Today, the entire culture has been borrowed to the point of saturation. Posers tired of crashing into the hard asphalt have discovered the sting of the wave doesn't feel quite so permanent when falling off a surfboard. Kids wear Billabong because the logo looks 'cool', not because they've ever tasted the salty sea air at high tide. Old surfers have moved on, surfing webs because it was easier that fighting crowds.
Still surfers persevere, oblivious to most of it. The best surfers in the world aren't judged by the ASP, they're judged by the people in the soup, floating on boards, watching as the pipeline crests cheering on friends. The numbers of serious surfers falls steadily each year as circles close, and lone surfers find kinship among the waves.
There are quiet spots no one knows, where waves have been ridden that have become legendary. What was once just a simple eight footer with a perfect pipeline has grown to be fifty feet tall, with breakers crashing everywhere, burning orphans being saved on the front of the board while the legendary surfers don't surf on a board, but glide across the water. They are legends of the surf, regardless of their names.
Dag and David Apell had a spot like that, where they surfed their troubles away. They stood and looked at the once quiet bay, shocked that three beachfront construction sites and a breakwall have taken their spot from them. Five months ago, just before Dag hurt his knee Not Surfing -- their name for wrestling because it is, in fact, not surfing -- they surfed here, the waves frictionless as they cut and glided through the water effortlessly, riding wave after wave after wave with nary a wipe out.
The bay turned calm now, another spot lost to the world that has no room for a surfer.
***
'We should listen to Daniel,' Dag Apell -- better known to the SCCW audience as Saul Goode -- said, sweeping bits and pieces of fish, cheese, beans and rice into a tortilla shell. 'Screw this being stupid crap. Let's be bad guys.'
Daniel, the third Apell brother, known last to the world as Sandy Beaches a name he hated, sat in a hospital bed, alone and cut off from the world as a result of his ALS. The doctors always feared it was time for him to go, and yet, he emerged stronger each time. Still, the twins knew what was coming, and though they dreaded it, they welcomed it at the same time. Daniel would be free to walk again, to be free from that damnable wheelchair.
'I dunno,' David -- the Ben Chillin of the Atomic Surf Dogs -- replied with a shrug. 'I mean, how do we be bad guys?'
Saul blinked and shrugged himself. The two were likely the nicest, kindest, sweetest kids known to humanity. They went out of their way to help old ladies across the street, and both made Eagle Scout at 14. 'Well, I guess we have to go back to our TV watching days. Who was real bad from then?'
Ben's eyes lit up with a smile. 'Oh, that's easy. Remember Bart Simpson? When he would make those phone calls to Moe asking for people that weren't really there?'
'Yeah, dude!' Saul smiled back. 'That was awesome. I'll bet that would get someone really mad at us!'
'Totally.'
The two looked at each other and then back over the ocean. 'So, uh, who do we call?'
'I don't know. My only cellphone contact is you.' Ben replied with a shrug.
The Community Times opened up to the classifieds a moment later, with Ben picking a number at random. He smiled as he read the ad. 'Wanted: One handyman for elderly widower. Must be willing to help around the house. Will pay and/or exchange room and board. Call Rose Gardens at 555-3246.'
'That's perfect! Call! Call! Call!'
Ben excitedly dialed the number and waited as the phone rung, Saul and Ben giggling like fourth grade girls with their first crush.
'Uhhhh... Hello. Uhhhh... Is your refridgerator... uhhh... running?'
'Why, no. It's not. How did you know?' she replied, her voice wavering.
'Uh, we guessed. Seriously? You were supposed to say yes so that I could say 'Well, you better go catch it, and laugh. That's how this works, I think,' Ben said, shaking his head. 'But, uh, I took a class in appliance repair at the local career center. My brother and I could swing by and look at it.'
***
Four hours, a belly full of cookies and earfull of stories later, Saul Goode and Ben Chillin left the house of Rose Gardens, having fixed her refrigerator that had gone out earlier that morning, and in a frantic effort to find a repairman, happened to have just hung up the phone when the boys called her.
Mrs. Gardens' cat, Mr. Boots, had simply knocked the plug loose, and being eighty-one pounds and eighty-one years, moving an antique Frost-Free was simply out of the question. Saul moved in, and pulled it out while Ben plugged it back in. Mrs. Gardens cheered and called them her heroes, insisting they stay for cookies and milk.
And stay they did! They'd never tasted such a delicious cookie, let alone a grandma cookie, which are among the most delicious in all the land, trumping Oreo, Chips Ahoy and even those chewy ones made by the Elves. Their paternal grandmother had passed away some years ago, and the maternal grandmother didn't approve of the transient lifestyle the parents lived and wouldn't allow the kids anywhere near her which was fine with the boys. She smelled like soup and peppermints from what they remember, and she most certainly didn't bake cookies.
They heard stories about Mr. Roy Gardens, a world famous accountant who developed a system that let people input numbers from all over the globe, simply by placing their phone on a special cradle and talking to another computer. Her children all moved to Texas or Alabama or New York and married doctors. She didn't see her grandkids often, and now that Mr. Gardens was gone, she barely saw anyone.
At the end, Saul and Ben hugged Grammy Gardens, and promised to visit again, very soon. In their broken down old van, Saul sighed contentedly. 'If that's what being a bad guy is all about, I'll take more of them cookies and milk.'
Ben laughed lightly and shook his head. 'Nah, that was just us being good guys again. Maybe we can't fight it. Maybe we're destined to be good for the rest of our lives, you know? Let people walk all over us and stuff. Eh, there's worse things, I suppose.'
'Yeah. I think we were bad guys. Our intention was to do bad and stuff. That's good enough.'
They sat in silence until they reached Ray's Mako Tako, home of the greatest Shark tacos in the history of history. Rumor has it that Ray himself caught the biggest shark in the history of Playa Del Mar back in the sixties, and people were still eating shark from that very shark. Sure, it was a lie, but, it was a great laugh for the regulars at Ray. And knowing Ray, he was looking down from the pipeline in the sky, laughing each time someone told the story.
'Let's call someone else.' Saul said, his eyes glassy and beaming with accomplishment.
'Who?'
'Uh, I dunnno. The only number I have in my contact book is you.'
'Yeah, same here, bro. What's the number for information?'
'Isn't it 9-1-1?' Saul nodded and pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing the three numbers. 'Hmmm. That sounds about right. What do I say when I call?'
'I guess just tell them who you are, where you are and what we're looking for. That might help.'
'Good idea,' the older brother said, pressing the send button on his ancient cell phone.
***
'Okay, not a good idea.' Ben said, holding the ticket in his hand, the lights of the cruiser lighting up his face from all directions as the police officers stood and whispered to each other, incredulously.
The Sergeant stepped forward after a moment and looked at the boys. 'Was this for real? I mean, are we on some hidden camera show or something?' His voice boomed, despite his attempt to keep quiet. The lights attracted onlookers from crackheads to other surfers and patrons of Ray's Mako Tako.
'What do you mean, sir?' Saul Goode asked, his face poker straight. The officers giggled a bit as the Sergeant furrowed his brow.
'I mean, was this for real? Are you kids stupid? Slow?' the Sergeant remarked, matter-of-factly, venom behind his words.
Saul replied, quickly and respectfully.'...Yes, sir. Kinda stupid. I wouldn't call us slow. This dude we know used to call us idiot savants, but, I don't speak Spanish so I don't know what it means.'
The Sergeant shook his head, cutting Saul off and waving his hand in the air. 'Stop being motherfucking assholes.'
'Don't talk to us that way,' Ben replied, his eyebrow raised. 'We made a mistake, we're sorry.'
'Excuse me, bitch?' the Sergeant asked, not believing he was here. The officers behind him hushed immediately. A whistle, barely audible, hung in the air longer than it should have as the Sergeant pulled his nightstick from his belt. 'What the fuck did your
'I said don't talk to us that way, sir. We're dumb, but, you don't need to degrade us. We did something stupid because we didn't know a number. We're sorry. Arrest us, give us a ticket, whatever.' The Sergeant dashed for Ben's throat, expecting the surfer to run and panic. Ben stood steady, barely flinching as the nightstick found the way into his throat, balance ball first.
'Boy, I ought to knock your fucking teeth down your fucking throat and fucking take you in on a fucking eighty-two eleven. You know what that is, boy?'
'No. I don't.'
'That's where I bust your ass down, motherfucker! You want your ass busted down?!' the Sergeant spit into the face of Ben Chillin, who merely shook his head. The other officers began to intervene, pulling the obviously hot tempered Sergeant from Ben's neck. Chillin breathed deeply after the ball came out of his neck. Saul reached out and grabbed Ben's hand as the two stood scared but not trying to show it.
Growing up, that was their thing -- physical contact, especially holding hands. It was innocent, since the two brothers knew a scant detail about sex and sexuality until they were eighteen on the beach. The community and their friends accepted it, immediately as a closeness between the twins. At night, they slept in the same bed, spooning and cuddling for warmth, making sure the other didn't leave, couldn't leave. It was their show of defiance that caught the Sergeant off-guard. Saul stood scared, Ben stood defiant, chin high.
The Sergeant composed himself with a chuckle. 'Well, looks like you're just a bunch of queer ass Frisco faggots, huh? Is that what the fuck we've got here?'
Ben's face shook with anger as Saul's eyes began to tear up. 'David? Why is he talking to us this way?'
'Because he's a faggot,' he said as his brother gasped and the Sergeant's face contorted in an instant from mild amusement to frantic hate. 'He's a motherfucker. He's a prick bitch ass motherfucker faggot queer ass bitch ass bitch.'
***
Saul's lip quivered and his eyes watered but, he never cried. His voice wavered, but, he never sobbed. Had he sobbed, his lip would have quivered more and he surely would have cried. But, he couldn't cry. Not today; not anymore. Bad guys didn't cry, and that's what they were now as they sat in the county lockup, David's eye blackened and swollen.
'David?' Saul asked softly as his brother, Ben stared through the heavy glass door. To his credit, he took that punch like a champ, never swinging back. The officers expected some sort of resistance and charged at the surfer slash wrestler, backing off as he didn't move. The Sergeant, however, was knocked to the ground screaming obsenities to the heavens as he was pulled away. The boys were arrested for resisting the direction of a peace officer to appease the Sergeant. They'd be processed quickly, and hopefully, would be back to testify against the bully, Ben given silent or whispered thanks for standing up to him.
'Yeah, Dag?' Ben replied.
'Why did you say those things to that Sergeant? I've never seen you say things like that.'
Ben sighed shrugged and put his arm around his brother, as Saul's lip quivered, his voice wavered and he began to sob, softly -- It was finally okay to cry. 'Remember when we said we wanted to be bad guys?' Saul nodded. 'Well, I wanted to see what it was like to be a bad guy. I pressed his buttons on purpose, and you know what I found out?'
'What?'
'That I don't want to be a bad guy.'