My husband possesses a unique quality that his close friends refer to as present nostalgia. He is able to be wistful for a moment that is currently in progress. It is not unusual that Dave and I are doing something incredibly ordinary like cleaning up after dinner or reading in bed, when he’ll catch my eye and say, “Life is good.” It’s different from gratitude. It’s more like his future self is visiting his present self and reminiscing about this particular moment in time. He does it with friends too. Our friend Sarah is particularly adept at recognizing when Dave is about to fall into one of his ephemeral trances. In the middle of a round of Cards Against Humanity, she’ll smile knowingly and ask, “Dave, are you having one of your moments?”
It is one of the qualities I love most about my husband. It is right up there with his dedication to paying bills on time and his willingness to crack my back on demand. I will miss all of this when he is killed by a giant Perth wave.
My special quality is a unique ability to sense danger regardless of whether or not danger is present. Of course motherhood has thrown this quality into overdrive, because obviously, any minute now, my children will be killed in a car crash. It is exhausting, constantly rescuing my family members from imagined accidents.
Last Sunday, my family and I went to Swanbourne Beach in Perth.
[The beaches in Western Australia are so magnificent that not mentioning that seems deliberate. I once shook Nicole Kidman’s hand at a work event in New York. I was supposed to tell her something about my job, but who cared about my job when the only thing that mattered at that moment was NICOLE KIDMAN IS VERY TALL AND PRETTY. Perth beaches are Nicole Kidman in Far and Away.]
Swanbourne Beach was, like all the parks and beaches in Perth, conspicuously uncrowded. Sunday was blustery and the surf was rough. The conditions were perfect for burying your feet in the wet sand and laughing hysterically while running away from the crashing waves. No one was in the water, with the exception of a few twenty-something surfers who were getting tossed around like tortellini in a pot of boiling water.
After a power nap in the sun, Dave popped on his goggles and announced he was going for a swim. To me, it was as if he declared he was going to cartwheel across the Mass Pike. As he sought out the perfect spot to embark on his dubious adventure, I tentatively called out “Be careful!” while mentally planning his funeral. What will I do with his body? We’re in the middle of nowhere, for god’s sake.
I watched my husband like a hawk as he made his way out beyond the break. I lost sight of his head once, as he dove into an oncoming wave. But then it appeared, popping up on the surface like a piece of fuzzy seaweed. I have to hand it to him. Once he made it out past the tsunami, he seemed to have a nice leisurely swim. He even stopped to smile and wave at me a few times. I took careful notice, as that was the last I’d ever see of him. I continued to track him as he bodysurfed his way back onto shore.
Dave looked a little hunky as he walked out of the sea – Poseidon in Lands End evergreen swim trunks. It could have been his brush with death. He was probably thinking, “Life is good.”