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what I once loved—writing. Not just the thrill of catching the story that I had become addicted to, but he reacquainted me with the passion I once felt for words.
    Kale writes for
Surfers End Magazine
and is worried he’ll be losing his job soon. The publication is tanking in circulation. We’ve had in-depth discussions as to why. His view was very eye opening but I didn’t necessarily agree with it.
    When I walk in he’s sitting where he always does—a table near the railing overlooking the water, notebook in hand. He’s old school—no laptop, just pen and paper. Ironically, I think that’s the issue with the magazine—they need to enter the world of technology.
    I clasp his shoulder. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”
    He looks up, lifting his shades. “Just trying to figure it all out.”
    I sit across from him. “That’s heavy for this early in the day.” I bob my chin to one of the waitresses and hold up two fingers. She smiles and I direct my attention back to Kale. “Care to elaborate?”
    He sets his pad down and leans with his elbows on the table. “Surfing is at a crossroads.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Too many of us out there.”
    I scrunch my brows together.
    He points out to the water. “Watch that.”
    I do. Two, three, four, five surfers systematically fading with one another in what at first seems to be some strange choreography. However, once the wave rolls over the surfers are shaking their fists at one another—obviously fighting for the waves and not bothering to wait their turn.
    “Why is no blood being spilled over this? You can’t just fade someone rail-to-rail and get away with it,” he says slamming his fist on the table.
    It’s a thin fabric that holds surfing together. Kale is a former champion and holds his standards high. I shake my head. “But there are so many unwritten rules out there and some have long passed their use.”
    Our drinks arrive and I push one his way.
    “Too early, man, I have to get something on paper before I can indulge.”
    I push it further toward him. “I’m taking off today.”
    He sits up straight. “Fuck, how about a little warning? I just got used to seeing your scrawny ass around here.”
    “Yeah, right.” I grin and raise my glass before downing its contents. Then I stand up and extend my hand. “Hope to see you in another life, brother.”
    He quickly rises and pulls me to him, patting me on the back. “Take care man and keep in touch. I’m serious about coming out to see your nephew in action. Who the fuck knows, I might even be writing about him some day.”
    “Yeah, wouldn’t that be something. See ya, man.”
    “Oh, and, Ben, make sure you teach your nephew better than what just happened out there. Courtesy is one rule that should never pass its time.”
    I nod. “I completely agree.”
    As I walk away he says, “In my day that would never have happened. If it did someone would have gotten a fucking punch in the head.”
    I twist around and he snakes his arm around one of the waitresses and plunges his tongue in ear before looking over toward me. “Sure you don’t have a little time?” he asks his eyes darting to the chick in his arms.
    I grin at him before I take a last look around. “Next time.”
    I have one final stop to make before I leave—the beach herself. As I make my way through the sand, I think about the many hours I’ve spent here . . . surfing, walking, running, looking for myself. On this beach, I found a part of what I was missing. It was finality, a feeling of closure. Something I missed over and over with everyone I lost. I’ll especially always regret how things ended with Dahl. As I meander down this beach for the last time, I want so much to let that guilt roll off my shoulders. But there are some burdens that just won’t wash away. While I wipe the sand from my feet and slip back into my shoes, I try to focus on the possibility of new beginnings instead of the fact that when I head back to