The coastal wind was whipping the surf into a frenzy, but D didn't mind. He had spent the last hour walking along the shoreline, the saltwater spray misting his sunglasses and cooling the afternoon heat. He was wearing his favorite Hollister shirt and a pair of casual shorts, enjoying the feeling of the wet sand yielding under his feet.
He had originally intended to stay on the dry side of the tide line, but the ocean had other plans. A particularly ambitious wave surged further up the beach than the rest, swirling around his ankles and tugging at his balance. Instead of retreating, D felt a sudden surge of spontaneity. Why stay dry when the water was right there?
He waded out until the water reached his knees, the rhythmic pull of the Gulf of Mexico exhilarating. Just as he turned to face the shore, a rogue swell gathered momentum behind him. It didn't just lap at him; it crested perfectly, catching him off guard and collapsing in a spectacular explosion of white foam.
The wave hit him square in the back, drenching his shirt instantly and sending a cascade of saltwater over his head. Rather than scrambling for dry land, D dropped to his knees in the shallow surf, letting the next few waves wash over him. He sat there, completely soaked, his clothes heavy with the sea, laughing at the sheer, unscripted timing of it all. He didn't care about the laundry later; in that moment, being fully clothed and caught in the surf was exactly where he wanted to be.