Sunrise at Dolly’s Donuts
By: J.S. Lender
Tags: Oceans, The Endless Blue, Beach, Surfing, Fiction

Photo by Janeen Lender © 2020

Most of life consists of a series of events that we will never understand. Show me a man who thinks he understands the secrets of the universe, and I will show you a damn fool.

I’m going to tell you about something that happened last summer. Whether or not you believe me is up to you.

* * *

He was 10 years old but he was already surfing like a little champion. I would paddle out with my first born, Scotty, on Sunday mornings at Newport pier. We would always get there early, just before sunrise. Best I could tell, Scotty enjoyed surfing at Newport with me on Sunday mornings, but deep down I think his favorite part of our weekly excursion was getting an apple fritter at Dolly’s Donuts. That old relic of a shop sat right there on the glorious sand. Scotty would mow his fritter down so fast that I often feared he would puke like a geyser before he slapped on his wetsuit.

On Sunday, June 1, the water was glassy and calm and erie. I still don’t know why, but I knew something wasn’t right as soon as we paddled out. A pleasant little wind made ripples across the ocean’s blue and orange surface, as pelicans skimmed the water so close that it looked as if the tips of their wings would catch fire at any moment, like a blue tip match striking the sidewalk.

There’s always silence in the early morning water, especially at daybreak before things get warm and the tourists from Michigan, Baltimore, and just about everywhere else begin to frolic and play. But this morning was different. It wasn’t just silent; there was a stillness that made my head feel disconnected from my body.

Scotty and I paddled out side by side through some small breakers. I was going slow on purpose, to make him think he was keeping up with me. His little arms flipped and flopped around and around, like the world’s spunkiest little wind mill.

A good sized set came toward us — the most peaceful blue mountain you’ve ever seen. Scotty was farther out than me, and when he looked back, I pointed out to sea to let him know to get out there pronto. And there went little Scotty, flapping his arms and shoving full steam ahead like a loyal little tugboat. He paddled up and over an impressive 7 footer, as I was becoming increasingly concerned that he was drifting too close to the pier.

I paddled over the wave after him, and when I scooted down the backside, Scotty was gone. As in poof, gone. His board was nowhere to be seen. Not even his leash or wetsuit were floating in the water. There was just a black void where Scotty had been 10 seconds before.

I raced straight toward the pier, and made my way underneath. I called out his name, hearing the echo of my own voice slap between the wooden pier and the sheet of infinite salt water below.

I kept calling Scotty’s name, but my voice had become nothing more than a girlish shriek. My chin trembled and I felt my mouth contort into a horrific mangled ball of mush. I started to cry earlier than I would’ve expected.

Then I heard it. The voice. It started as a whisper, then grew into a thunderous roar. The worst part about the voice was that it kept saying the same thing over and over. We have him now. He likes it with us and he is never coming back.

Then, complete silence.

The silence was worse than the rambling of the voice. I paddled back out from under the pier and just sat on my board, bobbing and crying and sobbing and shivering.

Then, a deep rumbling grew, and the water started to slosh. The waves vanished as if they had never even been there, and the ocean was transformed into a salty lake on a quiet summer evening at midnight. The rumbling made my inner ears vibrate, until my skull felt as if it were about to disintegrate.

I had spent 20 years in the Army, and I have seen more combat than any man should. I thought I had heard every type of explosion, bomb, and detonation known to warfare. But the sound of this event was like nothing I have ever heard.

At the far end of the pier, it looked as if the devil himself had pulled the plug on the ocean. A massive water tornado swirled clockwise, growing wider and wider by the second. As I floated there motionless, more confused than a one eyed cat staring into a bowl full of goldfish, an explosion larger than the cosmos shook me from the depths of the sea. A fountain of water shot straight up into the air, thicker and brighter than the white light beam that obnoxiously makes its presence known 24/7 from the top of the Luxor Hotel in Vegas.

And there he was. Little Scotty’s naked arms and legs were kicking and clawing from the top of that salty water fountain, as if he were lying on the ground and celebrating the greatest birthday gift he had ever received. The water fountain cut out suddenly, and I watched Scotty freefall 30 feet and then make a tremendous slap against the cold and unforgiving water.

* * *

Back on the sand, I wrapped Scotty’s skinny and naked body tightly with two beach towels. He was shivering so hard that I feared he would snap a bone, or at least tear a muscle or tendon. I asked him if he was all right. Scotty looked at me with his teeth chattering, then gazed just past me, at the blue and red neon sign that was lighting up the shadowy sand.

Scottie asked me to walk him over to Dolly’s Donuts for a large cup of hot chocolate, an apple fritter, and a rainbow sprinkle.

We slowly walked together across the silky sand, stepped into Dolly’s Donuts barefoot and cold, and placed our orders.

THE END

J.S. Lender’s new book, “They Are Here Now: Short Tales” is now available in paperback on Amazon.

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