching metal of the pick-up...... and I fell.... two feet away.
I looked up and grinned the same grin the lump and man gave me.
Some of us.... knows we were never made for this world.
We struggle and keep walking down that beaten path.... some of us.... just keep going.
Some of us.... keep riding the swells until we find our wave. We keep looking and it will eventually come.... but after that there is nothing else......
Some of us... like my mother were children of the swell, but never made it either. She became the child of a monster... consumed by their nasty desires and led pipe.
Others... like me try to make it back to their place of conception, try to stay with their mothers through thick and thin, but...
I fell.... two feet away from my final wave.... I couldn't even make it.