Grati-dudes Cailan Owens
M
y dad was so ecstatic when he finally bought his majestic, perfect Hobie Cat. A Hobie Cat is like a mini sailboat, and the middle is made of a trampoline-like fabric. They’re made to be relaxing, fun, and easy to navigate, but of course, my dad and I just had to prove that wrong. It was a gloriously sunny day in Delray Beach, and the Hobie Cat culture was alive. All of the owners lined their boats up along the beach, waiting for the perfect time to go out. My family and I walked on to the beach with our equipment, and Peter, my favorite of my dad’s “Hobie Dogs,” approached us. “Hey, man, the wind is super strong today. Best be careful not to hit any wind pockets or you’ll go sailing! And not in a good way, man, not in a good way.” Immediately, my mom and sister opted out of the ride, but I, like the hare-brained person I am, body scarred from all the accidents we’ve had before, strapped on my lifejacket and got ready for said “gnarly wind pockets.” For the first few minutes, the boat ride was enjoyable. The water was pretty steady, even though our pace quickened for a couple seconds on occasion. The weather itself was stereotypical: a bright sun with a satisfactory smattering of fluffy clouds. I fully expected to see a friendly dolphin playfully swim at our side. I could see my mom standing at the shore, hands on her hips, waving occasionally, and my sister was sunbathing. As we rode, I inhaled the sea spray, and I felt free. I even thought about taking my lifejacket off. Then, our boat suddenly went speeding down the current, and we picked up so much wind that the boat
Spring 2021
might have lifted off the water’s surface. The waves crashed against us, but we handled them—well, most of them. There was a bit of a blur, a yell, and then a splash. I looked for my dad and spied him in the water by the boat, which was on its side. The side that was in the air had my leg pinned neatly between the edge and the trampoline, and there I was, arms crossed, body upside down, grimacing at my father, the “sailor.” I pushed my leg out with great difficulty, but the boat was an even more daunting task. I couldn’t help my dad in any way, and there was no way he could flip it on his own. That’s when Fabio appeared. I call him Fabio, but he was probably a “Mike” or something. He and a friend—we can call him Moondoggie—paddled on their surfboards to us. “Woah, dude! Need some help there?” Moondoggie called to my dad, who nodded. Fabio smiled widely, his hair remarkably not wet at all, then paddled over to me. “Hold the board, my little dudette,” he winked, then butterflied over to my dad, jumping on the edge of the sailboat with Moondoggie, trying to flip it around. Meanwhile, as I leaned on Fabio’s righteous lime green surfboard, I saw my sister sprinting across the beach, and my mother standing at the shore, most likely panicking and cursing to herself in Spanish. She doesn’t swim. Next thing I know, a jet ski was bounding toward us, and another dude—let’s call him Hasselhoff—called out to me with a bright, almost blue smile. “Hey there,” he winked. “You Cailan Owens?” “Umm, yes?” I said incredulously, looking over at Fabio, who shrugged and gave a laugh. “Your mom sent me. Ready to go?” he asked, motioning to the jet ski. I climbed on to the edge of the jet ski and held on tight. I looked back behind me to see my dad, Fabio, and Moondoggie successfully flip the boat. I shook my head and let out a chuckle. My dad sold the boat a month later.
Flash Essay 73
